Sexism in Science

I would like to preface my post by stating that I don't demonize the male gender for sexism at its roots or in its extant form. In fact, sociologically, i believe that the traditional gender roles evolved in general without malice. The residue of sexism I also believe is in general without malice. With the exception of a previous venting of frustration on this website a few months ago, I really don't think men mean to be sexist.  I just don't think that men and women are, in general, treated the same, and more specifically and pertinent to me, in science. I don't even think that all of these differences result in disadvantage. I still strive to lessen these differences. I actually have to remind myself to be on the look out for sexism and to resist it because my default position was long that it no longer existed. It was only when it was pointed out to me that I began to recognize it. I stumbled on a C-Span book talk by a woman named Julie Des Jardines about sexism in the sciences, and I found it affirming. I have found myself talking with my labmates about sexism alot lately, being the only girl. Not surprisingly I don't find a lot of (any) support. The argument goes that the particular instances of sexism that I feel I experience are attributed rather to my personality (loud, aggresive, bubbly, boisterous, you've met me, I don't need to go on). When I try to point out sexism, I want to be clear, again that it is not an accusation. I just want to put a lens on it, to draw attention, and to make people aware of their own behaviors and answer the question of their motives themselves. Returning to the question of the cause of my possible experience of sexism, personality or gender, I must submit that I don't know the answer either. I do know there are some really quirky people in my field and my department and many of these quirks are NOT edifying or even pleasant to those of us that have to deal with them, and I wonder if the same expectation is placed on them to change. Again, I don't know the answer to this question, I just want people to think about it and answer for themselves.

Rikki Lake

This Phillipa whats-her-name story has got me to thinking. I've thought about much of this before, and now I think I would like to soliliquize it with you (I think soliloquy means having an imaginary conversation in front of the audience in order to explain stuff, its a theatrical device). Some Hamilton woman has become the frontperson, the spokesman for the industry in this scandal, and she has acknowledged the rotten conditions that exist in fashion and other visual media in the US that created this situation. What she has little done, is use any pronouns of ownership. Everything was explained in the passive voice: this happened, that happened; no 'we did this', 'so and so made this decision'. She has been chided severely for this. In some ways, though, I happen to agree with her, or understand her lack of blame. Its hard to tell the real reason for this obsession with female frailty. It is unfortunately not limited to just these media, every woman I know has a horrible body image. I know two young ladies who weigh 100 lbs or less and still think they are terribly unattractive. I know other average sized women (myself included) who look in the mirror and see obesity. I know some big beautiful women (I hate that expression too, but they are!) who hate themselves as well. It runs the entire range, so it can't actually be based on appearance. It is often not just a passing dissatisfaction, either. I know when I am a few pounds heavier than I'd like (which happens every few years or so, in cycles) I am preoccupied with it, obsessed even. I can think of several months last year when I can honestly say I thought about it all the time. Every one that looked at me, I just knew they were looking at my fat stomach. So what I'm getting at is, the situation is terrible, dire even.

So what, then, shall we say is the cause?

The first answer is usually men. Its easy and obvious and a tempting conclusion to jump to. As in so many other cases, though, I think men are being blamed needlessly (don't worry, I still think some things are their fault). As a rule, I believe that men are far less picky about our bodies than we think. It's not that they don't have standards, or are simply pigs who'll take it wherever they can get it, far from it. I think that men think a far broader range of sizes and shapes are beautiful, and that variety is the spice of life. In fact, most of the men I know prefer that women have more meat on their bones rather than less. I mean, who really wants to have sex with a tree? Cushion for the pushing indeed. I do know a few men who enjoy their women when they look like strippers, porn stars, and retail sales girls, but they tend to be superficial in general and aren't men I care to have looking at me anyway.

I think it is closer to the truth that the pressure to look a certain way that this American Life considers ideal comes much more from other women. Go into any room and try and find one man who could tell you what this season's Dooney and Bourke looks like, I challenge you. Yet I, who would never aspire to own one, and in fact think most of them are ugly (the new Coaches too, but that's not important) could still pick one out at 50 paces and probably even identify a knock-off. I think for the most part, we dress for each other. But I don't think that is root of the problem either.

Now, I don't mean to deny or ignore the obesity problem. It is an epidemic and could be so easily remedied. I also don't completely blame the evolution of body ideals. I know that it is often cited that Marylin Monroe was a size 10, and that much bigger ideals were prized in earlier times, this century even. Women were also trained to sit behind a desk, or at home, or other sedentary places. A more athletic build represents to me a more active and independent woman and I think it is a step forward. However, most of the women to which I am referring are not in these categories and generally don't have these  sorts of exercise, over eating or diet/nutritional problems.

I know where my problem came from. I remember always thinking as a young girl that I was just a little bit fat. I remember this feeling was always reinforced by my mothers (yes I have two, no they're not lesbians). They never let a chance pass to inform me when they thought I didn't look ideal. It ranged from remarks about how much smaller my stomach was when I was on swim team, to dragging me to jazzercise, to less overt things like encouraging me whenever I mentioned my new diet techniques. Now, I never developed a true eating disorder, but many of my friends did. I remember a classmate who had a perfectly lovely, tiny teenage figure who would measure her waste every morning. To this day I still lift my shirt, turn to the side, and suck in my stomach almost every time I'm alone in front of a mirror. Entire generations of women, as young even as me and younger, who's mothers were ERA, bra burning feminists, have still managed to instill in us a need to always strive for thin and perfect. Not only was this behavior reinforced by my (and I'm sure their's) mothers, I never once remember them telling me I was beautiful. That I had a beautiful body. That I was special, or lovely, or unique, or any of the things that I make sure to tell all the young ladies in my life. Starting at a very young age I tell them how beautiful they are, and not to let anyone tell them any different. And they are! Now, I know I am biased, but statistically it would be unlikely that all the young ladies I know are as beautiful as I think they are. Unless we adopt a new vision of beauty. I know its cheezy, but I really love that song by Christina Aguilera "beautiful" because it sums up my opinion about beauty. Not just that we should pretend that everyone is beautiful just to be nice, but that everyone IS beautiful and if we believe it, it will become real for us and we will see it (all my neices do look like they fell off a cloud, though. I'm not gonna lie to ya).

Identifying the source of the problem still doesn't say how we are going to solve it. There are more plus sized models, more bbw advocates, and more legal policies to support a womans right to be big. But the regular models just keep getting thinner, almost like a pendulum effect. I know i can vote with my dollar on this one, but I absolutely don't know how. Should I boycott Ralph Lauren? Done, I haven't bought Ralph Lauren in years. Abercrombie and Fitch, Calvin Klein, Bebe, BCBG, the GAP? All done. The last pair of jeans I bought came from Fred Meyer, and Walmart before that. I was thinking I would have a good parting thought, a solution, an opinion (they are like assholes afterall), but I really am at a loss. How do we change this?

Amber is the color of her energy (puke)

So lots of girls have songs with their name in it:

Rosanna, Amy, Sara, Angie, you get the idea.

For a while I thought the only song with my name in it was that lame 311 song i used in the title of this blog.

So i decided to look into it further and the results were a bit sad. I found a few more songs. Theres this really disturbing one by a band i never heard of: The Quinns

well she has all day
but she takes all night
and she has her way
when we have fights
she won't stop
even if the tears are streaming down
and when she's angry enough
well she'll call the whole g*ddamn town

so i said amber calls me
calls me on the telephone
and she spends all night
tellin' me how she's alone

so she calls me up
(hey when'd she call you man?)
oh, it was about half-passed nine
(was it really that late? what happened?)
so i asked her out
(hey man what'd she say? what'd she say?)
oh-but I got denied!
(oh shit!)
yeah she'll call back and tell me
tell me all about her day
it's like she's sleep-talkin'
cause i can't understand a single word she say

so i said amber calls me
calls me on the telephone
and she spends all night
tellin' me how she's alone

i tell you she's a beast
no she won't let me sleep
the ideas come out
no secrets she will keep
she goes on and on about the dumbest things i've ever heard
and once again it's like she's sleep-talkin'
cause i can't understand a single word
sleepless morning, can't stop yawning
can't she please let me rest

so we make our way to the beach
bottles of rum sitting in the back seat
to there's a spot that we was last week
no time for talking so baby don't speak
and she gets wet when we find the water
when we boat with you we find your daughter
there's rum right 'round your head
while we bangin' doggy 'gainst the bed

she won't stop
even if the tears are streaming down
and when she's angry enough
well she'll call the whole g*ddamn town

so i said amber calls me
calls me on the telephone
and she spends all night
tellin' me how she's alone

(alright) i said amber calls me
calls me on the telephone
and she spends all night
tellin' me how she's alone

(I said)

amber calls me
amber calls me
amber calls me
amber calls me
amber calls me
amber calls me
amber calls me

So there's that. Its really not a very nice song.

I had high hopes for this one by Metallica:

Get in bed with your own kind
Live your life so you don't see mine
Drape your back so you won't shine

Ooh then she holds my hand
And I lie to get a smile

Using what I want
To get what you want

Ooh sweet amber
How sweet are you?
How sweet does it get?

Chase the rabbit, fetch the stick
She rolls me over 'till I'm sick
She deals in habits, deals in pain
I run away, but I'm back again

Ooh then she holds my hand
And I lie to get a smile
And she squeezes tighter
I still lie to get a smile

She holds the pen that spells the end
She traces me and draws me in

I think this one is about drugs.

So there you have it. The only love song with my name in it is a lame one by 311:

BRAINSTORM
Take me away from the norm
I've got to tell you something..
This phenomenon
I had to put it in a song,
and it goes like:

Whoa
Amber is the color of your energy
Whoa
Shades of gold displayed naturally

You ought to know what brings me here
You glide through my head blind to fear,
and I know why-

Whoa
Amber is the color of your energy
Whoa
Shades of gold displayed naturally

Whoa
Amber is the color of your energy
Whoa
Shades of gold displayed naturally

You live too far away
Your voice rings like a bell anyway
Don't give up your independence
unless it feels so right
Nothing good comes easily;
Sometimes you've got to fight

Whoa
Amber is the color of your energy
Whoa
Shades of gold displayed naturally

Launched a thousand ships in my heart, so easy
Still, it's fine from afar, and you know that

Whoa
Brainstorm
Take me away from the norm
Whoa
I've got to tell you something

So if you like me write a song about me

heaven and hell

As much as i believe in God and all that, I've always had a problem with the idea of Hell. I wrote a long time ago about the death penalty, and I have a similar feeling. In that case, i agree with the death penalty in theory, but on an individual basis I still have a hard time wishing it on anybody. As I said I feel the same way about hell. I agree with the idea of hell in theory: there are people out that there that live completely unredeeming lives. They spend their time here on the earthly plane bringing pain, suffering, and misery to innocent people who just wish to go about their lives in peace. 

I think its the hindis or the buddhists who believe that reincarnation is merely a function of self improvement. It exists as a chance to extend the purification of the soul when such endeavors cant be completed during a single lifetime. I like that idea, that you cant escape destiny and the cycle of life and death. 

I also like to think that such a cycle is for everyone, not just a chosen few. When I say everyone, I mean everyone. 

There are whispers around the dogmatic 'water cooler' that a gospel exists that was left out that suggests that hell isn't totally really real. The rumor is that if everyone who's not in hell asks, hell will be emptied and everyone let out. I don't exactly believe in that either, but it opened the door to a progressive idea of hell. For some, the process of self improvement, purification of the soul, involves some imposed, confined, dedicated thinking time. Also known as prison. This theory isn't perfect, as prison is also not perfect. If the universe included an idea of prison in its plan, why is it such a foul place? why does it seem that it concentrates criminals rather than rehabilitating them? I don't know. But prison does help some people, arguably in a way that nothing else could. 

But what about the people who some how manage to escape prison? Their whole lives, they evade capture and, it seems, die by the sword rather than pay for their crimes. 

Maybe thats what hell is, a sort of afterlife prison. I find that notion satisfying for several reasons. First, it means that there is redemption for all, not just some, that we all are subject to the same rules and restrictions, no matter what, but that we also have the same opportunities. No one can escape the universe. Second, it means that hell is not permanent. I'm not sure which scares me more: the idea that heaven is forever or that hell is. 

So on to heaven. When I was young I used to get scared in my room a night, thinking the dull roar of the city i heard through my window was an earthquake on its way to annihilate existence. I even had a fantasy that an airplane could escape the destruction. I know there were other things that scared me, but what REALLY scared me was heaven. I was sent to Christian day care until 5th or 6th grade and went to sunday services till about that time as well. I grew up believing without question the doctrine as written by the baptists, including the notion of everlasting life in the presence of our lord in eternal perfection. Frankly I'll pass. I do not want to live forever in any form and I can't understand why all the rest of these zealots work so hard trying to earn it. I so strongly do not want to live forever that if i ever wanted to freak myself out all i had to do was imagine living forever and never dying. 

So when I finally started to rethink the doctrine and develop my own personal dogma, one of the first things i got rid of is that notion of forever. I wanna die someday. Not just leaving my earthly coil, I want the light that is my soul to someday flicker out and be no more. Seriously.

Now just what is this heaven place? I have no problem imagining that it is perfect and endless and without flaw, that sounds fun and all. But that sounds like the universe to me. All of Gods (or whoever) wonders are supposed to exist in this, boundless, universe, so why bother creating another place that fits the same description just to stick our souls in it? Besides, I won't be done exploring this one when I die, not by a long shot. I wanna know what the ef is out there, I have a lot of questions I want answered. So I thought that would be a much better heaven, for me anyway. Just let my soul have free reign of this universe, flying around at multiple warp speeds checking out what there is to see. Not quite in the way of ghostiness, that seems too tied to corporeal time and place. Then, after a couple millenia of that, once I know if and where the aliens are, what happens in a black hole, and who killed kennedy (and who was behind 9/11) for that matter, then I'll voluntary lay down for the big sleep. 

So there you have it: Hell is an afterlife prison, and Heaven is just flying around the universe and exploring till you get tired.

i am whatever you say i am

I'm really tired of people having opinions about who I am lately. For a while I thought it was because I'm a woman, and I still think thats part of it. I've discovered that the general male attitude deems that we are not allowed to exceed them in any way, at all, whatsoever, at any time. But if we do, then they expect you to apologize for it constantly. In general I find myself apologizing for who I am alot. That would be okay except I'm not really sorry. People like to point out to me alot that I'm loud, bossy, opinionated, whatever, you know the drill. You all know me so its not like its new information. But whenever people, including people I consider my friends, point these things out, they always refer to them as bad things. They further act like they're doing me some favor by being my friend in spite of them. To the point that I feel like I have to apologize. Just once I would like someone to mention some of these things to me and make me feel like its a good thing. I know in theory that my independence and brain are an asset, that my loud voice and extroversion make me a good leader, and that I can be very charming and charismatic. But no body ever actually treats them that way. This is who I am. I like who I am. So why am I so miserable? Oh, I know why, because I'm fat. Honestly I have lost all semblance of a realistic self image, to the point that I don't know what I look like anymore. I think about it all the time. I was at a barbeque today with my physics club buddies and all I could think about all day was how fat I was and how they all noticed it. In between those thoughts I spent some time on 'ha ha, Amber's so loud, ha ha, Amber's a kook, look at her' because those were some of the supposedly good natured jokes that were going around. The shitty part about my obsession with my weight is I don't even know if its true. I have completely lost touch with reality on that one. Most of the time I'm pretty sure I'm huge and gross and fat, but if thats true, I don't deserve it. I eat really healthy, in my opinion. Even my junk food is either natural or burgerville. My only sin is a little pepsi. Not like those 44 oz ers or anything, just a can or small bottle here and there. The reason I bring my self image up is that sometimes when I'm thinking about how fat I am I convince myself that its a pennance I am paying for all the other blessings in my life. Like I'm smart and successful and motivated and sure of my self and all the other things so it wouldn't be fair for me to have a healthy self image on top of that.

grad school essay: final draft

dating, the final frontier

I really liked the Star Trek movie. Really liked it. Alot. Liked it. A whole really lot. I even got a heavy crush on Zachary Quinto/Spock afterwards. At first it was fun, I was just happy to be having a crush again. The last couple months I have been getting over someone (no, you're not vain, this song is about you). This someone wasn't even really a thing, but it hasn't really been a thing, for like, 5 years. I'll admit I've been harboring the secret hope that it might become something during this time and that has kept me rather off the market. So anyway, I was hyped on my Spock Crush. Then it started to scare me a bit. I was thinking about the guy like he was a real person that I was dating. I don't mean that I had daydreams wherein I imagined Syler/Spock/Zachary and I having a romantic picnic on a mother fucking boat yall or anything that borderline psychotic. I mean I was having little flashes of feeling, like when you sense the vibe of someone you're stoked on. Its just momentary thing, a fleeting flash of their essence on your mind. But I think usually I have this feeling about actual people. On top of all that, I think Zach is gay, but thats not important. So I started to take apart this unrealistic crush. I deconstructed and analyzed it. I have a theory about the way I like boys, that all of my methods are just ways that I can be in love without actually being in a relationship. I started to think that I was addicted to the unattainable, and that scared me. After dwelling on that scenario for a while I decided to opt for a more rosy one. I actually met a boy this weekend. I don't think it'll turn into anything; he's not really my type and I don't think I'm his. Interesting sidenote; I hadn't really thought about what preppie boys would think of my tattoos but I got to test that theory. I'm not quite sure what the results were, but thats another blog. Anyway, I did meet a boy, and though I don't think its a big deal, there was some serious flirting exchanged. So what if the mr. rightnow from this weekend and my unhealthy hard on for a vulcan were kind of like transition flings. I never thought I was one for the freudian school of thought, but every now and then I try to actively aknowledge that the mind is capable of much more than we imagine, lots of which is not in our control. So what if these were my brains newborn fawn steps, the first tentative steps at reaching my heart out on 'safe' targets. I think that makes sense. Now I need to meet a real live boy. There'll be plenty of time for that this summer, what with trips to seattle, the beach, and just anything else the weather permits. And if all else fails I can always pay for it when I go to thailand in september.