In the past few weeks I have become painfully aware of how integrated my internet experience is. As soon as Kevin and I posted our engagement to Facebook, my news feed became nothing but wedding ads. Ads for dresses and shoes. Ads for engagement rings and wedding bands. Ads for venues and caterers and photographers. Ads for planning services.
This soon leaked out to other websites. No matter where I went, the majority of the advertisements I saw were wedding related. The algorithms knew I was getting married soon, and they seemed to believe that I ceased to have an interest in anything else. Gone was the daily Buffy quote that I so looked forward to on Facebook. In it's place was an announcement about some sale at David's Bridal.
Then something really strange happened. I had been poking around some department store websites to see if it would even be possible to find a reasonable wedding dress in the $200 - $400 range. I'm a long way from trying anything on, but I have some ideas about what I want, and I wanted to see how close those matched up to reality. To my surprise, I found a dress for less than $200 that I really liked. I sent a link to it to Sarah.
And then I started seeing it everywhere. Every time I logged on to Facebook, that dress was in one of the ads on the side. When I went to other sites, blogs I frequent or even news sites, there was a good chance that it would be there as well. This dress started following me around the internet, begging me to buy it.
It's been a couple of weeks, and that has mostly tapered off. I still see it once a day or so, but that's nothing compared to the days after I shared it with Sarah. In its place I'm beginning to get weight loss ads. "Tricks" for losing that extra inch before the big day or whatever. Which is possibly more disturbing.
It's a little frightening to realize the extent to which my online activity is being monitored. All it takes is one IM and suddenly Google knows exactly what wedding dress I'm considering and is trying to shove it down my throat. I'm a little surprised I hadn't noticed before just how pervasive this is. Then again, focusing all of the ads around a single topic makes these things more obvious.
I'm looking forward to the day when I'll have a bit more variety in my online ads again. I doubt I'll ever look at them the same way again, though.
Showing posts with label rant. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rant. Show all posts
Monday, June 3, 2013
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
That Dove Video
Dove recently released a video called "Real Beauty Sketches" that a lot of people are talking about. It's been all over my Facebook feed. So many of my friends are inspired and believe that every woman needs to see this video. It's great if you feel like that, but this video has really been getting under my skin. I'm going to try and gather my thoughts in a coherent way. Just in case you haven't seen it, here's the video in question:
I have a lot of issues with this video. I think the best place to start is my problem with Dove as a company. Over the past few years, they've been striking me as a bit hypocritical. They release videos like this every so often to remind girls that they're more beautiful than they think they are. This one came out in college, and it made a real impression on me.
I knew models were heavily made-up before this. I suspected they were airbrushed. I hadn't realized just how extreme the photoshopping is. Now one of my hobbies is to spot this on magazine covers in the checkout lane at the grocery store. Sometimes the photoshopper didn't do a great job and you can see where the background doesn't quite match up. Other times it's a bit more subtle. Women appear skinnier than they do on TV. Their limbs don't look quite right. They're always a little whiter, especially if they aren't Caucasian.
Dove followed up that video with this one.
Again, I like the message. The beauty industry (and society in general) is trying to sell us on the idea that we need their help to be more attractive. It's great that Dove is pointing a finger at this.
The problem is that Dove is in the same business. They want you to feel bad about yourself so that you'll spend more money on their products. That hasn't changed in the past seven years, and I'd be really surprised if it changed now. As much as Dove wants me to understand that I'm prettier than I think, they also want me to buy an antiperspirant that gives me softer skin when all I actually need is something that will prevent me from sweating.
Maybe I'm jaded, but the entire thing feels like one more marketing scheme. Dove cares more about your self-esteem than all those other beauty companies, so you should give them your money. They actually have you best interests at heart when they're making your skin smoother, your hair bouncier, your armpits prettier (I have serious issues with that campaign).
But the other, deeper, issue I have with all of this is that it continues to play into the idea that the most important thing a woman can be is beautiful. This is everywhere in our society and it's reinforced by these videos. The women in the latest video are reassured when they learn that strangers find them more attractive than they find themselves - though I actually thought that some of the initial sketches showed the more attractive women. The second video reassures us that even models aren't that pretty, so it's okay for us to be slightly less than perfect, too. But only slightly. Notice that the "ugly" pictures are still considered less worthy.
Now there's nothing wrong with wanting to be attractive. Especially since our society makes that such a huge priority. I consider myself a fairly confident person, but I still have issues with how I look. I wish I weighed about thirty pounds less. Strapless tops always make me feel fat because I inevitably spill out of them. I despise my chin. I have a hard time looking at photos of myself. No matter how many times I tell myself that other people don't see what I see I can never seem to see anything else.
All this and I'm actually a pretty conventionally attractive person. I mean, I'm not a super-model, but nor am I a hag.
And for all that my female friends are intelligent, passionate, kind, creative, and all around wonderful human beings, for all the time they spend cooking delicious food, traveling to new places, reading interesting books, and engaging in thought-provoking conversations, I have no doubt many of them suffer from the same insecurities.
The problem, of course, is how much time society spends obsessing about how women look. Never mind that I have a degree in physics, that I have a difficult and interesting job that I'm really good at, that I'm well-read, or that I'm actually pretty good at taking care of my home, my pets, and my finances. I still occasionally feel like a complete failure because I can't seem to lose even five pounds.
Hell. For the past two years I've just been happy if I can get through a month without gaining weight. But I'd be a whole lot happier if I could lose some, too.
Except that, of course, I wouldn't be. It wouldn't fundamentally change who I am or anything about my life if I managed to get back down to a size 6. Society would still be there to tell me that I should lose more weight, dress more stylishly, put on some makeup, and take preemptive action against crow's feet and grey hairs. I'd still know, at least intellectually, that I'm a fairly successful person with a pretty excellent life.
Ninety-five percent of the time I'm happy in my own skin. I remember that other things are more important than my appearance and that the opinions of strangers have no real effect on my life. I focus on my career, I paint my nails bright pink, I get lost in a good book, and I don't think about my chin, or my belly or my thighs. Then something like this comes along and, even though it's telling me that I'm prettier than I think I am, it also reminds me how important it is to be pretty.
I have a lot of issues with this video. I think the best place to start is my problem with Dove as a company. Over the past few years, they've been striking me as a bit hypocritical. They release videos like this every so often to remind girls that they're more beautiful than they think they are. This one came out in college, and it made a real impression on me.
I knew models were heavily made-up before this. I suspected they were airbrushed. I hadn't realized just how extreme the photoshopping is. Now one of my hobbies is to spot this on magazine covers in the checkout lane at the grocery store. Sometimes the photoshopper didn't do a great job and you can see where the background doesn't quite match up. Other times it's a bit more subtle. Women appear skinnier than they do on TV. Their limbs don't look quite right. They're always a little whiter, especially if they aren't Caucasian.
Dove followed up that video with this one.
Again, I like the message. The beauty industry (and society in general) is trying to sell us on the idea that we need their help to be more attractive. It's great that Dove is pointing a finger at this.
The problem is that Dove is in the same business. They want you to feel bad about yourself so that you'll spend more money on their products. That hasn't changed in the past seven years, and I'd be really surprised if it changed now. As much as Dove wants me to understand that I'm prettier than I think, they also want me to buy an antiperspirant that gives me softer skin when all I actually need is something that will prevent me from sweating.
Maybe I'm jaded, but the entire thing feels like one more marketing scheme. Dove cares more about your self-esteem than all those other beauty companies, so you should give them your money. They actually have you best interests at heart when they're making your skin smoother, your hair bouncier, your armpits prettier (I have serious issues with that campaign).
But the other, deeper, issue I have with all of this is that it continues to play into the idea that the most important thing a woman can be is beautiful. This is everywhere in our society and it's reinforced by these videos. The women in the latest video are reassured when they learn that strangers find them more attractive than they find themselves - though I actually thought that some of the initial sketches showed the more attractive women. The second video reassures us that even models aren't that pretty, so it's okay for us to be slightly less than perfect, too. But only slightly. Notice that the "ugly" pictures are still considered less worthy.
Now there's nothing wrong with wanting to be attractive. Especially since our society makes that such a huge priority. I consider myself a fairly confident person, but I still have issues with how I look. I wish I weighed about thirty pounds less. Strapless tops always make me feel fat because I inevitably spill out of them. I despise my chin. I have a hard time looking at photos of myself. No matter how many times I tell myself that other people don't see what I see I can never seem to see anything else.
All this and I'm actually a pretty conventionally attractive person. I mean, I'm not a super-model, but nor am I a hag.
And for all that my female friends are intelligent, passionate, kind, creative, and all around wonderful human beings, for all the time they spend cooking delicious food, traveling to new places, reading interesting books, and engaging in thought-provoking conversations, I have no doubt many of them suffer from the same insecurities.
The problem, of course, is how much time society spends obsessing about how women look. Never mind that I have a degree in physics, that I have a difficult and interesting job that I'm really good at, that I'm well-read, or that I'm actually pretty good at taking care of my home, my pets, and my finances. I still occasionally feel like a complete failure because I can't seem to lose even five pounds.
Hell. For the past two years I've just been happy if I can get through a month without gaining weight. But I'd be a whole lot happier if I could lose some, too.
Except that, of course, I wouldn't be. It wouldn't fundamentally change who I am or anything about my life if I managed to get back down to a size 6. Society would still be there to tell me that I should lose more weight, dress more stylishly, put on some makeup, and take preemptive action against crow's feet and grey hairs. I'd still know, at least intellectually, that I'm a fairly successful person with a pretty excellent life.
Ninety-five percent of the time I'm happy in my own skin. I remember that other things are more important than my appearance and that the opinions of strangers have no real effect on my life. I focus on my career, I paint my nails bright pink, I get lost in a good book, and I don't think about my chin, or my belly or my thighs. Then something like this comes along and, even though it's telling me that I'm prettier than I think I am, it also reminds me how important it is to be pretty.
Thursday, September 27, 2012
Microaggressions
They're the little annoyances we deal with every day. The things we mostly just shrug off because they happen so damn often that we've basically come to expect them. Over time they add up, drain us of our energy. And every now and then you get a day like today when they all happen at once and it feels like the universe (or half of it) is out to get you personally.
The man who walks directly at me on a wide-open sidewalk and snickers each time I change course to avoid crashing into him.
The man who sits next to me on the metro and spreads his legs as wide as possible so I'm crammed up against the wall.
The man who brushes up against me and "accidentally" touches my ass in the crowd to leave the metro station.
The homeless guy, calling me "pretty girl" in an effort to get my attention so he can sell me a copy of Street Sense.
The guy on the park bench who whistles when I walk past.
The man who leers at me as if I can't see him, or maybe just doesn't care that I can.
And then the asshole at the end of it all. Yelling at me to smile; life isn't that bad. Getting angry when I walk past him without acknowledgement. Offering me a dollar if I'll just smile for him. Continuing to shout at me as I do my best to ignore him. But it is my face, damn it, and I will look tired or angry if that's how I feel, and I will smile if I feel like smiling but not because some stranger wants me to.
Taken individually, each of these is a minor incident. Something I'm able to brush off as I go about my day. At least one of these things happens every day, and every one of them has happened before today. If I got angry every time I'd never be anything but angry. This is the world we live in, where men feel like their mere existence gives them some right to a piece of the women around them.
So we learn to ignore the unwanted attention, the trespasses on personal space, the judgement based on looks alone, the infantalizing comments. Because saying something would likely result in escalation, increase our risk. It's easier, safer, to just pretend it didn't happen.
But then a day like this happens, and I'm exhausted before I even get to work. It's days like this that I wish I never had to leave my house. Or that I was actually invisible. Or that I could just make all the men disappear.
It days like this that I actually have to say something. Because these so-called microaggressions are a big deal. They add up to so much more than the sum of the parts, reinforcing the idea that women exist for men to look at, comment on, toy with, touch, possess. That we should be grateful for the attention. That our feelings don't matter. That we are worth less. And that attitude needs to stop.
The man who walks directly at me on a wide-open sidewalk and snickers each time I change course to avoid crashing into him.
The man who sits next to me on the metro and spreads his legs as wide as possible so I'm crammed up against the wall.
The man who brushes up against me and "accidentally" touches my ass in the crowd to leave the metro station.
The homeless guy, calling me "pretty girl" in an effort to get my attention so he can sell me a copy of Street Sense.
The guy on the park bench who whistles when I walk past.
The man who leers at me as if I can't see him, or maybe just doesn't care that I can.
And then the asshole at the end of it all. Yelling at me to smile; life isn't that bad. Getting angry when I walk past him without acknowledgement. Offering me a dollar if I'll just smile for him. Continuing to shout at me as I do my best to ignore him. But it is my face, damn it, and I will look tired or angry if that's how I feel, and I will smile if I feel like smiling but not because some stranger wants me to.
Taken individually, each of these is a minor incident. Something I'm able to brush off as I go about my day. At least one of these things happens every day, and every one of them has happened before today. If I got angry every time I'd never be anything but angry. This is the world we live in, where men feel like their mere existence gives them some right to a piece of the women around them.
So we learn to ignore the unwanted attention, the trespasses on personal space, the judgement based on looks alone, the infantalizing comments. Because saying something would likely result in escalation, increase our risk. It's easier, safer, to just pretend it didn't happen.
But then a day like this happens, and I'm exhausted before I even get to work. It's days like this that I wish I never had to leave my house. Or that I was actually invisible. Or that I could just make all the men disappear.
It days like this that I actually have to say something. Because these so-called microaggressions are a big deal. They add up to so much more than the sum of the parts, reinforcing the idea that women exist for men to look at, comment on, toy with, touch, possess. That we should be grateful for the attention. That our feelings don't matter. That we are worth less. And that attitude needs to stop.
Friday, July 27, 2012
Initial Thoughts on Ready Player One
I'm only about 50 pages (4 chapters) in to Ready Player One, but I already have lots of thoughts about it.
I'm mostly enjoying it so far. The introduction and first chapter completely hooked me. I'm excited to see where this goes and how it plays out. The premise is lots of fun. The world is richly detailed. It's an apocalyptic future I can really see happening.
But the writing is clunky. Once the second chapter hits the plot basically stops so Cline can give the reader an extended info dump about this world he's created. Rather than revealing details subtly through action and dialogue, he just lays it all out. More than once I wanted to reach through the pages to remind him that the joke isn't funny if you have to explain it.
I liked the detail that Wade Watts' dad named him that because alliterative names reminded him of superhero alter egos. It was a great way to round out a character we never meet, breathe some life into him. And I thought Wade's avatar handle, Parzival, was clever. But then Cline spent a page explaining Percival's part in the Grail Quest and I felt my eyes glazing over. A well-read reader will get the reference. An intelligent reader with a spark of curiosity will look it up. Someone who doesn't care simply won't care. The author doesn't need to spoon-feed his readers like this.
Maybe it's just because I'm used to authors who expect a bit more from their readers. I just finished Dune which is a rich and subtle book. I'm nearly finished with my third or fourth read-through of Neil Gaiman's Sandman series and I'm still catching new references. I like authors who drop these things in their books as easter eggs for their readers. It makes reading more fun.
But Cline has to point out and explain all of his references. Even though one of the characters actually says "I mean, did you ever hear of Wikipedia? It's free", he doesn't trust the reader to get the hint. And I can't be the only person who now reads books with my phone close at hand so I can Google words I don't understand or references that sound half familiar.
Of course, all of this sort of makes sense with the narrator he's created. Wade is very much an 18 year old boy, with the vocabulary and ego to match. So maybe this can be written off as character building rather than world-building. But even then, he shouldn't have to break down acronyms like XPs and MMOs. Every character in the book should know what these are, given the setting. And any reader who doesn't know probably has no business reading a book about a video game that has more or less taken over the world.
I also don't need to be told how to pronounce Art3mis; that requires only the most passing knowledge of leetspeak. You don't even need to know what it's called to work out that the 3 is standing in for the letter e. And the pronunciation of Aech ought to have been clear from Wade's penchant for calling the guy names like Harry, Henry, and Humperdinck.
This is getting ranty. I do like the book. I'm just frustrated by its lack of subtlety. But then certain passages make up for it. The argument Wade and Aech get in to about Star Wars and whether or not Ladyhawke is a worthwhile movie was a lot of fun to read. Even though I hadn't heard of Ladyhawke, I was able to figure out what I needed to know from context. I just wish Cline trusted the reader a little more to figure these things out for themself.
I'm mostly enjoying it so far. The introduction and first chapter completely hooked me. I'm excited to see where this goes and how it plays out. The premise is lots of fun. The world is richly detailed. It's an apocalyptic future I can really see happening.
But the writing is clunky. Once the second chapter hits the plot basically stops so Cline can give the reader an extended info dump about this world he's created. Rather than revealing details subtly through action and dialogue, he just lays it all out. More than once I wanted to reach through the pages to remind him that the joke isn't funny if you have to explain it.
I liked the detail that Wade Watts' dad named him that because alliterative names reminded him of superhero alter egos. It was a great way to round out a character we never meet, breathe some life into him. And I thought Wade's avatar handle, Parzival, was clever. But then Cline spent a page explaining Percival's part in the Grail Quest and I felt my eyes glazing over. A well-read reader will get the reference. An intelligent reader with a spark of curiosity will look it up. Someone who doesn't care simply won't care. The author doesn't need to spoon-feed his readers like this.
Maybe it's just because I'm used to authors who expect a bit more from their readers. I just finished Dune which is a rich and subtle book. I'm nearly finished with my third or fourth read-through of Neil Gaiman's Sandman series and I'm still catching new references. I like authors who drop these things in their books as easter eggs for their readers. It makes reading more fun.
But Cline has to point out and explain all of his references. Even though one of the characters actually says "I mean, did you ever hear of Wikipedia? It's free", he doesn't trust the reader to get the hint. And I can't be the only person who now reads books with my phone close at hand so I can Google words I don't understand or references that sound half familiar.
Of course, all of this sort of makes sense with the narrator he's created. Wade is very much an 18 year old boy, with the vocabulary and ego to match. So maybe this can be written off as character building rather than world-building. But even then, he shouldn't have to break down acronyms like XPs and MMOs. Every character in the book should know what these are, given the setting. And any reader who doesn't know probably has no business reading a book about a video game that has more or less taken over the world.
I also don't need to be told how to pronounce Art3mis; that requires only the most passing knowledge of leetspeak. You don't even need to know what it's called to work out that the 3 is standing in for the letter e. And the pronunciation of Aech ought to have been clear from Wade's penchant for calling the guy names like Harry, Henry, and Humperdinck.
This is getting ranty. I do like the book. I'm just frustrated by its lack of subtlety. But then certain passages make up for it. The argument Wade and Aech get in to about Star Wars and whether or not Ladyhawke is a worthwhile movie was a lot of fun to read. Even though I hadn't heard of Ladyhawke, I was able to figure out what I needed to know from context. I just wish Cline trusted the reader a little more to figure these things out for themself.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Setback
It turns out that in Blogger, Ctrl +z does not mean undo. For some incomprehensible reason, it means delete my entire post. The fact that Blogger auto-saves every thirty seconds makes this "feature" fairly disastrous.
Also, the mobile app I downloaded is refusing to sync with the site, so I can no longer use it to edit posts.
Stupid Blogger.
Also, the mobile app I downloaded is refusing to sync with the site, so I can no longer use it to edit posts.
Stupid Blogger.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Worse Than Talking to a Brick Wall
I ordered some stuff from Amazon, but accidentally had it sent to my old address instead of my current one. I tried calling USPS to figure out where my package is and how to get it.
Here's how that phone call went
Moral of the story: double check your address before using Amazon's handy one-click feature. Also, computers don't care if you yell at them.
Here's how that phone call went
Thank you for calling USPS. For information about hours and locations, please say "locations". To track a package, please say -There are few things I hate more than these machines that you actually have to talk to.
Oh my God
I'm sorry, I didn't catch that
Hmm?
I'm sorry, I didn't catch that. Please repeat your selection
What? No
Did you say-?
NO
*pause*
For information about hours and locations, please say "locations". To track a package, please say "track package"
Track package
To track a package, please say your label or tracking number
<FYI, this number is 20 digits long> xxxxx
I'm sorry I can't find any information on that package. To track a package, please say your label or tracking number
This time, I typed it in
I'm sorry I can't find any information on that package. To track a package, please say your label or tracking number
Let me speak to a person
To track a package -
I want to speak to a person
To track -
No, let me talk to a person. A human.
To end this call please hang up
I don't want to. I want to talk to a person. Please. Person. Human
To end this call, please hang up
Menu?
To end this call, please hang up
*click*
Moral of the story: double check your address before using Amazon's handy one-click feature. Also, computers don't care if you yell at them.
Friday, April 15, 2011
Beware Of Chicken
News on the radio just gave me a "fun fact that will make you want to be a vegetarian". Turns out 1 out of every 4 chickens tested in the supermarket has drug-resistant bacteria that can make you sick!
My reaction: Um, haven't we known this forever? Isn't that what fire is for?
The reporter went on to say that properly cooking the chicken will kill all the bacteria.
So yeah, this just in. Raw chicken could make you sick. Because that's news.
Sometimes I hate the media
My reaction: Um, haven't we known this forever? Isn't that what fire is for?
The reporter went on to say that properly cooking the chicken will kill all the bacteria.
So yeah, this just in. Raw chicken could make you sick. Because that's news.
Sometimes I hate the media
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Parched at the Birchmere
Last night we went to The Birchmere in Arlington to see an acapella group competition. Boyfriend's sister was in one of the competing groups. All in all the night was a lot of fun. All of the groups were good (except one that basically sounded like N*SYNC), and I got to see a barbershop quartet perform. They were definitely the highlight of the evening, winning both the competition and audience favorite. Boyfriend's sister was really good, too. They won a prize for best original arrangement.
The venue seemed great. It was general admission seating, but there wasn't really a bad seat in the house. We got there at 5 (for a 7:30 show) and had a pitcher of beer while we waited for the doors to open. We ate dinner during the show ($15 for chicken tenders) and shared several more pitchers of beer.
After the show, I went in search of water. Six hours and all that beer had left me rather dehydrated and I was starting to get a headache. I made my way to the bathrooms, because that's where the drinking fountains live. Except there wasn't one. So I asked an usher to point me to the drinking fountain. She told me there wasn't one on the premises.
Confused, parched, and with a sinking feeling, I made my way to the bar. "Can I have a glass of water?" I asked the bartender.
"We only have bottled"
"I just want some tap water."
"Sorry, I can't give you any."
Does this seem strange to anyone else? Like possibly bordering on illegal? Between my ticket, food, and beer I had spent nearly $100 at this place and they were refusing to give me a glass of water.
I ended up in the bathroom drinking from the tap.
And so, despite a great show at a mostly awesome venue, I really don't think I'll be going back to the Birchmere. The lack of water completely ruined it.
PS They won't let you bring your own water, either.
The venue seemed great. It was general admission seating, but there wasn't really a bad seat in the house. We got there at 5 (for a 7:30 show) and had a pitcher of beer while we waited for the doors to open. We ate dinner during the show ($15 for chicken tenders) and shared several more pitchers of beer.
After the show, I went in search of water. Six hours and all that beer had left me rather dehydrated and I was starting to get a headache. I made my way to the bathrooms, because that's where the drinking fountains live. Except there wasn't one. So I asked an usher to point me to the drinking fountain. She told me there wasn't one on the premises.
Confused, parched, and with a sinking feeling, I made my way to the bar. "Can I have a glass of water?" I asked the bartender.
"We only have bottled"
"I just want some tap water."
"Sorry, I can't give you any."
Does this seem strange to anyone else? Like possibly bordering on illegal? Between my ticket, food, and beer I had spent nearly $100 at this place and they were refusing to give me a glass of water.
I ended up in the bathroom drinking from the tap.
And so, despite a great show at a mostly awesome venue, I really don't think I'll be going back to the Birchmere. The lack of water completely ruined it.
PS They won't let you bring your own water, either.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
I'm Aware Already!
Note: It's a rant-y day. I'm sorry
There's another girl's only breast cancer awareness meme going around Facebook. This time instead of the color of your bra (which I did participate in last year), you're supposed to put a fruit in your status, indicating your relationship status. Here's the secret code if you care:
The main problem is that it excludes men. The girl's only attitude implies that breast cancer is a female disease, which isn't true. Men have breasts, and, like women they can get cancer there. Yes, women are more likely to get it, but excluding men from the awareness campaign is awful. It makes it look like an us vs them issue (shhh, don't tell the boys!), when in fact we're all in it together.
I'm also a little mad because March isn't even Breast Cancer Awareness Month. October is. I mean, the whole "let's be aware of something for a month" is a little ridiculous anyway. There are more than twelve things we should be aware of, and we should probably be aware of them all the time, not just for a fraction of the year. In fact, I found this compilation of all the different causes each month is dedicated to. It's getting a bit out of hand.
Back to the point. As far as I'm aware March is Women's History Month. Now I know my breasts are an important part of who I am as a woman, and I would probably suffer a crisis of identity if I lost one or both of them. Our concept of self is very much tied to our physical bodies, and there's certainly enough societal pressure telling us that women have boobs and men have balls. I can only imagine how tough it would be to have a body that doesn't match society's expectations of your gender It's something that I've been lucky enough not to experience. I hope I never have to experience it.
As fabulous as my boobs are, they are not my sole defining feature as a woman. So I'm a little upset that Breast Cancer Awareness is trying to steal the spotlight from Women's History Awareness. Breast cancer and women's history are both important topics, and both should get a spotlight. So back off, Breast Cancer. You'll have your turn again in six short months, when even the NFL wears pink for you.
Finally, I feel compelled to point out that all this awareness isn't doing anything other than generating awareness. This isn't exactly a bad thing. But as aware as I am of breast cancer, there doesn't seem to be a whole lot of progress being made. It remains the second most fatal form of cancer for women. It is, of course, equally fatal for men who contract, but they aren't as likely to get it, so they don't die from it quite as often. The death rate and diagnosis rate aren't really decreasing at all.
Awareness is leading to a lot of fear and paranoia. And all those monthly self exams are leading to more false positives than anything else. False positives are expensive and time-consuming to deal with, not to mention the fear and anxiety they cause.
My OB/GYN (who is incredibly smart and up-to-date on research) told me to just skip the monthly self-exam altogether. As a young, healthy woman with no family history of breast cancer, I'm better off just letting him check for lumps during my annual exam. Women over 40 should be getting annual mammograms. And clearly if you're high risk, you should talk to your doctor about all of this. But if you aren't, then you probably don't have much to worry about.
All the propaganda is probably just making you needlessly fearful about your own risk. Take a deep breath, talk to your doctor, do some research (as in, peer-reviewed medical articles) and calm down. Know what you're actually at risk for. Personally, I'm far more likely to get skin cancer. Where's the meme for that?
There's another girl's only breast cancer awareness meme going around Facebook. This time instead of the color of your bra (which I did participate in last year), you're supposed to put a fruit in your status, indicating your relationship status. Here's the secret code if you care:
Blueberry: I'm singleLet's skip right past "Lemon" and on to the other problems with this. As I said, I did participate in this last year. It was simple and silly, so why not? But I've since done some research and now, armed with a bit more knowledge and perspective, I'm becoming more and more bothered by this meme.
Pineapple: it's complicated
Raspberry: I'm a touch and go woman
Apple: Engaged
Cherry: In a relationship
Banana: I'm married
Avocado: I'm the "other one"
Strawberry: Can't find the right one
Lemon: Wish I was single
Grape: Wants to get married.
Passion fruit: Widowed
Peach: Same sex partnership/Domestic Partners
The main problem is that it excludes men. The girl's only attitude implies that breast cancer is a female disease, which isn't true. Men have breasts, and, like women they can get cancer there. Yes, women are more likely to get it, but excluding men from the awareness campaign is awful. It makes it look like an us vs them issue (shhh, don't tell the boys!), when in fact we're all in it together.
I'm also a little mad because March isn't even Breast Cancer Awareness Month. October is. I mean, the whole "let's be aware of something for a month" is a little ridiculous anyway. There are more than twelve things we should be aware of, and we should probably be aware of them all the time, not just for a fraction of the year. In fact, I found this compilation of all the different causes each month is dedicated to. It's getting a bit out of hand.
Back to the point. As far as I'm aware March is Women's History Month. Now I know my breasts are an important part of who I am as a woman, and I would probably suffer a crisis of identity if I lost one or both of them. Our concept of self is very much tied to our physical bodies, and there's certainly enough societal pressure telling us that women have boobs and men have balls. I can only imagine how tough it would be to have a body that doesn't match society's expectations of your gender It's something that I've been lucky enough not to experience. I hope I never have to experience it.
As fabulous as my boobs are, they are not my sole defining feature as a woman. So I'm a little upset that Breast Cancer Awareness is trying to steal the spotlight from Women's History Awareness. Breast cancer and women's history are both important topics, and both should get a spotlight. So back off, Breast Cancer. You'll have your turn again in six short months, when even the NFL wears pink for you.
Finally, I feel compelled to point out that all this awareness isn't doing anything other than generating awareness. This isn't exactly a bad thing. But as aware as I am of breast cancer, there doesn't seem to be a whole lot of progress being made. It remains the second most fatal form of cancer for women. It is, of course, equally fatal for men who contract, but they aren't as likely to get it, so they don't die from it quite as often. The death rate and diagnosis rate aren't really decreasing at all.
Awareness is leading to a lot of fear and paranoia. And all those monthly self exams are leading to more false positives than anything else. False positives are expensive and time-consuming to deal with, not to mention the fear and anxiety they cause.
My OB/GYN (who is incredibly smart and up-to-date on research) told me to just skip the monthly self-exam altogether. As a young, healthy woman with no family history of breast cancer, I'm better off just letting him check for lumps during my annual exam. Women over 40 should be getting annual mammograms. And clearly if you're high risk, you should talk to your doctor about all of this. But if you aren't, then you probably don't have much to worry about.
All the propaganda is probably just making you needlessly fearful about your own risk. Take a deep breath, talk to your doctor, do some research (as in, peer-reviewed medical articles) and calm down. Know what you're actually at risk for. Personally, I'm far more likely to get skin cancer. Where's the meme for that?
Grrrr
I was supposed to get the Middleman comic book today. I watched the show back when it originally aired. When the series finale was released in comic book form, I was initially really excited. But then the local comic book store didn't have it, and I kind of forgot about it.
Life was busy. I had work and was trying to make a new life for myself in Boulder. So getting my hands on the comic book kind of fell by the wayside. I remembered it once and went on Amazon.com, but the small supply had jacked the price up to $70, which I wans't willing to pay.
This weekend, I got tax refund #1 (which I should have gotten a year ago) and went on Amazon.comto buy the complete series of Battlestar Galactica. I had recently been watching my Middleman DVDs while I was cleaning and I suddenly remembered the comic book. I checked and the price was a far more reasonable $7.95, so I jumped on it.
For whatever reason, Amazon.com decided to ship my comic book separately from my BSG DVDs. And not even just in a separate package, but through a different carrier.
So I got the confirmation that my package had been delivered today and rushed home to find out what happens to Wendy, Tyler, Lacy and the rest. While the DVDs had arrived at my front door, the comic book was delivered to the office.
The office that closes at 5.
Which is useless when you get home at 6:30.
I guess I'll just have to find something else to do with my evening. Life is so hard.
Life was busy. I had work and was trying to make a new life for myself in Boulder. So getting my hands on the comic book kind of fell by the wayside. I remembered it once and went on Amazon.com, but the small supply had jacked the price up to $70, which I wans't willing to pay.
This weekend, I got tax refund #1 (which I should have gotten a year ago) and went on Amazon.comto buy the complete series of Battlestar Galactica. I had recently been watching my Middleman DVDs while I was cleaning and I suddenly remembered the comic book. I checked and the price was a far more reasonable $7.95, so I jumped on it.
For whatever reason, Amazon.com decided to ship my comic book separately from my BSG DVDs. And not even just in a separate package, but through a different carrier.
So I got the confirmation that my package had been delivered today and rushed home to find out what happens to Wendy, Tyler, Lacy and the rest. While the DVDs had arrived at my front door, the comic book was delivered to the office.
The office that closes at 5.
Which is useless when you get home at 6:30.
I guess I'll just have to find something else to do with my evening. Life is so hard.
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