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Handling mental illness

August 21, 2013

Hey there, readership.  I apologize in advance for being super serious in this blog in general, and I realize that I may lose your interest the second I start talking about things that aren’t sassy Twilight commentary or weird running stories.  This post is probably even worse, because I get both serious and personal.  I’m doing this because I’m attempting to improve the world through my experience.  You can stop reading here and I won’t blame you even a little bit.  Whole heap of trigger warnings in this post for pretty much any mental health issue.

Some of you may have noticed that I did not graduate from law school last May.  Without going into too much detail, I had a very serious battle with depression last fall, and took time away.  I’m currently doing quite well, my medication has been consistent for about ten months, and I attend therapy regularly, both to help prevent a relapse and also to treat my generalized anxiety disorder, a problem I had been treating long before depression decided to show up uninvited.  My anxiety manifested itself in many terrible ways, some that I’m not yet comfortable sharing.

Currently, I can actually sleep through the night, something that was refusing to happen last fall, and my medication switch seems to have helped.  I was on an SSRI for several years before switching to an SNRI.  The drug I currently take is called Pristiq, and seems to be doing me good, despite having a name that sounds like a nightclub you don’t want to go to, with cocktails that focus heavily on their use of blue curacao.  School starts up again on Monday, and I kept my scholarship.  

I don’t mean to act as if this isn’t a big deal, because it is.  My life was put on hold for a year, and I spent several months hating myself, not being able to do anything, and not even really knowing why.  While I can talk about it more easily now, it took me a very long time to NOT feel that this was somehow my fault; that all I needed to do was try harder and I could just beat depression.  I understand now that I was sick, I am still sick, I am privileged to have had access to treatment, I was a rockstar for getting that treatment, and this was not my fault.  I’m disclosing this information to help alleviate some of the stigma surrounding mental illness, but also to take some control: no one can force me to disclose this background not on my terms if I’ve already disclosed.

So, if you’ve stuck with me this far, thank you, but what does this mean for you?  I have some general things to keep in mind if you are in any way involved with people who are struggling with mental health issues.  That is, of course, if you don’t already know them!  You might already be an all-star and not need this stuff.  Carry On with your bad self, Wayward Son.

1. Talk about it
If you’re concerned about a loved one, don’t just “let it go” in the hope that it will resolve itself.  You are probably just fine talking directly to the person you care about, but if you’re not sure that’s the best idea, talk to a professional about how to approach them.  A simple “how is everything, no REALLY” goes a very long way.  Also feel free to ask them how they’d like to talk about what’s going on.  Open communication is key.  If they say they don’t want to talk, then they don’t, but asking that one time is a good call.

2. Don’t suggest treatment options
Unless someone asks for them directly, please do not offer things that you think would help.  Yes, there are exceptions here, but very few of them.  Treating mental health is an imperfect science at best, and different things work for different people, but please do not offer solutions.  Your intention is good, absolutely: you care about this person and want them to get better!  Really, it is awesome that you want this person to feel better.  But if you start telling them that going gluten-free is way better than the meds they’re on for treating their bipolar disorder, or that they really SHOULD be on meds for their anxiety when cognitive behavioral therapy seems to be doing the trick, it comes across as “I know better than you do about your own health.”  Also please, please, PLEASE do not tell people to just calm down, or cheer up, or focus of the positive, or go to yoga, or any direct commands.  If it were that easy, they’d do it.  I heard this at least once a week, and it was so difficult to handle, because the person was well-meaning and kind every time, but it made me want to punch them and cry.  It made me feel like my own mental health was yet another thing I wasn’t doing properly.  Don’t be the nice, well-meaning person who just got punched.    

3. No comparative health issues
My lovely friend Adrienne called this playing “the suffering Olympics,” and no one wins.  People with mental health issues frequently already feel guilty about their conditions, and saying “well, you don’t have cancer!” just makes them feel worse for feeling bad.  It just turns into a terrible feedback loop.  Ranking suffering does no one any good, and we should try to alleviate it regardless of its perceived severity.

4. You can get help yourself
If you’re dealing with someone who is struggling, you are not legally or ultimately or responsible for their well-being (unless they are your children), and their illness may put stress on you.  If you are feeling overwhelmed, or even angry at someone you care about for being sick, this may be an indication that you should find support as well.  It is not their fault they are sick, but it is also not entirely on you to make them better.  Mental health disorders can make people not be very nice to their friends and family, and while that may not be their fault (it’s the fault of the mental illness!), it does not mean that you have to sit there and take it.

5. Please don’t toss around mental health phrases
“Oh my gosh, I was so depressed!” is not a good way to describe that a movie you wanted to see was sold out.  You’re not “super OCD about that stuff” because you like to clean.  You’re not “like, so bipolar” because you had two different moods in reaction to things that happened in one day.  This is really hurtful to those who actually suffer from these issues, and just because your friend who goes to therapy said it’s okay to use them, doesn’t mean it IS okay.  And speaking of tossing around therapy as a concept?  Please stop using the expression “exercise: it’s cheaper than therapy.”  How about “exercise: sometimes an excellent addition TO therapy?”  Sick people aren’t deliberately staying sick because they don’t want to spend half an hour on the elliptical.  This is serious stuff.     

6. No jokes or brush-offs
I realize I may be asking people to completely restructure their thinking about this whole concept, and I get a little angry here, but please hear me out.

Therapy is not “trendy.”  It is more common now than ever because people have more access to mental health treatments, and this is a GOOD thing.  Psychiatrists (the good ones) aren’t just “paid to listen to you talk.”  They try their best to help their patients function in the world, and even potentially no longer need them.  I personally get homework from mine.  Think of therapy sessions as a weekly physical for your brain.

Meds aren’t inherently “big pharma bullshit.”  Some people with a diagnosis are like Zach Braff’s character in Garden State, but many aren’t.  (Also his dad is a terrible therapist for thinking there wouldn’t be any issues with your dad being your shrink because whaaaat.) If you need a debate about the problems with R&D development and patent law in pharmaceuticals, and depression medications with black box suicide warnings, and why meds are marketed more to women, go ahead and have one (really! do have one!  that stuff is important!), but not at the expense of those who may credit the medication with saving their lives.  My several years on my SSRI helped me calm down, and my current medication allows me a normal baseline of emotions. 

Those who are suicidal and/or self-injurers are not “cutters” or “emo kids” and don’t need to hear “I wish my grass was emo so it would cut itself” or “remember, down the road, not across the street” for the best way to slit your wrist.  This isn’t a political correctness issue.  This isn’t about being able to take a joke.  This is unacceptable behavior.  And if you’re about to say that the people who self harm do it for attention, please think about this: just how awful is their life that they think making themselves hurt is the best or only way to get that attention?     

Perhaps most importantly, mental health issues aren’t stupid.  They aren’t bullshit.  They are real illnesses and disabilities and they hurt and kill people.  The fact that we’re more comfortable talking about heart attacks than we are about depression doesn’t mean depression isn’t real: it means our comfort level is wrong.

There’s zero chance that you don’t know anyone dealing with a mental health issue.  You probably know several.  I’m one of them, and I’d love it if you took this information to heart.  

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Anatomy of a spin class

July 24, 2013

Disclaimer: I really like spin, and I’ve been doing it more lately because my knee is still being kinda stupid so I’m trying to be nice to it, and then I will be able to run more again hopefully soon.  I miss running.  No, I’m not crying right now, why would you ask WAHHHWAHWAH sobsobsob

All right!  Look at you, girl, planning your schedule so you’re here 45 minutes early.  Aw yeah, you’re awesome.  And you’re here that early so you can guarantee a hiding-in-the-back spot for this class.

Okay, I’m 45 minutes early.  Even the girl at the front desk gave you a look when I said I had a spot saved in the class.  Oh hey, there’s a towel on my bike.  Maybe I can do towel origami for like 42 minutes and then warm up.

That’s stupid; stop laughing at “towel origami,” it wasn’t even funny.  You’re staring at a spin bike in a darkened room and laughing at yourself while folding some basic rectangular shapes into a tiny white towel.  Go do something before they kick you out for being a crazy person.  And no, going up to the giant fan and talking into it so your voice turns into a robot voice doesn’t count as “doing something.” Let’s go run a bit.

Aight, I did my mile.  Now I get to go in like “aw yeah look at my warm up.”  Let’s go back in.

Okay, good, there are like 3 other people in here, it’s less weird.  Don’t do towel origami.  DON’T DO IT.

Bike adjustin’ time.  Just need to unscrew this peg and move the seat down and forward…why can’t I move it?  Did the Incredible Hulk tighten these before me?  Why am I so weak?  WHY CAN’T I DO ANYTHING RI-oh.  It turns the other way.  No one saw that, right?  They all totally saw it.

Aww yeah, feelin’ the burn.  Yeah, whatever, so you can feel a burn with zero resistance.  Don’t hate.

Oh hey instructor.  How you doin’.  You apparently doin’ well because you just said this is the third class you’ve taught today.  We have that in common.  If by “class” you mean “tablespoon of Nutella” and by “taught” you mean “eaten.”  And by “today” you mean “so far today.” 

WHY DID YOU TURN THE LIGHTS ON.  WHY.  I LOOK LIKE DEATH PLUS HONEY BOO BOO PLUS TOMATO SAUCE.  I SIGNED UP FOR DARKNESS.  STOP THAT RIGHT NOW.  Oh, you were just checking the sound system and they’re off now.  You’re forgiven.

Yeahhh buddy let’s start this class up.  Love this back row bike.  Oh, a full turn, you said?  I’m sure what you MEANT was a half turn.  Or like, a third.  Or whatever amount of resistance makes my legs go as fast as yours.  Wait, yours are reeeeeally fast.  Like, supersonic fast.  Like they’re gonna catch on fire due to air resistance fast.  Oh, yeah, sure, telling the class to just Do Our Best and take the class Based On Our Fitness Levels and How Often We Do Spin is gonna make me forget that you could potentially power a city with your spin bike and I look like I should still have training wheels.  Don’t patronize me.  Whiiiiiiine.

I need to get out of the saddle now.  Okay, out of the saddle.  Why am I giggling?  Saddle isn’t even a funny wor-hehehehe saddle.  Shut UP.  Focus.  Finish this song out while blatantly ignoring all of the prompts to add resistance.  She’s staring at me.  She knows I’m ignoring her prompts.  Shit shit shit.  Okay, look at me reaching down, I’m being good and totally adding resistance.  I am a LIAR.

Water break thank you GOD.  Ew, am I seriously sweating that much?  No, that has to be the dude next to me.  I cannot possibly be dripping onto the ground.  It must be that, um, gravity is working not quite perpendicular to the ground and it’s the people next to me.  Ugh it’s totally me I’m the grossest I’M SORRY EVERYONE.

I did not know a remix of “Free Fallin'” and “Get Low” existed.  Now I do.  I cannot unknow this.

Well, at least pretty much the whole class looks like some form of hell right now, so We’re All In This Together (don’t actually use that as a song plz and thank you).  Except for the lady directly in front of me.  Okay, woman, there is no way your butt is a real butt.  It is clearly made out of Valyrian steel and it is not fair to the rest of us that you’re parading around as if that is an attainable butt.  Your tiny shorts encase a lie.  Okay fine, your butt is real but can you please get it away from me because I’ve now started to hate my butt and it knows this and is responding by falling asleep.  That might be because we’ve spent 9 straight minutes seated but it’s MOSTLY YOUR BUTT’S FAULT. 

Nice, a new song, let’s do some stuff where we get out of our seats.  Position 3, I am all over this.  Leaning forward like a champ.  Elbows and shoulders are loose, my weight is shifted back.  I am basically a Tour de France rider right now, I look so fly.  Aaaand I’ve got sweat on my chin.  It’s dripping ugh ugh ugh this is unpleasant I need to wipe it.  Well, I can do this, because I’m being good and not supporting my weight on my arms so I can just shift and get that sweat and nothing bad will hap-BAM.  Or I’ll slip and my nose will come within one inch of the handlebars and one of my feet will fly out of the pedals and I’ll give the lady next to me a heart attack.  Basically the same thing.

Okay, cool, we’re done with like 40-ish minutes of this 45 minute class.  Almost time for cool down.  Um, instructor lady, what do you MEAN we should all try for 60?  No no no, I did not sign up for 60 minutes.  I have things to do, like eat more Nutella.  Everyone here thought it was 45, it’ll be fine!  Someone will say something, she’ll stop, and we’ll all leave.  Can you hear the people SING, singing the songs of angry men…

No one’s leaving.  THIS IS WHY REVOLUTIONS FAIL, PEOPLE.  DON’T JUST LET HER BULLY YOU.  Ugh, fine, maybe I can just leave…nope.  My wonderful back row bike spot has made it so I am actually trapped.  Fine, I’ll do this.

(15 minutes of death later)

Can we please be done now or I will cry.  Please.  I mean, I’m probably gonna cry anyway, but I was planning on doing it out in my car like a normal person.  Now you’ve forced my hand and you’ll have to watch my ugly cry face.  Wait, you said “cool down”!  I love you!

Sure, “Sandstorm” is a cooldown song.  Go home, spinning, you’re drunk.  Whatever, I’d cool down to the damn Macerena if you just let me out of here.  I’ll do your stretches, I’ll clean off my bike, and then I’m GONE. 

Same time next week, yeah?

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How to make me want to destroy you while at Chipotle

July 17, 2013

First of all, a good way to start is to be a teenager and wear some weird skinny jeans and glasses that are so comically oversized as to only be helping your vision if you see out of your cheekbones.  Good first steps.  Actually, these are the second steps, technically, because your bright zigzag tank top (that you checked in your car’s side mirror) blinded me to the rest of your outfit and all I could see was the neon.

Then, please do continue in the front door by yanking on one handle, and when it doesn’t budge, trying it 3 more times before the woman who drove you here (mom? I presume?) pulls on the other door which magically opens, allowing you entrance.  Once through the door, just stop there.  It’s a great place to stop, directly inside the entrance.  I really like standing in the actual doorway waiting for you to figure out that yes, this Chipotle is like all other Chipotles, and there is a line that forms.

Why are you sitting down?  Why?  Oh GOD, you think there are waiters here.  Also you should say “I guess we just seat ourselves.”  Down here in the world of plebeian food, we have to go get it ourselves.  Because I am a brat, I’m taking what is technically your spot in line because you can’t get it together.

Oh hey, you’re behind me now.  It’s like 4:30 in the afternoon, so the people cooking back there are basically just starting up, so we get to stand here.  Nope, too close to me, back up.  No, I’m not moving up, because no one is being helped at the moment, so my creepin’ up on this poor girl in front of me is not doing a damn thing.  Just talk amongst yourselves for like 2 minutes; you can wait.

Then, definitely give a stupid, hipster answer to a question.  The woman with you just asked you what kind of work you’ve been doing recently, and the correct answer is not “well I’ve been really interested in graphic novels lately.”  Huh?  Are you an artist, or you just like to look at things through your dinner-plate-sized glasses and call that working?  Also I find it extra amusing that your voice was at a normal volume before but to answer that question you needed to let ALL EIGHT OF US in this CHIPOTLE know that you REALLY like GRAAAAPHIC NOOOOVELS.

Keep inching up behind me. Really.  I truly enjoy you slowly and sneakily closing the 12-inch gap between us so you can be sure to ask for extra cheese on your burrito bowl.  As we both know, Chipotle workers will refuse to serve you unless you are acting as the big spoon to the customer in front of you’s little spoon.  I am the little spoon.  Let’s do this.  I’m a kickass little spoon, especially when the big spoon is wearing stupid stupid jeans.  I’d LOVE it if your neon-and-denim-clad hips made contact with my butt.

Then, be sure to question the fact that guac is extra, and make the guy behind the counter repeat it.  Guac has been extra since the dawn of time.  Newborns know that guac is extra.  Jesus knew that guac was extra: he would have put it in his Sermon on the Mount except he was thinking about it and was like “nahh everyone knows about that already!”  Trilobites knew that guac was extra.  Are you a trilobite?  No, but this is the Main Line of Philadelphia, so there’s a decent chance the woman with you actually named you “Trilobite” to be trendy.  But yes, nothing gets me going quite like a bit of surprise spooning and then avocado inquiries.  Aw yeahhh. 

Oh yeah, now that we’ve gotten the foreplay out of the way, please do reach over my shoulder and touch me to grab your bowl.  I was thinking of just stealing it and rearranging the cheese inside to match the sexy neon zigzags of your large-armholed tank top as a seduction method, but now you’ve ruined it.  Oh wait, maybe not?  Your hips just did their spooning thing again.  Yes, I still have a shot! 

OH WAIT.  NO, I DON’T WANT A SHOT.  I WANT YOU AND YOUR STUPID OUTFIT AND LACK OF SPATIAL AWARENESS TO GO AWAY FOREVER SO I’M GOING TO PAY AND THEN GET MY NAPKINS AND THEN BYE. 

You’re still a teenager, so maybe I can chalk this up to “people with 2-digit ages beginning with 1 are all terrible” but dude, get it together, or the next person you surprise-spoon is gonna be a cage fighter and he’ll end you.

Not that that would, y’know, make me happy or anything. 

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Elle Woods: Real American Hero

July 3, 2013

I LOVE Legally Blonde.  Haters to the left.  And for your July 4th reading pleasure, I am going to outline why this movie is the best.  This post does assume you’ve seen the movie or are at least familiar with the plot, which you freaking should be.  If not, get thee to IMDB immediately.

First, to outline the couple problems, because nothing can be perfect.

1. You do not go from a 143 on a practice LSAT to a 179 on the real one.
It just doesn’t happen.  Okay, fine, maybe it’s happened, and there’s some miracle law student out there who bumped that grade up, but otherwise, nope.  That’s going from well below average to the top 99.9%.  Everyone with a 170 or above on the LSAT is in the 99th percentile.  180 is the highest score, and this is not a content exam, so it’s not like she magically crammed a ton of info into her head.  Just, nope.  Still totes happy for her!

2. Gay people stereotypes
Enrique, the pool boy and one of the prosecution’s key witnesses, is about as flamboyant as it gets, and Elle figures out he is in fact gay because he recognizes that Elle’s shoes are Prada.  “Gay men know designers, straight men don’t!”  ahhhh stop.  Additionally, Elle’s lesbian(?) classmate got her Ph.D. in women’s studies with an emphasis on women in combat (which sounds hella interesting, for the record; I would read that dissertation), and is later shown arguing with Warner about how “semester” actually shows preference to men (semen vs. ovaries) and she’s starting a petition to have the next one be the “ovester.”  I can’t.  Semester means “six-month period,” for anyone who was wondering. 

Now that we’ve got the small sad-trombone moments out of the way (such a shame…), let’s move on to why this movie is the best thing that’s ever happened in America.

1. Law school realism
Barring her ridiculous admissions video, the scenes when she’s in school are actually pretty darn accurate.  You DO have first-day assignments, and while you probably would not be kicked out of a classroom for not doing them, you’d better get it together.  The professors DO call on you like that all the time: Socratic method, that’s American law school, they look at the list and “Ms. Cozzetto, please state the facts of this case.”  She seems to have both crim law and civil procedure in her first year, also totally accurate.  And competition for internships (summer associate stuff) is crazy competitive.  Also the amount of work she does.  Pretty accurate.

The one different thing?  She’d be totally hip with her Mac.  2/3rds of students now have them and lots have the brightly colored cases.  Elle Woods, trendsetter.

2. Paulette is the best
The movie’s main love story revolves around a chubby, “lower class” woman and no one, not Elle, not the UPS delivery guy, not anyone except for her ex, makes fun of her or her circumstances the whole damn time.  She gets the hot guy, she gets her dog back, she gets what she wants, and Jennifer Coolidge kills it as usual.  Her relationship with Elle doesn’t feel forced at all.  Which leads me to…

3. This movie passes the Bechdel test with flying colors
More than two named women, they all talk to each other, and about something other than a man.  And just in general, there are so many diverse ladies in this it makes me happy.  Elle and Paulette do frequently speak about men, but Elle takes times out to rescue Paulette’s dog like a champ.  Elle’s two sorority best friends are supportive as hell when Elle decides to go to law school, and while it’s played for comedy (“Elle! We came to see your trial!  Oh look how cute there’s like a judge and everything!”), they showed up to something they have no interest in simply because it’s important to their friend.  The judge in the trial is a black woman, and the lead prosecuting attorney is a white woman.  Elle’s civ pro professor is a McGonagall-esque lady, and even when she kicks Elle out on the first day, no one calls her a bitch.  Elle’s whole sorority both encourages her as she goes out on what she thinks is a proposal date with Warner, and then cheers for her when she gets her LSAT results, because these are things that matter.

Of course, the best example of this is Elle and Vivian, who by all tropes and rom-com rules should hate each other because they’re technically competing for the same man.  But pretty much as soon as Vivian realizes Elle is kind and Elle realizes she doesn’t have to hate Vivian for being engaged to her ex, they start being friends.  And the best kind of friends.  They work together, they both joke about how they are asked to get coffee when their fellow male interns are not, they offer to help each other out.  Vivian eventually dumps Warner for being a punk, and they are besties.  I like to imagine them riding off into the sunset to make the world a better place for women.

4. Elle Woods is so wonderful and kickass I can’t even deal
She’s super happy and kind the whole damn time, even after 1L year, which can easily crush anyone.  She decides she’s going to Harvard, and so she works insanely hard and gets in.  She decides she wants the summer associate job, and so she does the same.  She helps out her classmate when he’s trying to get a date.  She helps out Paulette.  She remembers her haircare rules and because she knows both how perms work AND how cross-examination works, she freaking wins a goddamn murder trial, and I will love the makers of this movie forever for allowing her to use knowledge about “stupid, lady crap” to dominate everyone.  She could easily rest on her appearance and focus on superficial things, but she doesn’t, because she’s chosen other goals.  HOWEVER, and this is the important thing: she doesn’t judge any other person for their choices, no matter how “superficial.”  She decides what’s best for her, and kills herself to get it, without ruining anyone else’s happiness in the process, and especially without having to trample on any other women.  She is my hero.

AND SHE SHOULD BE YOURS TOO, BECAUSE AMERICA. 

Happy Fourth, everyone.  And remember the rules of hair care are simple and finite.

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Quick thing about the Miss Utah deal

June 18, 2013

In case you weren’t aware, this happened at the Miss USA pageant.

I’ve got a nice long list of why I’m angry about what happened and the response.  Yay lists!

1. “She’s pretty, it doesn’t even matter what comes out of her mouth!”
Right, let’s split that “pretty girls can’t be smart” idea some more, so that the entire world legitimately thinks that if you are more attractive you legit cannot be intelligent.  Stop that right now.  And if your argument is “no but seriously, society will just hand her whatever she wants, she doesn’t have to be smart!” well then okay.  Yes, maybe? But don’t reinforce it! 

2. “She put herself in the public sphere so it’s totally okay to mock her”
Nope nope nope.  You’re still being a punk-ass jerk if you make fun of her for panicking in a charged situation.  Did she hurt anyone?  Did she kick your dog? Nah, she just looked kinda silly for like 30 seconds, and if your response is “LOLOL look at this dumb Barbie” that’s awful.  Don’t do that, you’re mean.

3. “lol bitches be trippin/women be tryna speak”
You know you’re awful.  If I hated myself enough, I’d explore the lowest depths of the internet to see how many “haha get back in the kitchen” comments I could find regarding this young woman, but I don’t hate myself.

4. A Real Housewife asked this question
I…don’t really know what to say.  We have a woman whose reality show title inherently makes her “not the breadwinner” for hr family.  Also Real Housewives exists.  I’m sad and I can’t quite articulate why.

5. The question asked “what does this say about society”
You’re attempting to make a person sum up in less than the time it takes to reheat a slice of pizza a topic that has been the source of countless dissertations, nonstop legislation, and a decades-long battle.  But okay, she’s got this.  Granted, she could have just said “sexism” and dropped the mic but I don’t think pageant contestants are encouraged to use that word and/or drop the mic.

6. PAGEANTS STILL EXIST
WHY WHY WHY.  If I think about this too much my brain gets a little too close to rage-exploding.  The Q&A section exists because otherwise Miss USA and the Westminster Dog Show would have too much in common.  It was made by men for the enjoyment of men, and if the word “poise” is thrown around anymore to excuse parading women around in sexy outfits for the “honor” of being chosen, I will make it my life’s mission to ensure that every time anyone vaguely associated with pageants tries to use the word “poise,” it comes out “porpoise” instead.

I am NOT insulting the women participating.  They made a choice that I would not have made, but that’s because the world at large told them it’s an okay choice to make. 

That would be, harsher punishments for parole violators, Stan.  And…world peace!

Fitness

Baby’s first half marathon by the miles

June 12, 2013

I think it’s probably impractical and somehow breaking social rules, but if I could, I would totally wear my finisher’s medal for the next several days.  At least until my soreness wears off.  It is quite heavy and has a bottle opener incorporated into the actual medal, so that makes it even more impractical to wear it around.  I am wearing it as I type this. #yolo

The race I did is called the ODDyssey, and yes, they spell it like that on purpose.  It’s got a costume contest and has optional challenges during the race and just generally doesn’t take itself too seriously.  I’d totally recommend this race to anyone: it was large enough to have pretty great support on the course, but small enough that you weren’t pushing people out of the way.

So, here’s a race recap by time and miles.

Night before: read this month’s Runner’s World which is about Boston, cry like forever (I do not recommend this strategy)

5 AM: Alarm goes off.  I immediately reconsider every life choice I’ve ever made in my sleepy haze.  Maybe I don’t wanna run this morning, bed looks soooo good…

5:30 AM: Out the door because I was a good little girl and pinned my bib on the night before and laid out all my clothes and packed my fuel belt

5:45 AM: Dunkin for iced coffee.  This has become a bit of a prerace tradition for me, even though basically everything that is smart in the world is like “caffeine is TEH WORST dun drink it before a race or u’ll diiiiie” but it empowers me so whatevs.

6:10 AM: Pull into a parking space that is a tad bit far from the finish line (spoiler alert: I hate myself for this later) but will allow me to actually leave the race location without waiting for like an hour to get out

6:15 AM: Force-feed myself an apple

6:20 AM: Get on line for porta potties

Roughly a year later: actually get to USE portapotty

6:40 to like 6:55 AM: Attempt to not panic and get a bit more water in me

6:56 AM: Make friends with girl who asked “so do you see any signs for corrals?  I saw one that was for a 9 to 10 minute mile but I’m at like ‘try to finish, no time goal, my emergency contact information is on my phone screen, got my inhaler’.”  My kind of girl.

6:57 AM: Taking notice of all the people in costumes (this was a costume-optional race), notice a guy wearing very, very little.  Realize he is dressed in the Borat swimsuit.  Attempt to figure out where he pinned his bib and then realize he has a bib number belt.  Overhear a woman say “okay, he wins the costume contest.  Just give it to him.  Then make him change clothes.”

7:00 AM: Panic because I’m still holding on to my crappy water bottle and don’t see a place to ditch it.  Decide to hold on to it for a while.  “A while” turns into like 7 miles but whatevs.

7:04 AM: Lady who did the National Anthem: you killed it, way to go

7:07 AM: Race starts,shuffling towards the start begins, I actually remember to hit “start” on my watch, I am the smartest woman alive

Transition to mile estimates because I frankly have no idea what time it was for most of this

Mile 0.2: Cannot stop grinning because oh my GOODNESS I am running a HALF MARATHON I am THE COOLEST EVER

Mile 0.4: Smile fades a bit because I get passed by this guy who is pushing a lady in a wheelchair, and he is wearing a tux.  Dialing back my dreams of Olympic glory.

Mile 0.5: Guy jumps in blatantly banditing the race.  He is wearing a rainbow tutu and a rainbow shirt and has Pride info pinned to his back.  He gives everyone high-fives and hugs if they want them.  That is how you correctly bandit a race, everyone.  We all ain’t even mad.  Go on with your bad self.

Mile 0.7: So this happened.  This dude was chatting with a group of ladies that he didn’t know (who had matching sequin headbands, you go ladies), and was basically bragging about his exploits in the running world and “when I ran New York, I…” and just generally acting like he was awesome, which was awk but whatever.  He then jogs like fifteen feet ahead of them, turns back, and while running backwards, says “what’s with all the heavy chicks out today?”  I KNOW.  WHAT THE FUCK.  The ladies basically chose not to engage, replying with “well it’s Philly!  and we’re awesome! so we’re out today!” and things like that, and I really can’t blame them.  They saved their energy for the race they were running.  But like, dude? What went on in your brain that led you to conclude that was a good thing to say?  Andrew came up with the best response when I told him this story: “what’s with all the assholes out today? Mostly in your general direction, really concentrated over there…”
Also, not that it matters, because that is a messed up thing to say regardless, but the dude was not like in Steve Prefontaine levels of shape.  Had a little belly going on.  Made it extra strange.

Mile 2-ish: first aid station comes up.  I always feel like I’m letting them down when I don’t need water at that time.  Like “um, no, I’m good, but I’m sure your water is very delicious and refreshing! I’m sorry! It’s not you, it’s me!”

Mile 2.4: see two girls running while carrying a shield and an axe and wearing Viking helmets.  I love everything.

Mile 3.1: realize if this were a 5k I would have PR’ed!

Mile 3.11: realize that I should not be aiming for a 5k PR because I have ten miles left. Oops.

Mile 4.0: take my first Shot Blok like a good little runner, walk for the first time

Mile 5.2: tiny little uphill and I whine like a lot, but so does everyone around me so it’s all good!  Right?  As long as I’m not the loudest!  Right? Also MORE SHOT BLOKS

Mile 5.9: actual salt is streaked on my arms. This has not happened often and I thought I was dying and then I realized I was not.  Good story I know.  I just thought I was growing scales for a minute.

Mile 6.55: Loudest dude ever was manning the halfway point.  Totes fine with it because he was like “KEEP GOING, DOING GREAT” and I live off of that stuff.  I had like ten minutes of leeway at this point to make a sub-3 hour half so I was both excited and nervous

Mile 7: I somehow miss this mile marker and am convinced for a while that I am actually going backwards along the course because “no no there is NO WAY I haven’t gotten to mile 7 no no no”

Mile 7.2: I realize the father and son(?) in front of me are banditing as well, or may have just been out running and got swept up in the course.  I am not mad until like three miles later when he, his son, and another dude decide to run-chat and do the thing people do on sidewalks when they block the whole damn thing at this spot with trees on one side and gates on the other.  No, I am not going much faster than you are but move or I’ll cut you with my bib because I have one and you don’t.  Yeah, I’ll fight your 12 year old son.  I can take him.  Maybe.  (I’m an adult, I swear.)

Mile 8: oh JESUS THANK YOU MILE MARKER

Mile 9: this is the farthest I’ve ever gone in one shot.  I regret not having gone like 40 miles in one shot so this feels like nothing.  It does not feel like nothing it feels like EVERYTHING

Mile 9.5: yes please with the water, aid station; my stomach is doing its thing where it is hungry so it decides to tell me it is nauseous.  No, you jerk organ, I am just low on blood sugar, so shut up and take your Shot Bloks.  Eat them.  Digest them.  Get your act together.

Mile 9.6: Can I buy stock in Clif? I love them so much right now.

Mile 10: just a 5k left!  Oh God, I’m one of those people who says stuff like “it’s just a 5k left!” and actually means it.  At least I said it inside my head!  Oh, wait, the person in front of me said it out loud to her running partner.  I’m safe.

Mile 10.2: Aid station peeps are cheerfully announcing that the aid station in two miles has Gatorade.  I would share in their enthusiasm if they said the next aid station had rocket backpacks, or stretchers, or Jeremy Renner.

Mile 11: Two miles left.  You can totally do this, and you’d better.  This was the point at which I basically started to run for a minute and walk for a minute because I was pretty sure my knees were going to actually crack at this point.  Every step hurt. But basically this was “if you ran this far and don’t finish…oh HELL no.”

Mile 11.3: Somewhat separated from basically everyone, and I realize my compression shorts are swishing.  (whaddup thighs touching hey bigger runners you feel me? yeahhh) I realize they have probably been swishing for 2 hours.  Has everyone heard me swishing?  Am I one of the “heavy chicks” that jerk guy was talking about? Wait that’s a terrible thing to think?  GAH INTERNAL TURMOIL

Mile 11.31: I am running a half marathon anyone who has anything nasty to say is basically on the level of Joffrey Baratheon, the First and Jerkiest of His Name

Mile 12: One. More. And a tenth.  Don’t forget the tenth.

Mile 12.3: a hill.  An effing hill, now???  Seriously?  Ugh, guys, this last mile probably took me like 20 minutes to finish.  I looked at my watch and realized I was not gonna make it under 3 hours, so my goal was adjusted to just “finish the thing.” And also “make a recommendation that the last mile of a half marathon not contain a 40 Degree Hill of Death as its last thing.”

Mile 12.9: This lady who looks like she finished like 90 minutes ago and is now cheerfully going for a bike ride with her finisher’s medal around her neck is all “you can do it!” and in my head I’m all “I hate you for being done but love you for cheering me on!”

Mile 13: I can run this last part to the finish without dying.  This is a doable goal.

Mile 13.1: VICTORY! Also exhaustion.  Dude with the medals stop texting and give it to me or I will fight you.  I will fight you with all the stamina of a newborn and all the strength of overcooked linguini.  Come at me, bro.

Mile 1,000: I parked my car about another half marathon away and my legs only marginally work.  It takes me forever to walk there while sipping my fruit drink, and once I’m at my car I collapse and call my dad.  He answers the phone, “are you alive?”  Excellent question!

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Well, no offense to Eleanor Roosevelt.

June 7, 2013

 I remember hearing the quote for the first time when watching The Princess Diaries.  Which I saw in the theaters.  No shame, love you forever Julie Andrews.

“No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.”  Said to a crying Mia, Anne Hathaway’s character, by a pretty rad dude who works for Julie Andrews’ queen character.  His name was Joe.  The scene has a kind of “yeah they’re gonna tease you, but you’re awesome!  Like Eleanor Roosevelt!  And awesome people don’t let crappy people get to them.  So be awesome!  And stop crying and go to high school!”

My initial reaction to that was “yeah!  Mia’s awesome!  Go fight win!  Can Julie Andrews come back on screen now?”  Loved the hell out of that quote.

That is a terrible, terrible quote.  And so are all the ones that are variations on “don’t let the haters stop you from doing your thing.”  (Love you Kevin G.)

This is the first but definitely not the last time I will need to say this: the world needs to stop placing the burden of feeling terrible on the victim.  If someone is awful to you and you feel sad about it, that is appropriate and fine and maybe even good.

I respect the hell out of people, like Ellen Degeneres, who use the expression “my haters are my motivators.”  Some people do legitimately take inaccurate, cruel, terrible things and basically turn that into energy to fight back and keep being awesome.  Seriously, if this describes you, keep killing it and also teach me your ways like immediately.  I am absolutely not telling you to get sad if you’re not.  I’m just saying it’s totally okay to be sad if you in fact are sad, and it’s not your fault if mean things don’t “inspire” you.

When the world encourages that attitude, the “exude positivity regardless of how awful everything can be” is that the world is working at the wrong end of the problem.  That if you’re teased, it’s YOUR responsibility to “not let it get to you.”  To productively channel that sadness and then come out the other side better and different and perfect.

It’s the same concept that some girls and boys experience if they don’t wear the right clothes.  They get teased for not wearing cool things and looking stupid.  They go tell their parents they will get destroyed if they continue to wear their current clothes.  Their parents “fix” it by buying the right clothes, and the teasing stops.  Yay?  Nope, not at all.  The bullies might not be actively bullying, but they’re still being terrible.  They didn’t get any nicer, you’re just now wearing the “right” clothes around the same mean people. 

In time, those people will find something else to be cruel about.  

I’ve seen this in basically all arenas, from abusive bosses to bullying, this concept that we should just ignore it and stay awesome and sticks and stones and you gotta keep ya head up and so on.  The arena in which it seems to show up most is that of weight loss.  I watch the hell out of some weight loss reality shows, including The Biggest Loser, Extreme Weightloss, and MTV’s I Used to Be Fat.  Literally every single one of them has asked their contestants or stars about teasing they received, and use it to “motivate” them during their workouts.  They did this to basically say “push yourself so that these people have no basis in calling you ‘fat cow’ anymore because you’ll be skinny!”

Why on EARTH are they not saying “yo, it’s super cool if you want to get healthy, and if a side effect of that is that you lose weight, cool beans.  But those people, the ones who called you names? Assholes, every one, and you can totally cry about it.  Wanna go find them and punch them?  No, not in your ‘After’ shot, right now.  When you’re still fat.  Because they are not nice people and they have no right to tell you those things regardless of what you look like.”  Probably because the One Republic song they play during the montage doesn’t fit that sound bite, or something.  I don’t know.  

Don’t tell people they need to stay positive when the world is being awful.  All that tells them is that they’re failing on two fronts: whatever they’re being teased about, and ~*sTaYiNg pOsiTiVe*~ 

Nope.  G’head and cry when people are awful.  World?  Tell people to not make people cry.  Much better.

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A more honest college graduation program

May 28, 2013

Disclaimer: I’m basing this vaguely on my experiences at Brown University, and I do seriously love graduation stuff, this is all in good fun.

Ceremony Schedule for Graduation 2013

Way Too Damn Early: the graduates line up, roughly 1/3 of them not wearing their caps correctly

Way Too Damn Early: their families get seated and proceed to hate the graduate for making them get up

Way, WAY Too Damn Early: Mother Effing Bagpipes

(the weather will need to be either 90 with blistering sun, or intermittent rain)

9:30 AM: Procession begins

10 AM in 2035: Procession ends

10:30 AM: National Anthem sung quite proficiently by a graduate with the last lines sung terribly by all of the graduate’s friends and family

10:45 AM: Why the hell are we still using Latin, the president of the University just conferred the degrees on all the graduates but no one had any idea

10:46 AM: Scattered and late applause because what?  The dozen Classics majors are cheering wildly because they understood

10:47 AM: Teenage boy in the family sitting behind you opens up the large pizza they may have had ordered to the main field

11:00 AM: They’re walking again, why are they walking AGAIN.  Oh my God we’re gonna be here forever

11:30 AM: Everyone should be seated, which means the weather will instantly be the worst it’s been all day and the graduates realize that their caps and gowns only amplify the effects of the weather, which means 90 degree heat feels like 105 and cold rain feels like ice

11:31 AM: Graduates discover that there are granola bars and water under their seats and this is the happiest they will be all day

11:40 AM: Senior orations, oh my gosh everything is adorable, they are the cutest, their families must be so proud, I am legit gonna tweet everything they say because they are the best ever and oh my gosh oh my gosh stop it I can’t even

12 PM: Beginning of honorary degree conferring

12:05 PM: College makes rookie mistake and chooses to let Ben Affleck go first

12:06 PM: Crowd loses its collective mind; grandmothers are shouting “SPEECH, SPEECH”

12:07 PM: Ben Affleck talks for like 20 seconds, crowd continues to lose its mind

12:08 PM: Some other people get honorary degrees but no one really gives a shit, legit these people could have eradicated tuberculosis but the college chose to lead with Ben Affleck and it’s unfortunately all downhill from here

12:10 PM (not pictured): Someone from the college starts drafting apology letters to every honorary degree recipient who is not Ben Affleck; has to delete “look, you didn’t make Argo, what did you expect?” and start over again

12:30 PM: Bachelor’s Degrees conferred

12:35 PM: Joint Bachelor’s and Master’s Degrees conferred

12:40 PM: Joint Bachelor’s and Master’s and Ph.D. Degrees conferred

12:45 PM: Joint Bachelor’s and Master’s and Ph.D Degrees and Certified Yoga Instructor and Class M License and Food Preparation Certificates conferred

12:55 PM: That one dude who thinks he deserves to see more than anyone else stands up at this random point in the ceremony and continues to stay standing till the end

1:00 PM: A grandfather who is too old to care loudly asks if “this damn thing is over yet”

1:15 PM: Faculty is awarded tons of Awesomeness Medals, graduates and alumni suddenly learn that one of the old dudes on the stage has been a professor for like 85 years and won a goddamn Nobel Prize, like a NOBEL PRIZE, he is BRILLIANT and we have a NOBEL LAUREATE on our goddamn FACULTY, how did we not KNOW THIS

1:30 PM: Literally none of the graduates know the words to their school’s song but they will all give it the Old College Try

1:32 PM: Crowd is restless like a herd of animals before a thunderstorm

1:35 PM: Ceremony ends, graduates launch their caps in the air causing several serious injuries when they return to the ground

1:36 PM: EVERYONE STANDS UP AT ONCE MOVE MOVE MOVE

1:37 PM: Weather immediately becomes 72 degrees with a few clouds in the beautiful blue sky.

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Some youthful things that I don’t understand

May 18, 2013

Presented in no particular order

  • Any and all new dance moves starting with the Dougie
    • No really like what are they, wasn’t like basically all dance invented already including the Harlem Shake which to my knowledge is not the same thing
  • The Disney Channel’s current programming
    • I could not name a single show on that channel right now, and I’m still trying to process the fact that Lizzie McGuire had a baby.  Like an actual baby.  I remember when her biggest issue was murder-mystery-party-related drama and dealing with her younger brother with that friend he had that never talked
  • PINK by Victoria’s Secret
    • Is this a sex thing 
      • No really I don’t get it
    • And the clothes say “LOVE PINK” like what does that mean like “I Love Pink” or “love, Pink” like Pink is now an entity capable of signing letters or like a demanding “LOVE PINK OR WE WILL DO BAD THINGS”
  • Tumblr
    • Yes I have one
    • Adrienne has to post things because I don’t totally get it
  • Crop tops
    • Like this is a shirt but it’s not really on what occasions can you wear this 
    • It’s not an issue of it being “too revealing” because oh my God who cares but srsly when can you wear one
    • Also it’s fascinating because if you asked like a hundred people what body part they most like to show off I wonder how many would say “my lower abdominal area”
  • Putting feathers in your hair
    • It always kinda looks like you just ate a bird and got a little messy
      • No issue if that’s what you’re going for but I think it’s not?
  • Zombies
    • These are people you knew who died terribly and then get back up and start walking around and want to eat your head
      • How is this cool and not the most terrifying thing ever
      • Like seriously the fact that there are zombie-comedy movies out there blows my mind because AHHH THEY ARE DEAD AND THEY STILL MOVE
        • I am a wimp
  • Most slang phrases
    • Yolo
      • I use this regularly but it does not mean I understand it because I say things like “bought another book for my Kindle #yolo” and I don’t think that’s right
        • I really don’t know how you’re supposed to use it, do you say it when you’re doing something dangerous or something good for you?
    • Throwing shade
      • What does this mean, I think it’s like a bad thing?
      • See also “mean mugged”
        • I learned “mean mugged” from Kieffer on Teen Mom 2
    • Bougie
      • Not a damn clue about this one
    • Swag
      • Just kidding this is a GREAT word and I use it correctly all the time
  • Sock buns
    • It took me a really long time to get that this wasn’t just like a fun name for this but you are supposed to put an actual sock in your hair
  • A/S/L
    • I thought this was the abbreviation for American Sign Language
    • I have no clue what it means and I can’t seem to search in an effective way can someone please just tell me
  • Bieber
    • Haven’t the faintest
    • It’s like a boy band but there’s just one boy 
    Uncategorized

    Women and books, women in books

    May 8, 2013

    Earlier this week, the results of a challenge posted by author Maureen Johnson hit The Huffington Post, and I had a grand old time looking through the results, which you can find here.  Basically, flip the covers of books so that the “girly” no longer look girly, and vice versa. 

    My personal favorite was Lord of the Flies, but all of these are truly well done, and I hope there’s work in the artists’ futures.  However, this coverflip is just one tiny aspect of areas that are just straight up ridiculous for female authors and books about women and women who read books.  You know I’m gonna break this down so get ready.

    Women authors
    The number of women who have used pseudonyms or their initials is absurdly long, and this is not some issue that’s no longer a problem.  Rowling did it. Yep, it’s easy to forget because no one really cares too much now that she’s so successful, but she did that on purpose to hopefully sell more books.  It’s not like this is some 1800s throwback issue or even a Andre Norton-era issue.  This still happens.  N.K. Jemisin?  Sci-fi/fantasy/speculative fiction author who goes by initials instead of Nora because this still happens.  She’s also a woman of color, and has problems because of that (like her books being placed in the African-American section), but that needs its own post.  Women authors are scared that their own names will frighten away potential readers regardless of content. 

    Not only is this a problem when women try to publish under their own names like they need to be ashamed of them, but they’ll get shredded for “not getting it” if they try to write about men.  Men writing about women is just always going to be a little awkward and is apparently forgivable, but women writing about men emasculates the men somehow.  George R.R. Martin, bless his heart and his books and may he finish them quickly, is under the impression that women notice their own breasts and the cloth that covers them when they walk.  NOPE.  Writing for a sex or gender of which you are not a member is always challenging, but it is not okay that the problems associated with it are ignored for male authors while female authors are destroyed for it.  Or, reviewers claim they emasculate men if they say anything critical (like Margaret Atwood apparently did to Jimmy in Oryx and Crake).  

    And then, of course, the covers.  Book covers are frequently sexist, racist, and just all around horrible.  Let’s not even talk about the ones that are “now a major motion picture.”  I’m still recovering from seeing Ella Enchanted get that treatment.

    Books about women
    “Books about women” end up in their own category, with “chick-lit” as its own little terrible subset.  Men and women read books about men, and women read books about women.  Please let me reiterate: books about women are not given their own space because women have struggles inherent to their sex.  They are separated because it is assumed that men won’t read them. 

    What sells is brotime and ladytime: bros get fighting and angst, women get “drama” and “feelings.”  Even if those plots are exactly the same, wars are male and drama is female.    

    Personally, I’ve lied by omission when trying to get people to read The Hunger Games; I just conveniently leave out that it’s a female author and female narrator and let the person just buy the book and deal with it.  (Interestingly, the covers on those three books are decidedly not girly.)   

    One of my best moments in college (who am I kidding, this was one of my best moments EVER) was when some truly excellent people brought Tamora Pierce to my campus.  This was an author who truly helped shape my childhood with her amazingly detailed, kick-ass fantasy novels, and she’s been writing since before I was born.  She read an excerpt from her then-unpublished next book, signed basically whatever you wanted her to sign, did a big ol’ question and answer panel, and was just generally amazing.

    Her books’ main characters, 95 percent of the time, are female.  The audience was 90 percent female.  A friend of mine there mentioned she had a male friend who did not attend because he was scared of it being all girls.  This is a powerful, fascinating woman with complex, realistic characters in a world that rivals Middle Earth and Westeros in levels of detail, and she gets brushed off because she writes books for teenage girls so she doesn’t matter.

    I have to lie to people to get them to pick up books with female narrators, while it is just assumed that I’ll somehow adapt to a male narrator because I’ve been doing so for forever.  No one’s ever said to me “oh you might not like it, it’s about guys.”  Jane Austen is forever “girly books” because they’re about women potentially getting married and that’s not exciting.  And then we have an issue with women who dislike Jane Austen’s novels because they don’t find them enjoyable describing themselves as like, traitors to womanhood or something.  Not liking Ernest Hemingway doesn’t make you a traitor to manhood.  But she’s it, she’s all we’ve got, so everyone feels the need to be nice. 

    Women who read books
    Gonna get a bit more personal here, but this is important and related, too.  Women read everything that men read.  No, really.  If a woman says she’s read a book, she probably did!  And if she’s bragging and didn’t read it, she’s a liar, but she’s not a “fake geek girl.”  A woman lying about how much of a fan she is is actually the same as a man lying about that.  And don’t come to me with that “she’s just doing it to sound sexy” bullshit like the woman kicked a thousand puppies or something.  Lying isn’t admirable, but don’t act like it’s somehow worse that it’s a woman pretending.  Also, does this even actually happen INQUIRING MINDS NEED TO KNOW

    And personal protip to guys who talk to me about books I love: don’t try to explain them to me.  Don’t try to judge how much of a fan I *really* am.  And don’t act like I’m somehow infringing on your territory.  Books are for everyone!  If I mention that it took me till book 3 to realize Robb Stark didn’t have any POV chapters, don’t try to convince me that he does have two, especially when you just began A Clash of Kings.  If I am purchasing a fantasy book and reply “yes” to “are you a fantasy reader?” your next move is not to name three authors, listen to my reply that I haven’t read their work yet, and then say “well you’re not really a fantasy fan then, are you?”  When I tell you I read and enjoyed many of Orson Scott Card’s books, please don’t immediately launch into “umm didn’t you know he hates gay people?”

    No mansplaining.  I’m going to read these books and I’m going to know things about them and some books I haven’t read yet and things are problematic and I GET IT.  And there are TONS like me.  Deal with it and talk to me like I’m just another person who read these books. 
     
    Everything I just said obviously does not mean that every book read by, written by, or about women is automatic gold.  But please register the fact that I have to even SAY that.  Because “this obviously does not mean that every book read by, written by or about men is automatic gold” sounds fucking RIDICULOUS. 

    So what do we do?  Pick up something with or by women, and talk to them about the books you like.  Shooting something down because it’s about ladies is unacceptable, and so is shooting down ladies talking about your books.  Involving women is just involving people, and when we all understand that, the world will explode with books and book discussions.

    Or at least I hope.