Why Valentine's Day and All the Other Holidays (Except Hallowe'en) Are Stupid: An Essay

Valentine's Day is dumb. It's a dumb, mean holiday. Thursday, I overheard three different couples arguing (mostly via cell phone) and realized... it's almost That Stupid Holiday again. Now, as you all know, I'm the Twenty-First century Feminist, kicking ass in great shoes, cooking and baking with glee, demanding equal pay for equal work (so there, Sweatervest!), and insisting that someone with male genitalia due his fair share of the vacuuming and toilet scubbing. But I'm all sympathy for the menfolk around Feb 14th. Honestly, haven't you figured it out yet? THIS HOLIDAY IS A TRAP! Because whatever you do, it's not going to meet your female partner's expectations. Not even close. Brought home flowers? She wanted chocolates, babe. Couples' massage? She was hoping for jewelry. Nice dinner out? Wanted you to cook it. And because of the messed up, unwritten rules of this Very Stupid Holiday, we're not allowed to tell you what we want! You're just supposed to know. Because evedence of telepathy shows that you really, really love us. Come ON! Nazis probably invented Valentine's Day.
Also, The Stupidest Holiday Ever is just mean. Single people hate it. Check that: single women hate it. Single men are just hoping that The Mean, Stupid Holiday will have chipped away at single women's self esteem enough that they'll get an easy hook-up tonight. So who likes Valentine's Day? Creepy single men who have little hope of getting any the rest of the year.
In fairness, Tacky Pink-and-Red Holiday isn't the only mean holiday. Pretty much every commercial holiday leaves somebody out. Christmas? Not your favourite holiday if you have a crapload of people on your gift list and a minimum wage income. Thanksgiving? Not the biggest hit with the Native North Americans, I imagine. Easter? It's supposed to be a "spring" holiday, but it just reminds Canadians how long and crappy our winters are? Family Day, Mother's Day, Father's Day, Grandparents' Day? Not hard to figure out who might feel left out on these ones. Canada Day? Not a big hit with the JWs.
So what about Hallowe'en? Diabetics probably don't like this one much. Except that they get to dress up like zombies and exact their revenge on candy-eaters by scaring the crap out of them. Same goes for dentists. Okay, okay JWs aren't big fans of this one either. Still, I gotta say, on balance, Hallowe'en wins the Least Emotionally Damaging Holiday award. Of course, that guy (yup, adult. Grown man.) I made cry at the Fort Edmonton Halowe'en Spooktacular by chasing him with a rotary saw, while wearing a black cloak and goalie mask, probably doesn't agree with me. But at least that psychological damage was all in fun. Crappy Paper Hearts and Stale Cinnamon Candies Day is still in last place in my books.

I Want Your Brains! BraaAAAAAIIIIIIiinnsssss!

Here's the skinny: Trent had a brain child this spring, and now we're trying to get it working. Buckley's Music is donating a guitar to our store. We're going to hang it on the wall next to a donations box and invite customers to play it... for a small donation. Then we're going to match those donations, and the money will go to providing music lessons for kids whose families can't afford to pay for them on their own; the YWCA is going to help us select program participants. All is going well, except we can't think of a clever name for the program. "Music for Youth" is just so prosaic. Little help?

Blog Game

Mkay, I invented a Blog game. Let's play it.
When you go to post a comment to my Blog, you have to enter some letters into a little box so that spam can't get me. Sometimes, the letters form almost-words. So post a comment: copy the almost-word into the body of your comment, then make up a definition for it. I'll go first.
(Procrastinating? Who, me?)

Because, of course, she couldn't have done it all by herself!

While we were in NB a couple of weeks ago, I got a little... shrill when I saw a preview for this summer's next flowsy romantic comedy: Becoming Jane, starring Anne Hathaway as Jane Austen. When I first heard about this film a couple of months ago, I thought, "huh. Wonder what they'll find to make a plot out of." After all, as Austen biographers will tell you, the novelist's life was not exactly exciting. She was devoted to her family, especially her sister, was excited and proud to be making money from her writing, never married, and died at around 40. In fact, her only engagement (the general outline of which was pillaged for the most recent film version of Mansfield Park) was to a friend of her brother--more of a family alliance than a romantic connection--and she changed her mind and broke off the engagement the next day!
Now, don't get me wrong. I know that biopics aren't documentaries--nor should they be. By all means, if you're making a movie or writing a novel about someone else's life, use creative license to make it more interesting. We don't have all access to anyone's life, and to me, creativity is more honest than bare-bones faithfulness to documented facts. Here's what bothers me: why are we still not giving women any credit for independent, creative impulse?! Women are either muse-figures, enhancing the creativity of virile artist-men, or else they're shy, timid creatures who must be awakened to artistic creativity by virile living-life men.
Okay. Take Walk the Line. I like this movie. A lot, and I thought Reese Witherspoon was amazing as June Carter Cash. But take a look at the plot line: crooner with raw talent produces great music all by himself, but has to be reined in by stable, reliable June Carter, who, despite the fact that she was a successful musician in her own right since childhood, is represented as artistically peaking when she wrote more music for her virtuoso husband to sing.
And now, Becoming Jane. The tagline: "Their Love Story Was Her Greatest Inspiration." In other words: poor cloistered, misunderstood Jane has nothing to write about until an unpredictable, virile man shows her how to live. Um... should I even get started on the implicit value of female versus male experience here? Or the assumptions about what enables creativity, and under what circumstances? Why do I suspect that we're not going to see a film any time soon about the woman who enabled Dickens' particular genius?
So, what do you say? Can you think of any movies where the roles are reversed, and where women's life experience enables men to become creative? Or where a strong, creative woman does just fine artistically, but needs life guidance from a stable, reliable man?

Growing Up Is NOT a Good Thing!

The difference between Becca at age 9 and Becca at 29:

You: Don't worry--you'll do fine on your exams. I know it.
Becca, Age 9: Really? Wow, thanks. I feel much better now. Seriously, thanks.
Becca, age 29: What? How can you make a statement like that? Where's your evidence? Are you citing an expert here, or is that your own, unfounded opinion? I don't deal in conjectures bud, I need EVIDENCE! Everyone has an opinion--my dog has an opinion--what you should have learned by now is to support your opinions with facts, quotations, textual support for god's sake. Honestly, an opinion like that, completely unfounded and unsupported is worthless to me. And cite your source. MLA style, please.

... and if they could, can their paws work a mouse to get online?

You know how sometimes, you know what you should do, only it takes someone else to actually say it before you can really resolve on doing it? That's how it was for the Barky Dog situation. I knew that I should just go and talk to my neighbours, and, in fact, Trent and I had already sounded the idea of first asking our other neighbours Danny and Angie what the Barky Dog people are like--but I didn't really have the nerve to do it until you all gave me your brilliant, inspired, mature advice. So. On Thursday, I decided that I would go around and talk to both sets of neighbours on Saturday. Except that, on Friday, the dog didn't start barking until much later in the morning than usual--nearly 8:00 a.m. And on Saturday and Sunday, I didn't hear it at all until the afternoon. And yesterday, not until 7:30 a.m. ... until 8:30 a.m. A little later start than most days, but still, I was all ready to go and talk to neighbours today... except that this morning, the dog didn't bark at all. In fact, I didn't even see it as I left for school. And it wasn't outside when I got home, either. And it's not out now.

Last time Cujo disappeared was after I had called in a midnight noise complaint about it. So maybe one of my other neighbours got tired of the daily Sunrise Serenade. Or maybe the family got sick of that long, twice-daily walk from back door to the end of the driveway to tie up and bring in the dog.

Or...

Are we really sure dogs can't read? ...

Maybe I'm Just a Jerk

Okay. I need advice. Lymburnites and former visitors to Lymburn, do you remember Nana the Barking Dog? Owned by Alex, the Russian pickup-truck-opera-singer? Son-in-law to Smirnoff-Limeric-Guy? Well, there's a dog across the street from us that makes Nana seem... well, downright loveable.

For those of you who haven't been out to visit us, we like in a sort of subdivision in the country. All the lots in our neighbourhood are about an acre. But it's not the country, it is defintely a subdivision. Kitty-corner from us are neighbours that we haven't met yet. They have a big, German-Shepherdish dog. The dog gets tied outside to a short rope near their driveway around 6:30 a.m. every day and stays outside until nighttime. And it barks. All. Day.

Now, this is fairly annoying at 2 p.m. when I'm trying to study, or in the summer when I'm gardening and it's barking at me the whole time, but whatever. I can deal with it. What I'm finding increasingly hard to handle is the unremittant (sp?) 6:30 to 8:30 a.m. barking. Should I mention that I don't have to get out of bed until 8, or 7:15 at the very earliest? So I lie there, tired and cranky for up to an hour and a half, listening to this dog's constant barking until my alarm goes off.

Last summer, I was working at the garden centre in Sackville, a half-hour from the house. Back then, I had to be up shortly after 6 to get to work. One night, while Trent was away on a business trip, I went to bed shortly after 10. Immediately, the dog started barking. And didn't stop until after 1 a.m. Finally, shortly after midnight, almost in tears, I called a noise complaint in to the police. Althought it didn't stop the dog barking that night, I didn't hear the damned beast for over a week after that. Now, you should probably know that I felt terrible about calling the police on my neighbours, especially since I've never met them. It's the first time I've ever done that, and so far, the last... now here's where I need your help.

We only know three of our neighbours really well. Two of the three have mentioned Barking Dog to us--it seems to be a neighbourhood annoyance. And there are other barky dogs around (they're dogs--they bark. I know this, and generally, I consider it a minor nuisance) but none that bark early in the morning, all day long, and sometimes late at night. Also, it makes me angry that these people even have a dog--I've never seen them walk it, and it spends literally all day tied to a short leash. Frankly, I feel sorry for the thing. However, I feel even more sorry for me at this point.

Now. I know that I can sometimes be a little... less than reasonable when things annoy me, so I need some advice here. Do I:

• Call in another noise complaint early one morning?
• Send a letter or email to the noise police and maybe the SPCA?
• Go across the street, introduce myself, and ask them not to let their dog bark in the morning?
• Just learn to deal with it?

Or is there another solution I haven't thought of yet?

The Debate Goes Public

On New Year's Day, I tried to rope you all in to my latest obsession: Battlestar Galactica. Roz, however, expressed her disappointment in my taste, citing her dispproval of television's abundance of beautiful people (does this disapproval apply to Annakin Skywalker, Padme, Aragorn, Eowyn or Arwen, Roz?). She cited a statistic that I'd heard somewhere before:

On average, pretty people earn 12% more than the rest of us. Although this artice states that it's more of a disadvantage to be ugly, rather than an advantage to be pretty.
Meh. Stereotype directionality and attractiveness stereotyping: Is beauty good or is ugly bad? Griffin AM, Langlois JH SOCIAL COGNITION 24 (2): 187-206 APR 2006

To my own great surprise, I find myself siding with the Beautiful People on this one. (What, the anti-Barbie crusader?!) So here are my thoughts on the subject:

Um... Roz? I hate to tell you this (and I'm not just being flattering, I'm being honest), but you hardly qualify as "ugly people." And frankly, if I had to place myself on one side of the line or the other, I'd have to put myself (and you, and Toni, by the way) on the Pretty People side. Maybe it's just because I'm reading Atwood's Survival for my comps right now, but what is it with the impulse to cast ourselves in victim roles? In general, it's an impulse that kind of makes me angry, perhaps because I've been on the ugly end of the victim complex. Twice.

The first time was when a woman from Pakistan (just learning English) didn't understand what I was asking her when I asked for her squid recipe--I was a cashier at IGA. She complained to the store manager that I had made racist remarks about her ethnic food, and I had to apologize or be fired. The second time was when an LGBTQ activist told the Gateway newspaper that I was a homophobe. After I had tried to help him register his organization in order to get campus funding. Don't get me wrong--I'm not trying to tell you that racism, homophobia and unfair advantages for the physically attractive don't exist. I just think that sometimes, our own insecurities make us unduly sensitive.

And yes, there are some pretty people in some of the TV shows that I like to watch, but with the Battlestar Galactica exception of Tricia Helfer, I don't think they're any prettier than the slightly-above-average people I see on a daily basis--by which I mean that I don't think they represent an unhealthy or impossible or unattainable standard of beauty. (I'm as appalled by those scary sticks on the O.C. as much as anyone!) Katee Sackhoff (Starbuck), for instance, has short legs and a bit of a love-handle to her. Edward James Olmos has major skin issues. And the woman who plays the President is an attractive, but very age-appropriate (i.e. NOT plastic-surgeried) 60-ish woman. Frankly, I like looking at a beautiful woman (or man) who doesn't diet to freakdom or undergo unhealthy medical procedures in order to try and be more beautiful. I'd also rather stare out at a great ocean view than, say, at a row of Siding Wonders in east-end Edmonton.

Yes, the people we see on TV are, on the average, more attractive than the people we see in daily life--partly because they have the on-screen advantage of professional stylists, wardrobers, etc. But guess what? The people we see on a university campus are smarter than average. The people we see on professional sports teams are more physically-fit than average.

While I was doing the Play I No Longer Name last fall, I worked with two absolutely beautiful women. Hollywood-pretty. I'm not saying that neither of these women has had a leg up for her looks, so to speak, but I do have to tell you that neither of them are what I would call successful. In fact, I've learned over the past few months that one of them--the more attractive of the two--is so insecure that she makes up bizarre success stories about herself and passes them off as truth.

Not everybody is the same, and certain professions and situations favour certain advantages. We only say it's not fair when those advantages aren't our particular own. How would you feel if, say, you wanted to be a chemist or an engineer, but you had an IQ of 90 or so? Does anybody have stats on IQs, educational levels and lifetime earnings?

I'm not saying, I'm just saying... so what do the rest of you say?