tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30904234752549089322024-03-14T02:58:17.205-05:00Musings from a Pink SquirrelThoughts, questions, snark. R. R. Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08400145777848602844noreply@blogger.comBlogger56125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3090423475254908932.post-59782530713711432582015-01-09T22:43:00.000-06:002015-01-09T22:43:10.920-06:00Puss n' Boot: Thanks 2015<span style="font-size: large;">I'm not sure exactly what I envisioned for the beginning of 2015, but I'm almost positive it wasn't this.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">One of these things is not like the other...well, none of these things are quite like the others.<br /></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I don't have a good story about the boot. I just got it this evening. I wish I could say it was due to something interesting or admirable or even understandable like ice, but no, just spontaneous genuflecto-dorso-somethingo. It's a big pain-o. Basically, I can't bend my toes because doing so makes me want to cry and break something. The boot prevents that. Luckily, I have a trove of black boots I can wear to complement such an awesome fashion choice. The cat, however, is harder to accessorize. At least it's Friday, and I can work on it over the weekend before going back to work.</span></div>
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R. R. Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08400145777848602844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3090423475254908932.post-47585019418381013842014-12-15T22:13:00.000-06:002014-12-15T22:13:55.264-06:00Cat and DogmaA while back I wrote about my musical version of Carl Rogers. I have a visual CR procession too, and I've had need of it lately. It usually starts with modern sci-fi mixed with classic films like <i>Singin in the Rain </i>(total fave), then it moves onto classic camp like <i>Bewitched</i> or <i>The Brady Bunch;</i> it ends with sci-fi like <i>Star Trek</i> (TOS or TNG) and the Original Trilogy (yes, <i>that</i> original trilogy, there is only one) because few things cheer me up like <i>Star Wars</i> and <i>Star Trek. </i>Seriously, they make my world right...nerd, I know.<br />
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Life has been put into considerable perspective the past few weeks. I have met some amazing people through my program, and I value the knowledge I have received. However, with the possibility of a potentially truncated life expectancy, the absurdity of the past 4 years is nearly intolerable. In general, it is a very bad idea to tell me I cannot do something, unless one is hoping I will succeed, because I take it as a challenge and an attempt to control me. I will not allow others to control me or predict my failure in most situations. Unfortunately, the current situation is something I have minimal say in. At this point, if things don't turn out well, they might be doing me a favor. Nonetheless, I think the most annoying and frustrating part of this process is realizing I may have wasted valuable time (life!) striving to do something I excel at (by all reasonable measure) and love beyond measure simply to be denied based on outdated, asinine academic dogma. It isn't exactly hope inspiring. <br />
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So, here I am, written exams. The photo below is what it looks like, in part, this time. All the requisite items are present: coffee, computer, journal articles, cat, flashcards, study schedule...<br />
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I've got various bits of information on various bits of professional issues in counseling psychology in my head. While I could have held a discussion regarding training, evidence based practice in psychology, practice in small communities, prescriptive authority, multicultural proficiency, counseling competencies, social justice, psychologist involvement in military interrogations, and prevention psychology months ago, I can certainly do so with facility now. I guess we'll find out if I'm facile enough for academic dogma on Thursday...<br />
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<i> </i>R. R. Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08400145777848602844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3090423475254908932.post-71753385743679854472014-09-26T17:53:00.003-05:002014-09-26T17:53:57.931-05:00About that last round...I've had two fairly surreal discussions this past week. One was infinitely more amusing than the other, although as a result I can say I'm put off cowboy boots <i>and</i> g/g sex for a while *revulsion shudder*. Sharkfoxes should never be placed in the context of sex toy use, ever, but especially if it involves another woman and a doubleheader. That's a mental imagine I need to replace...stat!<br />
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As ridiculous and entertaining as that conversation was, it is less worthy of a last round then the second conversation for sure. After that, I needed at least two more, maybe three.<br />
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The Second Conversation: The Story</h4>
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As for discussion two, my life is a soap opera, or at least a dated trashy young adult drama *<a href="http://youtu.be/QyS_o6lqKS0" target="_blank">cue <i>90210</i> theme</a>*.<br />
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Do you remember the story arc in <i>90210</i> where Vanessa Marcil's character turned out to be Tori Spelling's character's half-sister but they were all awkward and hurt and then the dad died and Vanessa Marcil (because she killed him with cardio exercises!) wasn't allowed to sit with the immediate family, and Brian Austin Green was all tall and B.A.G looking with the earring and the hair as he was a total dick to VM by telling her she had to sit in back because the bitchy mom didn't like her? Yeah.<br />
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"Where is my phone?! I should have stuck with a smaller purse. I knew a bigger one would just swallow everything!" I dig around until my hand comes back up with my little black phone no one would look twice at. "Hmm, a little sister text. Wonder what's up." <i>"Busy tonight? - 'Lisha" </i>My students start filing back in from break, I glance quickly at the clock: 7:45pm. "I teach until 8:30pm my time. What's up?" Click send. Almost instantly, "<i>I hve a story for u"</i> I think, "Interesting choice of words; I bet this will be good." I let her know I'll call when I get done teaching.<br />
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Flash forward about an hour. 94 is surprisingly busy for a Tuesday at 9pm. Call rings through, and through, and through. No answer. Typical "Lisha, ready when it suits her. Steering wheel drumming. Lights passing. Phone beeps. "<i>Call you in 5" </i> Home.<br />
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Five minutes, 10 minutes. Quick email check. "<i>Hello there ladies and gentleman, hello there ladies and gentleman" </i> my phone is ringing. Cheap Trick brings a smile to my face and ears. I answer, "Hey, what's the story?" still looking through email. 'Lisha says, "<i>Do you remember our friend from church camp, Carrie? Val and I were friends with her the entire time we went, and we all instantly got along.</i>" Reading an email about a paper..., "Oh, ah, no. Sorry. That was, like, 15 years ago. I barely remember driving home tonight." "<i>Well, we met her back then and we found out that her mom knew Mom and Dad; they were friends too. Anyway, she added Val and me on facebook a few weeks ago out of the blue. Val and I were super excited. Neither of us had heard from her in years, but we still thought about her."</i> I'm tired, tracking the conversation takes a minute. Still not sure what the story is. "Ok, that's nice. So you all are talking again?" 'Lisha inhales audibly, "<i>Yeah, and texting.</i>" "Cool. It's neat when past friends show up." Scroll, scroll, scroll. Nothing else worth reading right now. "So is that everything?" Maybe I'm a bit less gracious than I usually am, but it's past my bed time. <br />
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"<i>No. Dad kept getting a call this summer from the same local number, multiple times a week. You know they don't answer calls from unknown numbers." "</i>Yeah, me neither." "<i>Finally I told Trace just to answer it, maybe it was important." "</i>They were sure persistent." "<i>Well, Trace answers. The person on the other end asks for Dad by name. Trace pretends to be Dad and asks why they are calling. The girl on the phone says, 'I'm your daughter.'" </i>"Hmm" "<i>Yeah, so Trace tells her, "I'm going to have to call you back."</i> No more computer distraction. Fully tracking the conversation. Pieces falling into place. <i>"It was that girl, Carrie, from church camp." "</i>Of course it was. *<a href="http://youtu.be/Og7-6YubuS4" target="_blank">Days of Our Lives theme starts playing in my head</a>* What did Dad say?" <i>"He said to Trace, "Dammit, I could have gone my whole life without knowing that, Trace."</i> "Well, obviously it was Trace's fault." Giggle, eye roll, sarcasm. "<i>Hahahaha, I know, right. So she's been texting me and facebooking me asking questions and trying to get information about Dad." </i>"Ok, wait. What did Dad say about the possibility." 'Lisha sighs and scoffs, <i>"He said, 'I thought she was fixed', meaning Carrie's mom."</i> I laugh, cringe, and shake my head. "Classic Dad. Women equal dogs. I'm not surprised. We all knew what their relationship was like. Dad could do whatever or <i>whomever</i> he wanted, Mom couldn't." I think about my mom, her life, her death. The life of my father. <i>"Is it any surprise we are the way we are?" </i> Smiling, I say, "No, it makes perfect sense given the context. So, what does she want?" Silence. "<i>She wants to meet him but he won't talk to her. She says she is just going to find him and talk to him. She also wants someone to give her blood for testing. She's always been a bit unusual and kind of crazy. I've been trying to protect Dad so I haven't given her any information. We had a huge fight through text last night. She kept saying, 'You can't keep me away from him. You're just trying to keep him away from me." </i><br />
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Absent-mindedly I pet the cat sitting on my desk. I think I should feel something about the situation, but more or less I just feel indifferent. Shoulder shrug. "You explained to her that our father is not the type of person you sneak up on, especially if you are someone he does not want to see?" Fuzzy humming, sounds like 'Lisha is driving. One of the only times she ever talks with anyone on the phone. "<i>Yeah, she won't listen. I want to help her but I also want to protect Dad."</i> I silently question; hmm, protect Dad? From his own choices? <br />
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"There are a lot of holes in this story. Did you say she added you on facebook a few weeks ago? How long have you known?" Nervous giggle from 'Lisha, "<i>Trace called me right away because he wants to help her, but then he told me he had to wait until after Rally to do it." </i>Inwardly I start laughing as I calculate it's been almost 2 months. My siblings. "Ah, I see. So, *laughter* how is it that the fact we might have another half-sibling didn't warrant a call to me sooner? That's quite the memory lapse, even for you!" She starts laughing, "<i>Trace swore me to secrecy because Dad told him he could never tell us, and then I just thought it would go away so I really did just forget about it until a couple of weeks ago.</i>" I make the astute observation, "What? When has listening to Trace ever led to anything good? Of all of us, I am like the one person you want to keep a secret. I suppose Val found out before me too?" 'Lisha starts laughing and I can tell she is relieved I'm not angry about the delay in the big reveal. "<i>Yep, but only by a little bit."</i><br />
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I start to think more about this other girl. My ever present need to question everything starts to assert itself. "How did she find out? And why did she just find out about who her father supposedly is? And what could she possibly hope for in regard to our family" <i>"Supposedly she found newspaper clippings about Dad under her mom's bed."</i> "Ok, that's creep if it's true." "<i>Yeah, I know. She says her mom told her then. She says she wants to be part of our family because she has never fit in. When she added me on facebook she said we are all so beautiful and smart and talented, and she wants to be part of that."</i> I feel somewhat sorry for this person. Idolizing our family has a certain hint of desperation and obvious lack of understanding. <br />
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This makes me wonder about 'Lisha's timing. "So why are you telling me now if you were sworn to secrecy?" Car door beeping. I knew it. "<i>Uh, I don't want to do this on my own anymore. This text fight was crazy. I want her to find the truth but then again I don't necessarily want to know. I can't really get any straight information from her and it pissed me off that she suggested I wasn't trying to help her at all. Do you want to talk to her, please?" </i>Breathing, thinking, not feeling much. Realizing I don't want anything to do with this, and the thought of talking to this person exhausts me. A slight twinge of guilt when I reflect on how this whole thing will be a gigantic distraction from my academic work and that's such a selfish thought. So tired and over-extended. "Can I think about it?" Big sigh from little sister. "<i>You're so good at getting things out of people. You would be great at getting answers from her." </i>"I can't be that good if it took 2 months for you to tell me this..." I add with a slight smile. I can envision 'Lisha shaking her head and smiling too, it comes through in her response, "<i>I'm never living this down! Haha. I just want it to get settled."</i> <br />
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"What about <i>her</i> mom? Has anyone talked with her? She's a natural source of information." I point out. <i>"She's been trying to call Dad to but he won't talk with her."</i> That man, stubborn beyond belief, and probably scared too. Not to mention practically drowning in guilt over my mother. "Get me the mom's number and I will call her. She's the logical choice to help clear this up." <i>"How do I get the number without asking Carrie?" </i>Oh, 'Lisha. "There's this thing called caller id, phones have it. It tells you the number of people who call you..." <i>"Oh, yeah. I'll ask Trace." </i>It's been a long conversation and a long story. We end making jokes about how ridiculous our family is and how we are so desensitized from things like this that it's business as usual. I ask if she is sure there are no other stories she has to share...someone coming out of a coma, perhaps? A wedding to break up dramatically? Obviously she had amnesia for two months as this was all happening, so that's covered.<br />
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Sometimes all you can do is laugh.<br />
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It is rare, but occasionally I am glad my mother is dead. While I don't think she would be angry about the situation, she would feel the need to help, and that can be just as harmful. It has been a bizarre week. I'm glad it's coming to an end. <br />
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<br />R. R. Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08400145777848602844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3090423475254908932.post-41643228774616090512014-09-20T22:20:00.000-05:002014-09-20T22:20:45.789-05:00Garish Neon Sock MonstrositiesMy younger sisters are both hilarious in different ways. 'lisha is genuinely funny and quite witty-- a very sharp tongue to say the least. Val is also funny, but more in a slightly awkward, innocent kind of way. I likely fall somewhere between currently. I've given up on my bold, ever present sarcasm, but on occasion I'm somewhat humorous. Both of them came to my immediate rescue today during a dreadfully boring Saturday class, for which I can't thank them enough. One regaled me with a story regarding a patient asking for testing for diabetes because they slept with someone with an insulin pump who "didn't tell [them] they were infected" (yikes!!!), the other sent me text impressions of <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UirZH10qquY" target="_blank">Gus Gu</a>s from Cinderella. We also just had a great realization that none of us match our socks when we wear them, and we all have a bizarre affinity for garish neon sock monstrosities. Ah, sisters. I'm so lucky! R. R. Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08400145777848602844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3090423475254908932.post-39970857304572004962014-09-03T20:37:00.001-05:002014-09-03T20:37:35.351-05:00Scheduling Tetris: Long Days, Short Nights<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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So, this is one of the many things I do in my life. Volunteer scheduling. In this case, I am scheduling about 150 volunteers across four different locations. This image is only page 1 (of 3) of my scheduling <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tetris#Possibility_of_infinite_gameplay" target="_blank">tetris</a>. The process to complete this schedule happens three times per year (after making an impassioned plea to go from quarterly scheduling to trimesters last year). It takes a month and a half to go from beginning to end on a schedule. The color coding here indicates this is a draft from about a month into the process. I changed the font so the names would not be identifiable, however, every line represents one person. The grouping is in reference to the teams the volunteers work in. There are now 21 different teams across the four sites that I am responsible for in terms of recruiting, hiring, scheduling, managing, and training. Each of the teams is designed to maximize the diversity of the individual members to better serve clients but also improve the volunteer experience. I also have to balance the number of students in training with more seasoned professionals, and new volunteers with ongoing volunteers. There are three different types of volunteers with three different roles. <br />
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Each volunteer indicates their open and preferred volunteer availability for the upcoming term. Then I remove people who have indicated they are finishing, move the people who have requested to be moved, look at the availability of people who have been interviewed and ok'd and then place them on teams if their availability fits. It is essentially a gigantic jigsaw puzzle, but the idea of scheduling "tetris" is amusing and keeps me sane. The tetris concept is very useful when volunteers start making numerous requests to be moved back and forth or for special consideration or demand a slot and then quit three weeks into the term etc. I am also responsible for finding substitute volunteers when someone can't come in. Ha! On 20 (paid) hours per week, that is a stretch at times to say the least. Luckily, this type of scheduling has helped me practice my skills around organizing my own life. <br />
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I sometimes get bogged down in my own frantic schedule, which leads to complaining and stress. The stress is understandable, the complaining is annoying. I got myself into all that I currently do: grad school, teaching, non-profit volunteer coordination, clinical work...and the list goes on. The basic framework of my weeks looks like the calendar below. <br />
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<span style="text-align: start;">I took a screenshot of it a couple of days ago, and I've already added an additional advising meeting, a volunteer interview, and another volunteer training. I've also got 30 short papers to grade. It doesn't show that I get up between 4:45-5am each morning or that I often stay in one of my offices until 7-8pm to read/write etc. before going home to read/write some more. I had to stop trying to schedule a lunch and dinner time for myself because it was just taking up space on my calendar and not actually reinforcing taking a break. I really appreciated the comments of a former professor this week when he said, "You can't do all of those things in one semester (prelim exams including oral defense and paper, dissertation proposal, internship applications, teach, work, see clients)." I said, "Watch me." His reply: "Maybe </span><i style="text-align: start;">you</i><span style="text-align: start;"> can...but you </span><i style="text-align: start;">shouldn't</i><span style="text-align: start;">." It made me think a bit. </span></div>
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<span style="text-align: start;">I now understand what they mean when they say some advisors don't know how to protect their students. Well, part of it comes down to protecting myself. I might be too good at scheduling tetris for my own good; I manage to line my blocks (tetriminos) up and create space before they pile too high. So far, the fall hasn't started out with a downpour of s and z blocks, so I might make it. </span></div>
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R. R. Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08400145777848602844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3090423475254908932.post-85741150353448201972014-09-02T22:43:00.001-05:002014-09-02T22:43:13.652-05:00September 1st: Beginnings and EndingsSeptember 1st. What a day. It's the beginning of a new month, the beginning more or less of the academic year, and it marks the end of my mother's life. This is the 9th year since her death. She has officially been dead half as long as she was alive in my lifetime. In another 10 years, she will have been dead as long as she was alive in my life.<br />
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I've written about this before including how much it generally sucks to have a parent die when you are not yet an adult. I'm not sure it is necessary to cover that ground again. I can say, however, nearly a decade of constant awareness of her absence has provided some important perspective in my life. Though I would much rather be able to have her presence and thoughts in person as well as the experience of continuing to share parts of my life with her, I have learned and grown on account of her death.<br />
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It is unfortunate that the US typically does not deal well with death. We can dole it out to others for "just" causes and "defense" but we cannot aid others in attempts to ease their suffering, we rarely discuss the topic of death openly often only seeing it attached to media representations that glorify the act but not the experience and process of those involved like some twisted fable. We use euphemisms such as "pass away/on", "departed" or we just don't talk about it period. All of these things combine to make death in a person's life a typically sad, upsetting situation which it is to an extent. I suspect that due to this approach to death, though, so much positive experience is lost. It also makes it difficult to grieve in a way that fits people's specific needs. <br />
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I was rushing to get back to my life when my mother died. I was 5 hours into a 10 hour drive when I got the call that I needed to come back. I was <i>ordered</i> back, really, by my grandmother. Then it was a death vigil for about 4 days. I would take my sisters out to do something instead of sit in the depressing hospital waiting for her to die only to get a call to say, "you should come now, it will be soon." So, we would stop whatever we were doing, herd into my mother's room and stand and stare. After awhile I would shuffle my sisters into the family lounge again to wait. We stayed in the hospital 24/7 until the 4th night. I looked at my father and my aunt and said very calmly, "I'm taking the girls to Amy's [my cousin who lived in the city with the hospital] to sleep, shower, and eat. Do not call me unless she is dead. I am not bringing them back here to wait more." I said goodbye to my mother briefly even though she was in a coma at that point, collected my little sisters, and went on our way. I was sleeping but heard the phone ring. It was pitch black, but I sat up and put my shoes on. I was tying the second lace as my cousin came upstairs and said, "Rita, she's gone." I went to the room my sisters were sleeping in, they had heard the phone ring too. When I opened the door, they both stared at me looking terrified of the news I was bringing. I said , "I'm sorry." We all cried, I hugged them. My cousin drove us to the hospital. We all gathered in her room to say goodbye once more. It was about 3:40am. I don't remember what happened after that other than most of the nursing staff coming in and giving their condolences, some of them cried too.<br />
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The next day my brother and I met with the funeral director to plan the funeral. I wrote the obituary, we chose her urn, the musical selections, and the memorial pamphlet. There were three vans of memorial flowers people had sent the day of her funeral. The local flower shop was wiped out, and the owner donated what was left having also known my mother. Over 200 people came to the funeral. They broadcast it over the speakers outside because not everyone could fit in the chapel.<br />
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Three days after she died, I came back to my apartment after making the drive and within 24 hours I started my sophomore year. Some of it I regret, some of it I do not.<br />
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Despite her absence, and the profound loss involved, I know I am a
better person because of her and her death. I approach everyday knowing
that she believed in me, loved me, and respected me as a person. I
fight for my rights and the rights of others because of her, especially
those who need the most empathy and<span class="text_exposed_show">
compassion because they are discarded by others. I use my healthy
skepticism to question authority and ask questions other people are
afraid to ask- because of my mother. I am a strong person, and so are
my siblings; thanks Mom. I stay open in my mind and heart to people who
are different from me because my mother taught me how to respect and
honor those differences while building friendships. And I know how to
manage my own pain and struggles through her life and death. I know how
to take care of myself too and persevere when life is uncooperative in
helping me meet my goals. </span><br />
<br />
<span class="text_exposed_show">I sometimes wonder if she would be disappointed in me. I'm not sure exactly what would be cause for disappointment in what I've done since she died, but I wonder anyway. I think questioning myself about it keeps me on my path and prevents me from giving up. I'm not even sure it would be about "making her proud." It's more like not squandering the love and effort she put into raising me based on the brief time we had together. </span><span class="text_exposed_show">She literally risked her life, safety, and long-term happiness to help ensure I would succeed in life. I'm going to define that success. And when I make it happen, I'll know who to thank in large part...but that will only be a new beginning. </span> R. R. Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08400145777848602844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3090423475254908932.post-47162341565300428112014-08-24T15:18:00.000-05:002014-08-24T15:18:46.739-05:00Welcome to Space...Top Hat is in a band. They're actually fairly good, and I suspect if you like what they call "space rock" they are even better than good. In anticipation of an upcoming show with the noise rock band <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hammerhead_%28band%29" target="_blank">Hammerhead</a>, they had a space show. A space show is essentially a show in a band's practice space. It's also a good excuse to hangout in an industrial parking lot and drink beer. The band actually rents the space Soul Asylum used back in the day...also a good excuse to drink beer in an industrial parking lot.<br />
<br />
Last night's show went like this:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW1wMeE3Oj2MnIU8GE1sSJwuema8qcm5ObJ-izNWz1rTHyT3C0RN8FwihWDV7WYqP1mERFsUx8HtZj9_F2vhwUtJBavMwt3tAw9gMdtE-2gt-0pYWK0wXlc3tJ2R5cIcTNruxH8dVYo6xl/s1600/DSCN2997.JPG" height="480" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Pre-show beer/parking lot. The bars on the windows create a nice, safe feeling.</span> <span style="font-size: large;">As does the Somali discotheque next door, and the "massage parlour" housed on the third floor of the adjacent building...classy.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4AyDTHPXLbyRuJO3Ds7KXCwhGJEhb2uaccZtnO8XZc68T7C1s1gEgYxYWsCenVGH5LQr8r_k5ZDDSquCPYe-c5YPTeILsnnZmYG46Ggr5pMAuPZs7pn8SuU0cK7DiHRPkmUmr0wP4y-j0/s1600/DSCN2995.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4AyDTHPXLbyRuJO3Ds7KXCwhGJEhb2uaccZtnO8XZc68T7C1s1gEgYxYWsCenVGH5LQr8r_k5ZDDSquCPYe-c5YPTeILsnnZmYG46Ggr5pMAuPZs7pn8SuU0cK7DiHRPkmUmr0wP4y-j0/s1600/DSCN2995.JPG" height="640" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Welcome to Space...</span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE_kRBnaa6j-OuHVDcjDvBBWYTd-TDP8zXCkHM6ZS1WyB3Hd_LsKiCSPm1zTShsYtM8xlqDXtVnJU124DkGfT4mBdMwvj_CPesDQ9zq7yeJlVOibRseSsoKviU-uEMpIaA8p6pjMwQ0716/s1600/DSCN3027.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE_kRBnaa6j-OuHVDcjDvBBWYTd-TDP8zXCkHM6ZS1WyB3Hd_LsKiCSPm1zTShsYtM8xlqDXtVnJU124DkGfT4mBdMwvj_CPesDQ9zq7yeJlVOibRseSsoKviU-uEMpIaA8p6pjMwQ0716/s1600/DSCN3027.JPG" height="640" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">View upon entering the void. When I asked if placing "Enjoy Coke" under photos of Guns N' Roses, Ozzy, and the Stones was intentional commentary, they assured me it was merely coincidence but a brilliant observation...</span></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqftWvnQdN94fUC9vgq-wF23I7KH7Gu2dEgOfxSzZyt7UDyd9QDy9B83Z7KiV8Swzon3PcLjnNTPlthd0ApeVjObPaWRNv9jzcKvvNcsrCzKo9JePzsD0QfbHV2matM0ZmWYNl47JZSSha/s1600/DSCN3000.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqftWvnQdN94fUC9vgq-wF23I7KH7Gu2dEgOfxSzZyt7UDyd9QDy9B83Z7KiV8Swzon3PcLjnNTPlthd0ApeVjObPaWRNv9jzcKvvNcsrCzKo9JePzsD0QfbHV2matM0ZmWYNl47JZSSha/s1600/DSCN3000.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">The adoring audience, in part, I couldn't get everyone in the shot. People from 4 different states showed up. </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguiafeEQbe2oopm40yvVET7IiCH0tvU314waMd26NzMbWTA-8QY52PZaUePt4b9n7cGDYsB5zMo5_QAcKwAd4GDuGdpCqfaH10pFA4vXLg6ePUbW7ax91WvQk6dL4lAWdY6C7SCfV-TFJN/s1600/DSCN3012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguiafeEQbe2oopm40yvVET7IiCH0tvU314waMd26NzMbWTA-8QY52PZaUePt4b9n7cGDYsB5zMo5_QAcKwAd4GDuGdpCqfaH10pFA4vXLg6ePUbW7ax91WvQk6dL4lAWdY6C7SCfV-TFJN/s1600/DSCN3012.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">2/4 of the band.</span></td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn8z57UAF6kH-jRwBDrwZPftgxFI3RBCopZnoekbYHHvaAaTf-gEr7rrnitnWNyu4ENF9UhGhnANJlQvai00_YccSv8ynpidKwOaV1UsK3TyZzGLA-8m__UbJbQST22R0uD92uTW6SHDa2/s1600/DSCN3013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn8z57UAF6kH-jRwBDrwZPftgxFI3RBCopZnoekbYHHvaAaTf-gEr7rrnitnWNyu4ENF9UhGhnANJlQvai00_YccSv8ynpidKwOaV1UsK3TyZzGLA-8m__UbJbQST22R0uD92uTW6SHDa2/s1600/DSCN3013.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">3/4 of the band, plus a brother-in-law</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW1wMeE3Oj2MnIU8GE1sSJwuema8qcm5ObJ-izNWz1rTHyT3C0RN8FwihWDV7WYqP1mERFsUx8HtZj9_F2vhwUtJBavMwt3tAw9gMdtE-2gt-0pYWK0wXlc3tJ2R5cIcTNruxH8dVYo6xl/s1600/DSCN2997.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmd8uLh4gulPiJSNtmZlOW-QNsqSw1K_QN3fwplME0iOdryjxHFIUoYAQ2F6lC84XrrRAxjTaS1I83CLgSP63NzBIIQxrNttjRRLkBZQtLB-j3GaRE_wuB4KbGquTNzpr9gBDjT6iZZ9q4/s1600/DSCN3017.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmd8uLh4gulPiJSNtmZlOW-QNsqSw1K_QN3fwplME0iOdryjxHFIUoYAQ2F6lC84XrrRAxjTaS1I83CLgSP63NzBIIQxrNttjRRLkBZQtLB-j3GaRE_wuB4KbGquTNzpr9gBDjT6iZZ9q4/s1600/DSCN3017.JPG" height="640" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">The man behind the synths. He's going for a <a href="http://www.keithemerson-store.com/.template/keithemerson-store/current/images/G9E.jpg" target="_blank">Keith Emerson setup</a>, but the <a href="http://www.engadget.com/2014/04/27/emerson-moog-modular-system-synthesizer-remake/" target="_blank">$90,000 Modular Moog</a> will have to wait. </span></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKC_vjfuiYWDqHnD3NnqJ1eRaGRQM6TBYk7R1ijlrQJXSno-oh2jTdfQfjEaCUTeZgSNF4w07FWB_8wufaRJoJJlN3DoeTX3Cf1Q6Uk8Vc57RI_4C2C-j80xi3-Lksvr23_1O8BuuDfBD8/s1600/Whiteboard.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKC_vjfuiYWDqHnD3NnqJ1eRaGRQM6TBYk7R1ijlrQJXSno-oh2jTdfQfjEaCUTeZgSNF4w07FWB_8wufaRJoJJlN3DoeTX3Cf1Q6Uk8Vc57RI_4C2C-j80xi3-Lksvr23_1O8BuuDfBD8/s1600/Whiteboard.png" height="512" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">The
only band I know that uses a storyboard as musical notation. I'm sure a
cactus playing a sax is a profound representation of something. And
I'm sure that electrical outlet could use a few more things plugged into
it.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">It was a fun, sweltering time. They get the test pressings of their forthcoming vinyl album this week. A listening party is tentatively scheduled for the upcoming month, although I think it is likely to take place somewhere other than the vacuum of their space. </span> R. R. Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08400145777848602844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3090423475254908932.post-26910021069602015502014-08-14T19:01:00.000-05:002014-08-14T19:01:26.805-05:00My Weekend: A Pictorial Wishlist<h4>
<span style="font-weight: normal;">This is how I intend to spend my next few days, all with a relaxed bliss:</span></h4>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA9dnixDmZjYmvd1DzFdf_8j4oDOCU-7jShjm1qn_4OMF6R7gZkoACl0ONyw49hhaqNjSXRNG9Tve0EvOA1fRPknLqhyAJQluh8U2aDpUqIUOqv8gw9_WrfaGepMue8yrTD972opW8U4D8/s1600/0806141616.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA9dnixDmZjYmvd1DzFdf_8j4oDOCU-7jShjm1qn_4OMF6R7gZkoACl0ONyw49hhaqNjSXRNG9Tve0EvOA1fRPknLqhyAJQluh8U2aDpUqIUOqv8gw9_WrfaGepMue8yrTD972opW8U4D8/s1600/0806141616.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Replace the rubrics and papers with a paperback, and all is well!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<h3>
<a href="http://www.npr.org/2014/07/19/332312641/a-shot-and-a-book-how-to-read-in-bars" target="_blank">1) Literature and an adult beverage in a random bar at midday.</a> Check. An interesting NPR read, and I would totally read a book in a bar with the author, although we would have to discuss the phrase "culture critic" at length.</h3>
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</h3>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj13bQ9DLyqsT0BHLWfLMbvO9s5QM_4LF2rKXKaRInhmn-jH6sy0XTg3HmHLR5Y0HTnF6iZNCEs5_4G-1l-UsgIM8fsEUn7cbWwvn_XOGAzGo9CV7v1dAksNUaTvaAgwLOHQDKBgLcSkAuN/s1600/P8170479.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj13bQ9DLyqsT0BHLWfLMbvO9s5QM_4LF2rKXKaRInhmn-jH6sy0XTg3HmHLR5Y0HTnF6iZNCEs5_4G-1l-UsgIM8fsEUn7cbWwvn_XOGAzGo9CV7v1dAksNUaTvaAgwLOHQDKBgLcSkAuN/s1600/P8170479.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> I am slightly impressed by my own skill in taking this photo, however. Simply gorgeous. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<h3>
</h3>
<h3>
2) Trees, sun, and lake(s). Done. While I would give almost anything to be visiting this particular spot, alas, the Big Horns are not my destination. </h3>
<h3>
</h3>
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<a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-f-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xfa1/v/t1.0-9/391411_10102305712490620_244615579_n.jpg?oh=a180ce06fe52fc76d5d10b9cb3157e89&oe=54696539&__gda__=1416527374_57e0c184d81d9756414c68572c02041c" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" class="spotlight" height="480" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-f-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xfa1/v/t1.0-9/391411_10102305712490620_244615579_n.jpg?oh=a180ce06fe52fc76d5d10b9cb3157e89&oe=54696539&__gda__=1416527374_57e0c184d81d9756414c68572c02041c" width="640" /></a></div>
<h3>
3) Silence. @$&% yeah! I'm looking forward to possibly
not speaking to/interacting with another human being for multiple hours
at a time. </h3>
<h3>
</h3>
<h3>
</h3>
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R. R. Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08400145777848602844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3090423475254908932.post-35194289745266544412014-08-10T21:12:00.000-05:002014-08-10T21:12:41.108-05:004 != 4: Equality<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">And
you can quote me on this: "Equality does not mean treating everybody
the same. Equality means being flexible and responsive in appropriate
ways that meet people's needs with respect, honor, and dignity." ~ Rita 2014</span><br />
<br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">I use this quote and concept often, both when teaching multicultural counseling and engaging in the practice of counseling. Sometimes people get stuck on the idea that equality means symmetry in balance. For example, 4 = 4, end of story. While this has merit in certain situations, it is very limiting. Helping people move beyond that limited conceptualization and recognize that 1+3 = 4 and 2+2 = 4 are also valid, useful ways of obtaining an equivalent outcome of 4 is a challenging but valuable task. Just as you can have two cups of water, a pint of water, or 32 tablespoons of water and still have the same amount, people can get their needs met in different and creative ways. </span><span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">It is also about the quality of the diverse and creative ways needs are met. Incomplete or partial combinations do not lead to an equal opportunity or outcome. There is no rounding up or down in regard to equality. It's all whole numbers. </span><br />
<br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">I think equal in terms of flexibility could easily be misconstrued as equal but separate, an unfortunate mistake. In reality, it is quite the opposite. Oftentimes, the attention to meeting the needs of diverse groups of people is done in an integrated and functional way such as <a href="http://www.nahb.org/generic.aspx?genericContentID=89934" target="_blank">universal design</a>. A person who does not use a wheelchair can use stairs or an escalator, yet someone who does use a wheelchair has little use for either. A ramp, however, can be used by both in addition to people with strollers, walkers, canes, luggage etc. Flexible, respectful, functional, equal. </span><br />
<br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">Conversely, sometimes when an inflexible, "uniform" approach to something is implemented it is not functional and is poorly conceived due to bias and privilege in the decision making process, such as <a href="http://www.armytimes.com/article/20140331/NEWS07/303310051/Black-female-soldiers-say-new-grooming-reg-racially-biased-" target="_blank">"regulation" military hair styles</a> in the U.S. </span><br />
<br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">Can you imagine what would happen if all mechanics treated every car issue the same, using only specs for an <a href="http://www.cartalk.com/content/whats-worst-car-millennium-0" target="_blank">'89 Yugo</a>, based on the belief that all cars are cars, and therefore the individual differences or between group differences were irrelevant in maintaining them? Sure, it would be equal treatment and it would seem efficient...until a fuel injected car started having issues and no one could figure out what the hell a fuel injector was and why the carburetor was missing. Or what an on-board computer does and why the check engine light wouldn't go off. It's not to say that there aren't similarities between cars that would be transferable (changing a tire, having a steering wheel, an engine etc.). But come on, really? It isn't like they would then say, "Only cars that fit these specs/can be made to fit them are worth our attention!" </span><span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">The entire concept is unreasonable and unsustainable. Yet, that is what we do with people and groups of people. </span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><br /></span>
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><i>"But, Rita, people aren't cars and we can't be tailoring everything to everyone all the time!" </i>Yes, and when there are people involved and inequities persist, people get hurt. That's a problem. It's true we can't tailor everything, but that is not what I am advocating for. This is where " flexible and responsive in appropriate ways" comes in. There are limits to what can be done to address the specific needs of individuals and groups when balanced with everyone's needs. Flexibility is requisite for all involved, and sometimes that means compromise. And it also means get creative and be proactive. Before something can be addressed, it has to be recognized. Gaining recognition involves highlighting the concern and creating awareness. Although there are often institutional and societal roadblocks to this flexibility and growth, it doesn't mean we get to be complacent or steeped in our own privilege and ignorance. Achieving equality also involves being open to awareness, which seems to be where most people really struggle...somehow, it is inconceivable that two people can have different cultural backgrounds and needs while respecting and valuing those differences and sharing an understanding. </span><br />
<br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">Too many people are driving in other people's lanes without realizing that I can drive my car with all of its quirks and specific features, and you can drive your car too. We don't have to drive the same car to safely share the road and arrive at the same destination. </span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"> </span>R. R. Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08400145777848602844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3090423475254908932.post-42887050586859373132014-08-02T23:06:00.001-05:002014-08-02T23:06:59.825-05:00Bangs, Headbands, and Pancakes<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6uhKE3nc93qBYahJecwqGXGjCZ_LVm9Mt3P_HCZAxECggXKL2bfePApjv41t61Qi1yB7QPVfVsRYRMBDyd5prA3fkEkBWG4eNIzfGOGYr05mBIttzlovOlniCoWm8_cmAx4wZSNv3YZCt/s1600/DSCN2767.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6uhKE3nc93qBYahJecwqGXGjCZ_LVm9Mt3P_HCZAxECggXKL2bfePApjv41t61Qi1yB7QPVfVsRYRMBDyd5prA3fkEkBWG4eNIzfGOGYr05mBIttzlovOlniCoWm8_cmAx4wZSNv3YZCt/s1600/DSCN2767.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a> One of my favorite ways to start a day-- making excellent buttermilk blueberry pancakes from scratch. I apparently also make excellent regular buttermilk pancakes according to popular opinion. Blueberry anything is where it's at though; cheesecake, muffins, ice cream, pie...all delightful. Generally, I am forcefully against photographing food, but these were not only highly palatable, they were aesthetically pleasing!</div>
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When I was home last, I had the opportunity to make a copy of this, er, lovely, childhood photo. I think I was 8 or 9 years-old. One of my great-aunts died earlier this year. As they were consolidating her belongings, they divided up the photos she had and gave them to whomever seemed appropriate. This was especially nice for me as all of our family photos, among everything else, were destroyed in a forest fire in 2002. That probably has something to do with my desire to collect photos, new and old. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid47hKiZBFydB3S6SRSs1rZnKH-ADdM2mWF-Nx9FDN3pgycNQjfs2fdPTQP_jzx0fuWsSNglxVBNGnmvxC-WrllNC_-hu3KcNRLp2Mr9HZ_TVEUYlPZ4IzUIRqtwuNeDAqvoQUdTEqiMuJ/s1600/DSCN2804.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid47hKiZBFydB3S6SRSs1rZnKH-ADdM2mWF-Nx9FDN3pgycNQjfs2fdPTQP_jzx0fuWsSNglxVBNGnmvxC-WrllNC_-hu3KcNRLp2Mr9HZ_TVEUYlPZ4IzUIRqtwuNeDAqvoQUdTEqiMuJ/s1600/DSCN2804.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Never a real smile, it was always the patronizing "I hate you but have good manners" smile</td></tr>
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I remember the headband, the bangs, and the dress. I used to swim in the creek in that dress. There were tiny pools 2-3 feet deep all over the place. There was one little pool about a mile from home that I frequented. I used to back float and stare at the sky and trees for extended periods of time, hours some days. The sense of muffled silence the water covering my ears created was so relaxing and peaceful, so quite. The water tends to be cold when you are at an elevation over a mile high, but I would float and spin until I felt warm as the breeze blew across the pond and my face. I was always perplexed by that. I would be freezing walking home, but if the wind blew or I ran, the air brushing against me felt like a warm blanket. The air is distinctive back home. The pine trees are very fragrant, and their resin seems to be unique in producing this. I would float, listen, and breathe the fresh air. If I stayed long enough, sometimes the trout in the creek would become accustomed to me, and I would feel and hear them flitting around me. Their tails make a weird noise underwater like a bubbly splash. Luckily I never had any water snakes slither by, that may have been the end of my swimming. When it was time to go home or when my mom thought I should be home, our dog usually found me. By found me I mean located me and then barreled into the creek for a swim too. His name was Bog, and he was a border collie/German shepherd mix. Highly intelligent, fiercely loyal, and unbelievably protective of us. Also fond of water and car rides. I miss him often; he died almost 10 years ago. His name is a not so long but moderately funny story for another time. Suffice it to say that he and the dress were an important part of fun times. I would wear the dress again for sure. The bangs, however, are something else entirely... </div>
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<span class="title">Also, my top picks include, <i>Murder She Wrote</i>, <i>Columbo, From Russia with Love, Pokemon </i>(!?!?!?), <i>The A Team, Ghostbusters, Patriot Games, My Little Pony, </i>and<i> Top Gear.</i></span><br />
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<span class="title"><span class="title">This all leads to a very sensible question: What the hell have I been watching? And really, <i>Pokemon </i>and <i>My Little Pony</i>? Horrible. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an episode of <a href="http://youtu.be/x0fghHpInB0?t=1m45s" target="_blank"><i>Mork and Mindy</i></a> to finish. </span></span><br />
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<span class="title"><span class="title"> </span><i> </i></span>R. R. Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08400145777848602844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3090423475254908932.post-39416203347563116322014-07-18T20:02:00.000-05:002014-07-18T20:02:32.624-05:00Nature, Literature, and a Happy New YearI've written before about my yearly escape to regroup and regain my
sanity. I call this Rita New Year. This year, I had my New Year in
July. It was almost relaxing, and I'm partially regrouped. For all of my ability to be social, I prefer
solitude or near solitude. This is especially true when the scenery is
so gorgeous and you have a (many) books to read.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMN6x7wvOA6eRL3SA6mwhm2tE_F9j9wt9aZSFwXljF30wggIiu4c6urnhhVK4nMXV74Z6rpXHHcbZ8RcXJXgk24tLsYexw4wvzT4WzY5DqNCAWFmGtuR94XiOM7AVhdt5qm9y4_9VEkAGd/s1600/DSCN2913.JPG" height="150" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="200" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Roses from my mother's former garden</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs_IhlZze-Sws_9NJkvCX72sJiACJhXmD50mNWLuAfsyjq4D7X1VajGNCELzlC__i1a1NCfNwztNNexSJ5-FxADyBGYVAwkkN64faE3WHT5mhlKJU5_8aW5Z-VbiO4Ck11xousvRmsZq0Z/s1600/DSCN2857.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs_IhlZze-Sws_9NJkvCX72sJiACJhXmD50mNWLuAfsyjq4D7X1VajGNCELzlC__i1a1NCfNwztNNexSJ5-FxADyBGYVAwkkN64faE3WHT5mhlKJU5_8aW5Z-VbiO4Ck11xousvRmsZq0Z/s1600/DSCN2857.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two years ago I was on the tip-top of this mountain, amazing.</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNW64rdObW8KVnZ8_zO7j1jI-RJhR4DW7VamwkTWkzytT8YF1jvpZAZdGlo23EiNL8mNIYI0FM4luRQqRh0rOtlZx6sztBo5I2oYGZr8j4tOQs2FEth4P9lso-Vl3pIvrruhICs8uFSt1u/s1600/DSCN2777.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNW64rdObW8KVnZ8_zO7j1jI-RJhR4DW7VamwkTWkzytT8YF1jvpZAZdGlo23EiNL8mNIYI0FM4luRQqRh0rOtlZx6sztBo5I2oYGZr8j4tOQs2FEth4P9lso-Vl3pIvrruhICs8uFSt1u/s1600/DSCN2777.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The prairie...</td></tr>
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I lasted two days into my trip before visiting a local bookstore; one of the best I've encountered. The sometimes cool thing about South Dakota is that it exists in a time warp. Therefore, there are still some awesome things available. And, people hold onto things for a long time which means they are old and tend to be in fair condition, books included. This bookstore had 10ft high oak shelves, which required the use of one of the little rolly step-stool things that good bookstores and libraries have. There were also books stacked in front of the shelves 5-6 high, 4-5 deep. It smelled like ink, paper, and dust, always promising. If you've never purchased or checked out a book based on smell and/or touch alone, you've missed out. Glossy pages, delicate smooth pages, just noticeably textured paper, rough heavyweight paper, crisp almost starchy pages...sigh, yes, tactile response in reading is important. Sometimes there is a satisfying sound, shhhpt, when the pages turn. Then there's the whole weight and balance of the book. So seductive for inanimate objects; I'm totally in love with the written word. I spent about 2 hours perusing the stacks. I left (using great self-restraint) with only 11 books, almost one book per 10 minutes looking. I didn't find any of the <i>Kittredge Shakespeare</i> editions from the '30s and '40s by Ginn and Company, unfortunately. I'm ten away from a complete collection, but they are surprisingly hard to find, especially in the wild. I'm always extra excited when I find one. Excellent selection of '70s sci-fi/fantasy series though. I'm set until August. If only I could have stayed and read my books instead of coming back, so tempting I almost didn't. Books and reading are such a part of my existence, it's like love and breath and dreams and happiness and peace in a little package just for me. Luckily, they are also highly portable, and so I can continue to be drawn in and satisfied even after I've arrived back to hipsters and concrete. Therein lies my sanity for the remainder of the year...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNMo96D9gzmiWESvZHrisw6poC-yVKWNwVqSNf6t29y4WZChyNM50eGJGTnmxQgxa6HJmffyod_GlVwCEuVNkot8c46hVc2q9Icx8PWbBv15zw6mjSO12auuanZWuqKB-gIGr09UB2kR3y/s1600/DSCN2830.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNMo96D9gzmiWESvZHrisw6poC-yVKWNwVqSNf6t29y4WZChyNM50eGJGTnmxQgxa6HJmffyod_GlVwCEuVNkot8c46hVc2q9Icx8PWbBv15zw6mjSO12auuanZWuqKB-gIGr09UB2kR3y/s1600/DSCN2830.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Removed from natural habitat....</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha9WQsg59SLUFCPctJL5kLCFMCZBXxtbhXBKe2_eaGHL-s5zz3d2dpd_vQvVevz1uJ5yk7lsXOooljd7qzl8OFa0CsAq-YSrSWxRnK8yBQyjat6OPsoRFeL9_8UGdcGKWNOr8rA3yOeg0P/s1600/DSCN2928.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha9WQsg59SLUFCPctJL5kLCFMCZBXxtbhXBKe2_eaGHL-s5zz3d2dpd_vQvVevz1uJ5yk7lsXOooljd7qzl8OFa0CsAq-YSrSWxRnK8yBQyjat6OPsoRFeL9_8UGdcGKWNOr8rA3yOeg0P/s1600/DSCN2928.png" height="400" width="370" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...read in captivity...(after returning to the land of hipsters)</td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
There’s this:</div>
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“Even when a girl rejects your advances, she KNOWS that you
desire her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s hot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It arouses her physically and
psychologically.” – <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Above the Game, </i>a
“pickup artist” guide</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And this:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Men are notoriously bad at reading women’s minds and body
language.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t think that you’re any
different.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From now on you must ASSUME
that she is attracted to you and wants to be ravished.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s a difference in mindset that makes
champs champs and chumps chumps.” – <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Above
the Game, </i>a “pickup artist” guide</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then there’s this:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">“He told police he raped,
choked and fatally stabbed the girl when she rejected his advances as they
drank at the abandoned 18-acre site on a hillside overlooking Waterbury.” –
Associated Press</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white;">And this:</span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-font-kerning: 18.0pt;">“Man Hurls Glass in Woman’s Face After She Ignored Him in City Bar” - </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">London24</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-font-kerning: 18.0pt;">And this:</span></div>
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“Suspect commits deadly shooting after reportedly being
rejected by woman in Detroit gas station” – WJBK FoxDetroit</div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="http://whenwomenrefuse.tumblr.com/">And the list
goes on…</a></div>
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<br /></div>
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In a recent post, I made reference to the DJ who covered my
friend’s wedding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He approached me,
invaded my personal space, got annoyed when rebuffed, and watched me all
night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His interest was noted by the
bride’s dad, who made sure to give him a good stare down every time he tried to
linger at our table (as if the DJ wasn't his own biggest cockblock to begin
with, but thanks Dez). The situation has been bothering me. I've
been thinking about it a bit more. A good friend suggested that in the
future I accept the "compliment" by saying thank you and moving
on. I'm grateful my friend gave me the opportunity to reflect more on the
situation, although perhaps in unexpected ways. </div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
I don't think my friend was trying to be at all
disrespectful when he suggested I let the DJ's behavior slide and take it as a
compliment. If anything, he was trying to be helpful in a way that could
assist me in letting it go while not wasting emotional energy on the situation. And maybe it seems perplexing that disrespect could
be used to describe his comments at all, perhaps unaware or naive fits the
statement (not the person) better. His comments prompted me to think on a
larger scale in regard to the messages people receive about what is and is not
acceptable in terms of advances and statements of interest. I find it
unlikely any of my current friends, male or not, would genuinely suggest that
anyone, women included, should feel complimented by all people, men included,
who hit on them. Instead, I suspect they would indicate that it is perfectly ok
to reject their advances. I wonder, though, how much of this is due to
the friends I have versus the larger social perspective. <a href="http://www.buzzfeed.com/juliapugachevsky/women-on-the-first-time-they-felt-afraid-to-say-no">The
idea that someone should be flattered or complimented by someone else taking an
interest in them</a> regardless of the intention behind the interaction is
shortsighted, dangerous, and unfortunately pervasive in US society as reflected
in the statements listed above. It's like the dog telling the fire-hydrant to be grateful it's the first one on the block.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My friend also suggested that men are often thinking simply
of a sexual encounter in these instances, and most, when rejected, will move
on. And again, I wonder, how is that a compliment? Guy: "<i>She'll
do.</i>" "Hey, you have a really classic look, I feel like I know
you." Girl: "Not interested." Guy: "<i>Too hard, need
something easier</i>, Feminist Bitch" (moves on down the line) "Hey,
you have a really classic look..." So, women should feel complimented that men think they're worth having sex with, and yet, if you aren't interested or
are too difficult to persuade they'll just happily move on to someone
else? Really? Like women are carnival rides? Women who set
boundaries around sex are not "feminist bitches," and the notion that
men get to be indignant about those boundaries and label women is
unacceptable. No one is entitled to sex, and women are not required to
fulfill men's absurd, narrow, entitled requests. It's one thing to
approach someone and be frank that you want to have sex. Just fucking
ask. Introduce yourself, get the other person's name, and then state your
question <a href="http://www.doctornerdlove.com/2013/03/enthusiastic-consent/">(this
is a quick way to get “enthusiastic consent” a brilliant concept). </a>
Depending on where you're at, this could go very well or very poorly.
Choose wisely. Why waste time on pretense when it's obvious that is all your conversation is? Sex for the sake of sex is fine. Some people should have more, some less, some probably not at all. Otherwise, build a nice foundation; have a <i>genuine</i>
discussion about something, get to know the other person slightly, and then
ask. Do not, however, pull the DJ-esq bullshit involving horrible lines and an
overbearing entitlement to the woman as your property as soon as you see her. I
think that is what really gets me about the DJ; the entitlement and he insulted my
intelligence. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you have to insidiously persuade,
scam, or otherwise bend the other person's will to have sex, that's a
problem. The DJ was clearly following the used car salesman’s book to
hooking up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was nothing he could
have said based on his initial presentation that would have prompted me to
consent to anything.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After reflecting on the DJ situation, I realized many men,
possibly including my friend, have probably never been in a situation
where any kind of engagement (positive like a smile or negative like "get
away from me") has been taken as both immense interest in the other person
and permission for anything and everything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I've worked with enough sex offenders to know the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Above the Game</i> pickup artist information by heart. Always
assuming that all women are attracted to you and therefore "want to be
ravished" is not what "makes champs champs and chumps chumps."
When followed, that assumption makes felons felons and non-felons
felons...guaranteed. The positive response is seen as an open invitation,
the negative response is seen as a challenge to be dominated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Am I overly cautious in situations like the DJ, yes...and
no. My excessive caution has served me well in some ways, although not
perfectly. Can I step outside of my rigid interpersonal defenses in
regard to come-ones and see that not all men are skeezy douchebags? Yes, I
know a number of respectful, highly attractive men.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I even trust a couple of them. Yet,
when I have attempted to be more flexible and use the socially prescribed,
polite "thank you, moving on" cues, I have been reminded in the worst
ways that my actions only account for some of the outcome.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For example, last year I was assaulted in the middle of a
crowded bar. I was in the company of my partner and four good friends.
The guy who assaulted me was one of the bar owners. He seemed to be
on good terms with a friend, so I let my caution dial back while letting some
of his attitude and comments about my "hot boots and red nails"
slide...I'm not big on public drama. Definitely one of the worst choices
I've ever made. Also, I was in a large group of people and felt safe, as I had
every right to...however idealistically misguided.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The night progressed, so did his blood
alcohol content and his obnoxiousness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Luckily, our table only fit five people so the space limited our interaction
somewhat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wasn't until near the end
of the night that I started setting boundaries and making "back off" cues.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I was getting ready to leave, and my
partner left to pay the tab, the guy restrained me from behind, groped me,
rubbed himself against me, kissed the side of my head leaving copious amounts
of spit behind, and made a comment about what I "wanted" sexually, as
if he had it on good authority and it involved him. Stunned, horrified, and
struck with fear, it ended when my partner scrambled back across the room after
seeing my horrified face and literally pried him off of me. I nearly
wrecked my car driving home on account of dry-heaves, uncontrollable shivering,
and anxiety. I threw my boots away the second I pulled into my driveway,
and I have another pair I haven't worn since then. I had a painful bruise
where he gripped my upper arm. And I had one of the most difficult, terrifying, and humanity affirming conversations of my life with the friend who knew the guy…after I
went back and forth for a couple of days before finally deciding to talk with
him. Gratefully, my fears were unwarranted and my indecision was unnecessary regarding our discussion as my friend responded in the most supportive way (definitely one of the best decisions in the situation). </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The next few months proceeded with a mixture of high
anxiety, and a constant fluctuation between insomnia and nightmares.
Perhaps worst of all, it briefly affected my clinical work, an unforeseen impact.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did what I needed
to in order to regain balance and a sense of safety but it took time. I
felt the need to do it rather quietly without any attention or further
discussion. I also had to process my role in the situation. Coming
to terms with the fact that I was physically powerless in that moment and
completely froze without defending myself was painful...even though I was physically not a match for the guy. After
all, I've trained in self-defense with two high level black-belt women over a
period of years here and there, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">and</i> I
was in a fairly crowded bar, surely I could have drawn a bit more attention.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Could I have made other choices? Absolutely.
Would it have made a difference? Maybe. In that situation, I was damned
either way, I think (although I wish I had screamed "GET THE FUCK OFF OF
ME" so I didn't [irrationally] feel so much like a failure and at fault). Was any
of his behavior, even upon initial greeting, a compliment? No, not even
close.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Did I feel “aroused”?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Only so far as I simultaneously wanted to
cause him grievous bodily harm and burn all of my flesh off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Given this experience, there was no way the
DJ was getting a pass, especially when I was basically traveling alone and in a
barely familiar location. That rigidity doesn't make me a feminist bitch; I don't need to justify myself in choosing the people I spend time with socially or sexually. <br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have no objections to flirting with people or sharing genuine compliments with someone. I do my fair share of both, and I find them fun as well as important in maintenance of social skills and relationships. And, social situations can be really challenging- even more so when it comes to possible sexual interest. The salient difference in the situation with the DJ versus other encounters was the intent and attitude behind the interaction. There was nothing respectful or genuine in his presentation, tone, choice of words, or physical proximity. He made it clear I was an object to be had and nothing more. There is absolutely nothing complimentary about being a dehumanized, targeted object. Nothing. Despite this, socially it is still considered unacceptable or rude for women to react with almost anything but politeness and gratitude when shown male attention (take it as a compliment). This is especially true if you are not exactly attractive by social standards. Also, it can be dangerous for women to respond with anything but positivity in some situations. Violence in general is unacceptable; the levels of violence against women on account of being women are unfathomable.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(I will add a caveat regarding BDSM preferences that fall into dehumanizing people etc. by stating that when these behaviors are explicitly consensual I think the discussion changes almost entirely. There are a great many highly intelligent and often well-educated people who enjoy BDSM while still having immensely healthy relationships. Objectification propelled by entitlement and a disregard for women is the focus here.)</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The bar incident is a more overt example of the issues women
face in regard to advances by men. The DJ did not physically assault me,
but the subtlety of his actions does not belie the impact
or the social implications. When you are a generally nice person with
good social skills, nice manners, and respect for people, it's difficult to
envision a) that other people are not the same in similar situations and b)
that responding in a nice, polite way would lead to increasingly worse
outcomes. Striking a balance between being friendly with new people and
making it clear friendly is not an open invitation is difficult. Failing
to recognize and therefore tacitly sanctioning the instances where the message is clear but simply ignored
compounds the situation; that is something that <i>can</i> be changed. A tall order, but necessary for the benefit and safety of all riders... </div>
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<![endif]-->R. R. Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08400145777848602844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3090423475254908932.post-63892085552914267982014-06-09T00:18:00.002-05:002014-06-09T00:18:40.505-05:00Psychological Family vs. Biological Family I performed a good friend's wedding this weekend. Given my views on relationships and my rather dour view of wedding culture in the United States, it was an interesting experience. I'm glad that I did it. I was happy to support my friend and her new partner. He gets the stamp of approval for being nerdy enough to hold a conversation about comics, Star Wars, and Star Trek. He is also quite skilled in the area of stage magic which is always a plus. The only questionable characteristic to be found is his preference for Tom Waits. In many people, this would be a fatal character flaw...the magic is impressive enough to counteract it though. And there's the whole thing about my friend loving him and stuff. <br />
<br />
Weddings are typically nauseating affairs full of conspicuous consumption and over involvement. The delusions people harbor regarding "dream weddings" are considerable and terrifying...typically. This weekend was quite lovely, mostly relaxed, and genuinely meaningful. In short, refreshing. There was some expected drama including crying family and at least one guest, and a father of the bride MIA after spending the night out with the groom, his wedding party, and lots of Irish whiskey. Also, the skeezy DJ invading my personal space while using the line, "You have such a classic look, I feel like I know you" on me as we waited for the bridal party to get into place was fascinating and insulting all at once. I will never get aggressive, tactless passes, especially when they insult my intelligence. I sure as hell wouldn't go for one either. <br />
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The best thing about the weekend was getting to spend time with people important to me. My friend, "MJ", and her family are part of my "psychological family" (as opposed to biological). This distinction between psychological and biological family can be incredibly helpful in reconciling the notion that sometimes our biological family is not what we deserve, not something we can count on, or is simply insufficient in supporting us in the ways we need. After my family lost our home in a fire, I basically lived with MJ. A few months later when my mom was diagnosed with cancer, they were all there when I needed them. I could crash on their foldout sofa (undoubtedly the most comfortable place I have ever slept). MJ and I would have bonfires in the backyard, play badminton, listen to classic rock, and generally amuse ourselves with extreme sarcasm. Her parents, Jackie and Dez, are a second set of parents to me. They are both hippies and a ton of fun. <br />
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Dez and I get along very well having bonded over his excellent collection of sci-fi/fantasy novels and musical taste. I remember walking down to MJ's room the first time I visited her house and seeing a shelf of paperbacks over the stairs including the original <i>Shannara </i>series. When I spoke to Dez about them, he was shocked I had already read many of his favorite series. As I followed that up by commenting on his <i>Boston, Fleetwood Mac, </i>and Clapton albums after quoting Simon and Garfunkel and <i>The Beatles, </i>I was officially designated MJ's coolest friend ever. Then, when I used (and properly defined) "wain" in a game of <i>Scrabble</i> I was declared "Daughter #4", a role I will continue to gladly fulfill. Dez speaks three languages, is incredibly well read, and probably one of the only truckers with a radio preset to NPR. He has an interesting life story I might chronicle at a later date. Jackie is a sweet, kind person with a sarcastic sense of humor. She was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis before MJ and I became friends, and we've all watched as it has progressed. Despite this, she stays active and maintains her sense of humor. Dez and Jackie have been married for 42 years, a nice example of a loving and enduring relationship. <br />
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My biological family is great in many respects, especially now that we are all adults. Growing up, things were a mess emotionally, psychologically, financially, and physically. I am glad, however, that I have the support of many people in different ways including my psychological family members. Weddings seem to help me remember this. <br />
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R. R. Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08400145777848602844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3090423475254908932.post-34419852324797746672014-05-10T00:17:00.001-05:002014-05-10T00:17:15.408-05:00Musical Carl Rogers<span style="font-size: small;">First, observing a wisp of a woman with a cane in her 80s openly mock a set of self-absorbed college girls as they pondered deep questions about life, frat boys in boat shoes, and their venti half-caff soy lattes heavy on the foam in an elevator is definitely one of the funniest things I've ever seen. That happened yesterday, and it was excellent.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Second, thunder and lightning. I love them. More please, Weather. Seriously, so cool looking and such a turn on. If weather phenomena were cars, thunder and lightning would be a <a href="http://www.daveolimpiautomobiles.com/forsale/porsche/Speedster356/Speedster356_2.html" target="_blank">'55 Porsche Speedster</a>. Snow and sleet, however, are a <a href="http://www.justacargeek.com/2012/05/1988-yugo-car-built-for-99-that-now.html" target="_blank">Yugo</a> <i>at best</i>, or maybe a Corvette (i.e. ugly, overrated, and preferred by complete assholes with poor taste who think they know how to drive). </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Third, self-care. So important. Music can be very helpful in fostering a sense of energy and
restoration. It can also be a good gauge of the need for self-care. My
psychological state is surprisingly easy to identify depending on the
music I choose to listen to. Oldies (50s and 60s only) are for any time; it's hard to be
sad when you're listening to <a href="http://youtu.be/9NF5XU-k2Vk" target="_blank">oldies</a>...unless you start thinking about
the horribly sexist and racist nature of a good majority of the songs
and the social/cultural/political climate in which the were produced.
If you can embrace that, though, it's<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gbO2_077ixs" target="_blank"> just great music</a>. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">If I am angry,
upset, or generally excited about something, it typically comes down to Cheap Trick, The Who, Asia, Kansas or hair metal. Something <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lqKLuegPPxk" target="_blank">shrieky</a> (Mili! gasp!) or <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PNnyjAabTpo&feature=kp" target="_blank">full of strong vocals with hard driving guitar gets me every time</a> (Ah, Roger). Contemplation leads to <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aEEQWPfjv1U" target="_blank">folk rock</a> and "classical music", although I strongly prefer the romantic era (<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Eo1KHr-b-CA" target="_blank">strings and horns = automatic contentment</a>).</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">When I'm in a funk or feeling buried there's a pretty specific progression. This week it started with<i> Abby Road (<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4HCaBAV4ZTI" target="_blank">Golden Slumbers </a></i><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4HCaBAV4ZTI" target="_blank">on</a>), then Boston (<i><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MfeV6mzIIz8" target="_blank">Don't Look Back</a>)</i>, eventually I moved to early <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lQ1_CYqgtPI" target="_blank">Rush</a> (oh no), and it continues with <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=645i2cFZfG4" target="_blank">The Allman Brothers</a>. What better wallow-collect your thoughts- figure out your life-jam music is there than The Allman Bros? Musical Carl Rogers if there ever was. How does that make you feel? Like blue sky? Better than rain? Like not wasting time no more? </span><br />
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R. R. Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08400145777848602844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3090423475254908932.post-55877326126379631822014-05-02T06:36:00.001-05:002014-05-02T06:36:27.823-05:00Emotional Rip TideI have a long history of nearly drowning to death starting as a young child, about 5, through age 16 when I nearly drown off the coast during a trip to Costa Rica. When I was approximately 5-years-old, I visited my uncle at his country club (don't get too excited, it was in western Wyoming...). I was curious about a vent near the bottom of the pool and I decided to investigate. I forgot/didn't realize you can't just breathe underwater and it takes time to return to the surface. My uncle jumped in a saved me. I was choking and gasping on the pool deck with random strangers looking on. My uncle asked if I was okay. I nodded, he grabbed me by my wrist and ankle and threw me back into the pool. After that I can recall at least four other instances of almost drowning. Once in a natural pool in a stream, twice at public pools, and then in Costa Rica. I'm fairly stubborn. I think many people would have given swimming up after the first few times. Ironically, I don't have a fear of swimming in the water, but I'm fairly positive I am going to die trapped in a car that careens off of a bridge into water (or so I imagine every time I have to cross the Mississippi or the Missouri). It's fairly good exposure therapy to have to drive across a bridge at least four times a day.<br />
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Something more challenging is drowning on dry land in a swirl of life. A colleague calls distress "living in pain without a voice". It has been a long time since I've been in a position to compare physical drowning with psychological drowning. The emotional experience and the corresponding physical experience is quite the same. Struggling with fear and pain while being unable to say or possibly do anything is a visceral part of being pulled under. There is also a deep sense of loneliness and helplessness which is further contrasted by a realization that death is a distinct possibility. The existentialists would encourage taking this realization into account and using it to create meaning in life. <br />
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Each time I've nearly drowned I recognized what was happening while being aware of the experience. I can tell I've been caught by an emotional rip tide, and I am being pulled further and further away from the shore. The more I fight, the worse it gets. Distress. Sometimes it is the struggle itself that causes the most harm. The trick is choosing between letting yourself slip under or allowing yourself to be carried a little further out in order to escape the current and return to shore. I think perhaps I have been treading water too long...time for action. <br />
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R. R. Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08400145777848602844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3090423475254908932.post-46161923319244673742014-04-18T19:29:00.000-05:002014-04-18T19:29:09.805-05:00Top Hat Transcription: GroceriesThis is literally what happens in my life when you forget the grocery list at home and ask Top Hat to transcribe it and send it by email. It also shows that no matter the situation, there is nothing that will make lettuce even remotely interesting. It's a good thing he specified bread the bakery item, not the band. I already have two of their albums...<br />
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<br />R. R. Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08400145777848602844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3090423475254908932.post-52724596307970370742014-03-20T14:12:00.002-05:002014-03-20T14:12:44.161-05:00AdriftShe reflected on a previous conversation about the many bridges situated across from her office as she gazed at them with distracted comprehension. She had likened the bridges to life, growth, and relationships. At the time, they were a meaningful and illuminating metaphor for so many things, including hope. A total of five bridges; 1.5 intended for pedestrians, the rest assisting the daily hustle of cars and trucks across the river. The river flowed beneath them all, seemingly indifferent to the mad rush occurring above. The river knew what it was doing. It had a direction, a way of getting there, and its own timeline. And yet, it was a facade of glass with gentle ripples as it flowed along, all the while masking the tumult and fury of the undercurrent. Certainly, a more befitting metaphor for the times then the exposed, unyielding bridges. With apt irony, Neil Young brought her attention back to her desk-- the stack of papers to grade, the journal articles to read, notes to write, emails to send. The reality of the desk and its obligations evaded her generally good sense of reason and duty. Instead, she shifted her eyes and mind back to the window, the river...just drifting. R. R. Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08400145777848602844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3090423475254908932.post-23473835816361228472014-03-07T22:21:00.002-06:002014-03-07T22:21:40.196-06:00A Wunnerful Weekend: Inconceivable ChessIn an effort to regain a sense of life, humor, and fun, my good friend, Em' and I decided we needed a night of rakish behavior last Saturday. It involved a makeover for Em'; apparently the last time someone did her makeup she "looked like a hooker" with a bad spray tan (as if there is any other kind...spray tans that is). Then, we moved onto oysters, milk stout, dinner, tequila, inconceivable chess*, tequila, an oldies and hair metal sing-a-long in my living room, and tequila. Life, humor, and fun were present in abundance, as were rakishness and Luke Skywalker.<br />
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* Inconceivable Chess:<br />
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Inconceivable chess is the result of Rita's imagination, b.a.c., and desire to see people in <a href="http://youtu.be/vEiyBbP28g8" target="_blank">silly hats</a>. The rules for this game are flexible but should really be written on a flashcard used to study for a written prelim exam stating Roger's notion of the importance of counselor attitude. As you'll notice in the accompanying photos, it is important to use a durable if not unbreakable chess set in inconceivable chess. This set happens to be missing both the board and one white knight; perfect! Enter my canvass board, and the first official inconceivable chess rule:<br />
<ul>
<li>All players must have at least two, but no more than three, "special character" chesspersons, and all players must have the same number of special character pieces. Special character pieces, however, are <i>not</i> fairy chess pieces and have no special moves. </li>
</ul>
I replaced my missing knight with a <i>Jedi Knight, </i>well technically he's just a rebel at this point, but he isn't such a bad pilot himself...I switched out a pawn for a tiny goat. Em' used a
ceramic....rooster....as her king, and a ninja as a pawn. We chose from the random found objects I keep on my mantle. <br />
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The other rules of engagement:</div>
<ul>
<li>Play should be accompanied by classic surf rock or champagne music <span style="font-size: x-small;">(note: it is ill-advised to try and watch the LWS when playing Inconceivable Chess as the LWS will a) hypnotize you b) remind you of your grandmother and c) reinforce the fact that <a href="http://youtu.be/bMvqPffzDMQ?t=50s" target="_blank">LW was the most adorable old man ever</a> which leads to point a) in a vicious wunnerful cycle of accordions, batons, and dancers)</span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>Any player who loses a piece must take one drink, unless they lost the piece to a special character which results in two drinks. Any play who loses a special character piece must take three drinks. </li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>Any player who is in check must wear the Tiger hat (or any other appropriately humiliating and awesome head garment).</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>Any time players are mismatched in skill/knowledge (quickly established by asking each to explain basics like en passant, castling, and promoting pawns) the more advanced player must be drinking a higher-proof to level the playing field.</li>
</ul>
Incidentally, I had to convince Em' throughout the game that en passant, castling, and promoting pawns were real, and so by default this rule was instituted as my beverage was 80 proof, and hers was only 30. Regardless, Em' tried to commit regicide within the first 6 moves by putting herself in check and was subsequently forced to wear the Tiger hat until adequately shamed. <br />
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The game proceeded like this:<br />
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Ultimately, luck on Em's part (and 12 ounces of very tasty unadulterated reposado) led to this:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimx9NhbEwEKZCBqEbHOzbxF12UxivimjnvebpP75JldE0JrllH20miYlgP5z8kFMDC1f0MS_noVhgMhDZ9V9dNEpPANxvuuLZ7cftrw5Y8mXJrOTz2l7CHQrA1Dnm5yfaURs14OAQl16F2/s1600/loser+face.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimx9NhbEwEKZCBqEbHOzbxF12UxivimjnvebpP75JldE0JrllH20miYlgP5z8kFMDC1f0MS_noVhgMhDZ9V9dNEpPANxvuuLZ7cftrw5Y8mXJrOTz2l7CHQrA1Dnm5yfaURs14OAQl16F2/s1600/loser+face.png" height="320" width="271" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Checkmate...</span></td></tr>
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I did, however, slay Em' outright in the sing-a-long/dance-a-long post chess game. I have no photographic or videographic proof to display regarding the singing and dancing, but I standby my knowledge of both oldies (50s and 60s) and hair metal. I can also <a href="http://youtu.be/xbK0C9AYMd8" target="_blank">do the twist </a>while properly lip syncing. <br />
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<i>We're gonna twist and twist and twist until we tear the house down....</i><br />
R. R. Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08400145777848602844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3090423475254908932.post-54995758928748220452014-02-26T21:56:00.000-06:002014-02-26T21:56:27.968-06:00Know When to Fold 'EmI'm in an unusual place of complete detachment from most everything with a sense of some crossroad approaching. <br />
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I am not good at accepting convention or authority..."authority." I have partially recognized these two personal characteristics for quite some time, but I have very recently come to a full understanding regarding just how much I struggle against them both. As a result, I've realized and accepted that doctoral level education is not necessarily an especially good fit for me. I ask too many questions, I'm too obstinate in my belief that there should be equity, justice, and accountability from students <i>and</i> faculty, and my drive to effect change in those areas is leaving me burnt. Also, it is difficult to be invested in yourself when you are insignificant in the eyes of an institution and the faculty. <br />
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I started a project last fall that involved asking people why they were in graduate school or why they went to graduate school. I asked specifically why they were going through/went through the journey that is graduate education given the notorious reputation it has. In general, the answers varied between, "I want to be a professor" and "I like to learn." There were some like, "A PhD equals flexibility" and "I wanted a challenge" but mostly the responses were fairly homogeneous and staid. Closer to the end of the semester, I asked a few people if their reason had changed. For some it had changed considerably, others less so. I noticed that when a change had taken place, it was typically not in a positive way. I suppose it could be argued that it was in a more realistic direction, but they often involved a sense of disillusionment and sadness. When I asked what prompted the shift, it was always some combination of institutional bureaucracy paired with a lack of support or disregard from faculty/programs. For students further along in their programs, there was a sense of draining hopelessness.<br />
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There is something truly repellent about the doctoral level of higher education. I assume that there are many factors that could make one's experience less horrid, unfortunately, the system I am currently navigating seems bereft of the large majority of them. I think I have also exhausted the modicum of resiliency in myself and my internal/external resources for bolstering it. People joke about how terrible grad school is, and there are some humorous takes on it, but in a way that makes it all the more tragic. There is absolutely no defensible reason it has to be anything less than challenging and supportive. I think the worst convention plaguing higher education is the notion that things are supposed to be miserable, and it is acceptable to maintain that perspective while doing nothing to improve it or advance. The second worst convention is that "weeding out" of students is necessary and important. If anything, what a ridiculous waste of time and money on the institution's part! It would be fascinating to see a program that is focused on supporting students from beginning to end versus establishing arbitrary and inefficient hoops for jumping through in order to pare them down. Instead of creating new rules and forcing students into precarious funding and academic situations etc., maybe helping them get what they need right away would be more efficient, effective, and economically responsible?<br />
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I am at a loss to understand how it is acceptable to maintain mediocrity based on outdated and apathetic attitudes from educators and institutions. Currently, I am hard-pressed to think of a worse defense for higher education than "it's always been done this way" or "creating a policy will fix everything." This is especially true given the mad push for research and maintaining a razor's edge on knowledge. I am sick of the unresponsive, uninvolved, screw everyone except me (or my program) attitude that pervades academics. And I'm just really sick of caring. It isn't even worth working from a place of not caring but continuing anyway. <br />
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Undoubtedly, many people have experienced similar concerns and issues. It would be absurd to think there is a uniqueness in such experience. Despite that, it's still demoralizing, yet I am not the type of person who gives up easily, or ever. I only fold to stay in the game for a better hand and higher stakes. Sometimes, I just wish I could call their bluff. <br />
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R. R. Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08400145777848602844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3090423475254908932.post-5273614743460081792014-02-23T20:45:00.000-06:002014-02-23T20:45:11.262-06:00Schadenfreude: Written PrelimsIn honor of my Monday and Tuesday, a comic dedicated to my cohortmates and profession:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn8-KIPaRd1MfrsnfX3D-Sz3-aifq6VuirfYL9d7HxsSWP-i8DQbqFxktnr8Z_jxeqIWK1eXAEIdr3FRQfg02ftMoUZOjeXm8xbNrJ-hVluM5cWhDuWRU7kPW1sTsnU9PhD60En_uQELqe/s1600/Johari+Window.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn8-KIPaRd1MfrsnfX3D-Sz3-aifq6VuirfYL9d7HxsSWP-i8DQbqFxktnr8Z_jxeqIWK1eXAEIdr3FRQfg02ftMoUZOjeXm8xbNrJ-hVluM5cWhDuWRU7kPW1sTsnU9PhD60En_uQELqe/s1600/Johari+Window.png" height="314" width="640" /></a></div>
I always make sure to ask if they can special order one. Maybe I should check Lowe's....<br />
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<br />R. R. Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08400145777848602844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3090423475254908932.post-51219631382500795452014-02-20T22:49:00.001-06:002014-02-20T22:49:17.074-06:00The Steak Hypothesis<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: right;">
<span style="font-size: large;">My little sister made an astute observation about our father and the way he handles us when we are in distress. She noted that anytime one of is us upset about something, our father suggests we have a steak. She further posited that steak does in fact improve any situation by approximately 30-40%. I decided to test this hypothesis. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiiEOcSp-6VZOsbRNrNXYk5x8zBW5x-7BNhzaLQ2DpWFWlYk2wPMhrEfEgVS1DQHW2vwP0ZHfgwggDi1zWQVoygfcoOM-JrZ_wekVK02MHpOAiP5MvjExNxFYHaPxG3BmENzSd-F3J1rrK/s1600/DSCN2630.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiiEOcSp-6VZOsbRNrNXYk5x8zBW5x-7BNhzaLQ2DpWFWlYk2wPMhrEfEgVS1DQHW2vwP0ZHfgwggDi1zWQVoygfcoOM-JrZ_wekVK02MHpOAiP5MvjExNxFYHaPxG3BmENzSd-F3J1rrK/s1600/DSCN2630.JPG" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; text-align: start;">Inside, this is what studying for a written prelim looks like. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSC-_VUJiNpwJLoSnszOFVvgQ36Q6AnrxumlNJFThBmRngoKA0b66Q7Jp6yRZOdiW_zvndX-GXyGiWeSR1GaU35aTBaDhOrFV46mVaV0TT1K6LuKxDtNoRUIWV5vBQ7ngBKPsmlWXRya8F/s1600/DSCN2615.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSC-_VUJiNpwJLoSnszOFVvgQ36Q6AnrxumlNJFThBmRngoKA0b66Q7Jp6yRZOdiW_zvndX-GXyGiWeSR1GaU35aTBaDhOrFV46mVaV0TT1K6LuKxDtNoRUIWV5vBQ7ngBKPsmlWXRya8F/s1600/DSCN2615.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieEctfEcajxLhQfHEv1W3swzUT75BilzoFX8UA1SiMqBT1d2lLXoEeO0dP4Yb3BotvrrPEfmyXfYpHYnvrNEs9zNw-XPyJ5saDGotm1uj-41vwAWOvI9FUwKeC4r9Ci7k7S1ZnCzkw8IDi/s1600/DSCN2617.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJW5Xfx83MHESZZ763bm0Ups3iRogh87oEHyYA8nuT7GT11H6m3yY9jGTN9GFhfKDY77WGJvp128IdW0svJpESA5H6jVfZ4L6qeT21UrrA9qN8XMX4LsIDJIdNVKPlxmG-KiaIsEJEAiC1/s1600/DSCN2616.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJW5Xfx83MHESZZ763bm0Ups3iRogh87oEHyYA8nuT7GT11H6m3yY9jGTN9GFhfKDY77WGJvp128IdW0svJpESA5H6jVfZ4L6qeT21UrrA9qN8XMX4LsIDJIdNVKPlxmG-KiaIsEJEAiC1/s1600/DSCN2616.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a><br /><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">This is my effort at a 40% improvement in my circumstances this evening.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTQeXofI5tB0Ljh7YftplNcWvqrggHKgs_KzNXT-h2Sbh51EIywZ9cTy-NkL1UH5-8sQAPKpXuy3l4SeJPwWm1KaltU_jfeNvQZ5gPHBhqgrAdJKOxaAmXPNZBAlbw945o-971UZMm6I3Z/s1600/DSCN2624.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTQeXofI5tB0Ljh7YftplNcWvqrggHKgs_KzNXT-h2Sbh51EIywZ9cTy-NkL1UH5-8sQAPKpXuy3l4SeJPwWm1KaltU_jfeNvQZ5gPHBhqgrAdJKOxaAmXPNZBAlbw945o-971UZMm6I3Z/s1600/DSCN2624.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Ideally it would be paired with this, alas, the bottle was empty. <i> <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xKUyq-uCZr0" target="_blank">Oh, churl, drunk all and left no friendly drop to help me after...</a></i></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA1mbBwdAqbarmBBWlPtQf5DYr9aJzzfT3EEfSJy_GEC_dJpdXiJfbu25uu7iGaGSF2ehIUeBUfwTBLFpRk6096tm6Pq0kgxe2vCoTKkwjrXJ6uaKUjkQXZRHuFYHsaXAw9yRnAkn8VLdM/s1600/DSCN2622.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Reduced Shakespeare Company = Brilliant" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA1mbBwdAqbarmBBWlPtQf5DYr9aJzzfT3EEfSJy_GEC_dJpdXiJfbu25uu7iGaGSF2ehIUeBUfwTBLFpRk6096tm6Pq0kgxe2vCoTKkwjrXJ6uaKUjkQXZRHuFYHsaXAw9yRnAkn8VLdM/s1600/DSCN2622.JPG" height="240" title="" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="text-align: center;"> </span><span style="font-size: large; text-align: center;">So, in the end I am left with this...</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpLkD8OH1toWODW-8ihduuvZYqbcnI6aZtTJ-yH_8ZKPQM1gNTt8N9IKZ8HoESJ1bdxXLKXIohRyYU4n4B-6ko1rmPiANjwkErIHLMAFcv1AKr-Weefu0uYs_zMnBAzk3-SE8Tvhb3MqFB/s1600/DSCN2623.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpLkD8OH1toWODW-8ihduuvZYqbcnI6aZtTJ-yH_8ZKPQM1gNTt8N9IKZ8HoESJ1bdxXLKXIohRyYU4n4B-6ko1rmPiANjwkErIHLMAFcv1AKr-Weefu0uYs_zMnBAzk3-SE8Tvhb3MqFB/s1600/DSCN2623.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieEctfEcajxLhQfHEv1W3swzUT75BilzoFX8UA1SiMqBT1d2lLXoEeO0dP4Yb3BotvrrPEfmyXfYpHYnvrNEs9zNw-XPyJ5saDGotm1uj-41vwAWOvI9FUwKeC4r9Ci7k7S1ZnCzkw8IDi/s1600/DSCN2617.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieEctfEcajxLhQfHEv1W3swzUT75BilzoFX8UA1SiMqBT1d2lLXoEeO0dP4Yb3BotvrrPEfmyXfYpHYnvrNEs9zNw-XPyJ5saDGotm1uj-41vwAWOvI9FUwKeC4r9Ci7k7S1ZnCzkw8IDi/s1600/DSCN2617.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUYGnrLeVNst2uwghHRJXgwipIb3eQ202i8YZBmvROgMItIfFhGeh-8Kh19knpkxCPL5CoQFvTLzqQkTY9FvTforvTrvrwdZw30Sg1zI-jTnB58c0TtZ41epxht5VE1YrHmYyA0FsawUm8/s1600/DSCN2635.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUYGnrLeVNst2uwghHRJXgwipIb3eQ202i8YZBmvROgMItIfFhGeh-8Kh19knpkxCPL5CoQFvTLzqQkTY9FvTforvTrvrwdZw30Sg1zI-jTnB58c0TtZ41epxht5VE1YrHmYyA0FsawUm8/s1600/DSCN2635.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a> ... ~<span style="font-size: large;">55% improvement.</span></div>
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R. R. Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08400145777848602844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3090423475254908932.post-75946199769675757672014-01-15T20:33:00.001-06:002014-01-15T20:33:22.114-06:00Data Use and Ethics<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I've been working on this piece for a few months now trying to refine my points to create something coherent and concise. It's hard to say how successful I've been at either. I think the final impetus for finishing it was certain topics in <a href="http://citizen-statistician.org/2013/08/05/jsm-2013-day-1/" target="_blank">this post about a session at the Joint Statistical Meetings</a>, <a href="http://statistical-research.com/data-science-statistics-and-the-domain-expert/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=data-science-statistics-and-the-domain-expert" target="_blank">this post about data scientists vs statisticians</a>, and a discussion on MPR about the recent data hack at Target. </span><br />
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As an individual just on the periphery of graduate level statistics, and someone from a profession where ethics are prominent and a part of almost every discussion, my concerns are somewhere between philosophical and questioning. As a professional consumer of data analysis and statistics, and an occasional creator, I am concerned and confused about some of the seemingly inadequate elements of both statistics and data use culture. I think some of my concerns are complicated by the transdiscipline nature of statistics and data analysis; so many people using them in so many different fields of inquiry. I also recognize that my concerns could potentially be lobbied against any number of professions and schools of thought. I would add, however, that ethical and social implications of any practice should be examined widely and openly for any profession, field of inquiry, school of thought, or general hobby. Question and lobby away as far as I'm concerned. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">First, as far as "statisticians" and "data scientists" go, as an outsider, it's like Spy vs. Spy. I would contend, though, that statisticians who work as educators have a
significant hand in producing budding "data scientists" anytime they are
working with undergraduate students. Most of the students are not
going to be statisticians, and they many only need the bare minimum in statistics to move on in their field. They learn a few cool ways to make visualizations in R, or less cool visualizations in SPSS, and they go on
their way. Collecting data is unbelievably easy. Also, finding data to
play around with is equally easy. Understanding the deeper concepts
and responsibilities related to analysis, inference, and interpretation, that's something else. I do understand that part of educating the masses is through undergraduate education, however, higher education is a privileged experience.</span></span><br />
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I have a few questions and thoughts surrounding the professional culture of statistics and data use. I think my general questions/concerns are: </span><br />
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<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Is there a social and/or ethical obligation to provide education on a given subject to the general population by individuals trained in such subjects? For example, what level of action and advocacy for accuracy, open discussion, and education falls on learned individuals from specific disciplines regarding society at large?</span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">If information is created to be consumed, should the consumers be educated?</span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Also, where does the education regarding the ethical use of statistics and data begin? </span></li>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">How and Why?</span></span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I struggle with the notion that any field of inquiry is not responsible for a broad dissemination and defense of the information they produce resulting in education of the masses. Not only is it good for society, it protects the discipline from misinformation about what it is they do everyday and why they are important to society. In addition to this, society provides the data that data scientists use in their work. Educating people about the role they play in another individual's livelihood seems reasonable. Statisticians and data analysts use public (or private) data to make all sorts of inferences for all sorts of purposes, and they profit from it (sometimes). Why is educating the subjects of their analyses any different than educating a corporate client about the analyses performed and conclusions drawn? <br /> <br /> Additionally, the argument that society at large should get no further consideration because everyone benefits from changes or opportunities that result from decisions based on statistical analyses is weak. It may be true to a degree, but it lacks sufficient nuance to capture the whole situation. How can we be educated consumers if we have no foundation to think critically or to appropriately critique information provided to us? Or to critique the methods by which our personal data is collected? (Ahem, Target shoppers and <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2013/10/02/technology/google-accused-of-wiretapping-in-gmail-scans.html">Gmail users</a>)? Is it possible to make an informed decision about something without having a basic understanding of what that something is? <i>If our educators have gaps in their knowledge, how large is the gap they leave in the knowledge of students they teach</i>? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />In the past, the general population was guided by the intuition of individuals either naturally gifted or trained (sometimes both) to use that intuition for inquiry. Currently, as a society we are pushing the concept of omnipresent data collection, analysis, and interpretation. There continues to be some reliance on the "expert" knowledge of statisticians and trained analysts, but it seems that society is moving toward a more self-directed, self-informed, corporation supported conceptualization of data collection and use. While there are benefits to this, there are equally valid and concerning problems as well. How do we ensure data collection, use, and dissemination are done ethically and in an informed manner? Where does it start? I do not think that statisticians and data analysts are the general cause of data misuse and unethical behavior. I do, however, believe that they are uniquely positioned to mitigate the damage and harm done by the real trouble sources.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />It seems likely that most formalized education in applied statistics and data work is grounded in being aware of the assumptions being made regarding the analyses and being prepared to support your position with sound theoretical or substantive reasoning. That's certainly been the bulk of my training in statistics, which by general consensus has been excellent at the graduate level. But what about the steps before and after the analysis? Ethics should be an element of all parts of an inquiry or process. Data is absolutely tied to a context, and when that context is not attended to, the possibility of erroneous conclusions and eventual harm becomes more likely. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />I should state that my idea of ethics in conjunction with data use and statistics includes ethical considerations given to: whether or not data should even be collected, why and how the data are collected and stored, why and how the data are analyzed, why and how the data are presented in this way or that, why and how the "findings" and "results" are used, and perhaps the most seemingly overlooked consideration, the level of education and advocacy surrounding the appropriate and responsible use of data. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />I recognize that often times statisticians are brought in after data has been collected, and they have no say in the methods used. However, with support and persistence, a culture of responsible data, especially big data, could be fostered. And who better to cultivate it then the people who have to work with the data? I cannot count the number of times I've heard comments on the quality of data people obtain and the grumbling that comes with having to get it in proper order for analysis.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Who and When?</span></span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The America Statistical Association has published <a href="http://www.amstat.org/about/ethicalguidelines.cfm">ethical guidelines</a> that outline a number of expectations for individuals working in the field of statistics. Some of the statements regarding ethical obligations and professional citizenship include:</span><br />
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<li style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Support for improved public understanding of and respect for statistics.</span> </span></li>
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<li style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Exposure of dishonest or incompetent uses of statistics.</span> </span></li>
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<li style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">"...all practitioners of statistics, whatever their training and occupation,
have social obligations to perform their work in a professional,
competent, and ethical manner."</span> </span></li>
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<li style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">"Before participating in a study involving human beings or organizations,
analyzing data from such a study, or accepting resulting manuscripts
for review, consider whether appropriate research subject approvals were
obtained...Consider
also what assurances of privacy and confidentiality were given and abide
by those assurances."</span></li>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The American Statistical Association states that students should be encouraged to follow their ethical guidelines. In practice, are they? How are statisticians and the potential data scientists they create supposed to act in accordance with these guidelines in an ethical manner if they are not aware of them? Some time ago I asked a friend, a statistics educator, how students were exposed to ethical reasoning and practice in his program. The response was that it is the student's responsibility to seek that information out. It was acknowledged that there are discussions around appropriate research design and how you treat participants in research etc. but that was essentially it. He also implied, by referencing the implementation of ethics courses at Harvard and the lack of apparent change in ethical operating in the business world, that education around ethics and ethical reasoning has little impact. I wondered how that might change if all business programs included <i>an overt culture of ethical reasoning and action </i>as well as ethics courses? It seems that all fields of scientific inquiry suffer from the deluded notion that their own impatience with the rate of measurable or otherwise demonstrable change equates to no change. The drive to find "significant" results at all costs has derailed many academic careers, and negatively impacted society at large (Who wants a vaccination?). It also perfectly exemplifies the need for ethics training.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Ethical guidelines are created to protect other people from you and your profession or discipline. They are also created as a form of recourse for other professionals to be gatekeepers in their profession or discipline. If those are not reason enough for ethical guidelines and training, the fact that established guidelines can provide recourse for consumers who experience unethical behavior by giving a framework for what to expect should be considered. The establishment of, and education around, ethics will not eliminate unethical behavior; and I suppose it could be argued that it does not necessarily reduce it either. However, it does allow others (professionals and consumers) to be informed and mindful. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The requirement of obligatory ethics courses and an overt culture of ethics has certainly had an impact in the field of Counseling Psychology. For example, in my current program from the first day of classes we are informed we are bound by the ethical principles of the American Psychological Association. Our syllabi include this statement, and it is highlighted in our program handbooks at both the Master's and PhD level. We are also informed that failure to comply with these guidelines is grounds for dismissal from the program (and later from the profession). Counselors in training are required to take courses in professional ethics, and then continuing education once we are licensed. Does this prevent all unethical behavior? Absolutely not. Some of it? Maybe. Perhaps the ultimate point of ethical guidelines is not prevention, but the creation of informed consumers and colleagues...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">A Snapshot?</span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">For the sake of an example in comparison to Counseling Psychology, I'll use the the resident Quantitative Methods program in my department. (This is a small sample to be sure, and it is hopefully not representative of all Quant. programs around the world.) However, going local, according to the information provided openly to prospective students and the information on their website, it appears that there are no such parallel indications or requirements for ethics. While the general program handbook makes one mention of professional ethics associated with research methodology, there are no courses on ethics, and the single comment on professional ethics is only stated for students at the PhD level. This is concerning given that MA level individuals are just as likely to have contact with the general public as PhD level data scientists, if not more. Neither the Master's handbook, nor the Doctoral handbook makes a single statement involving the word "ethics" or the ethical code to which students are bound during their course of study. The handbooks also fail to indicate where students should look for professional guidance on ethics. None of the course descriptions provided on the website include the word "ethics" or indicate how ethical reasoning and principles are applied to the work of individuals working in quantitative fields.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Most individuals are born with the ability to learn language yet we go through years of formal education to learn to communicate effectively. Athletes are typically born with the ability to run, swim, jump, breath, kick, throw etc. However, they also spend years in training to enhance their performance. Statisticians and data scientists are likley naturally skilled with numbers and good internal visualizations of data; why have advanced degrees if it is something they can learn to cultivate on their own? "Critical thinking" skills are often a target skill for universities to "improve". If we can improve critical thinking performance through education, why not ethical reasoning? </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">This whole topic is such a bear:</span></h3>
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R. R. Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08400145777848602844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3090423475254908932.post-44544082543470228982013-10-30T22:02:00.002-05:002013-10-30T22:02:39.759-05:00To the Guy Who Followed Me Across Campus Tuesday NightHi there. You might remember me. We spoke on Tuesday night in a poorly lit, somewhat desolate and isolated spot behind the student union as I was walking to my car. I have to say, I feel somewhat badly about our interaction. But maybe I'm getting ahead of myself. In case you don't happen to remember me, let me briefly remind you of the situation, my memory of it anyway.<br />
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I was just leaving one of the classes I TA for on campus. It was about 6:30pm, and it was starting to get dark out. It takes me about 20 minutes to walk to my car from the building I TA in. I don't recall walking past you at any point in my walk, which suggests that you were either behind me, or you were in a very inconspicuous spot somewhere along the way. When you first stopped me, you were about 20 yards behind me which also indicates you had followed from some distance. <br />
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You shouted "Excuse me," twice. As I realized more fully I was walking toward an even more desolate and isolated parking ramp, instead of ignoring you completely, I stopped and turned around. As you approached, I notice four things right away. You were wearing a hoodie with the hood fully up and tied, both of your hands were in your pockets nowhere to be seen, you weren't wearing a backpack of any kind (a tad unusual for a student), and there was no one else around. I have to admit, these observations led to a very distinct sort of fear. And this is where I start to feel badly about our interaction in some ways. <br />
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I lied to you, a lot. It was not only disrespectful to you, it was beneath me, and I represented myself and my personal values poorly. You asked if I was in a specific program and commented that you thought you recognized me. I did not believe you, but I honestly replied that I was not in that program. I started to back away from you and head toward a more populated, well lit area. You followed. You then asked my name as you came around my front and blocked my way. Somewhat alarmed, I chose to give you a fake name. You asked what program I was in. Perhaps you didn't notice it, but I dropped into a moro-ashi dachi stance, a classic karate fighting stance, and placed my bag behind myself so my arms would be free. I gave you a fake program. You twitched and looked around quickly, almost as if you were watching for someone or something. Then you asked what kind of work I did in my program. Feeling very uncomfortable, but preferring non-violence or confrontation, I again lied and took a step away from you. But, hey, there you were again with the small talk! You turned quickly as two girls walked by at the far end of the square. You stepped closer and asked what I liked to do for fun. I pointedly stated I was too busy for fun, and what little time I do have I often spend with my partner (that was genuine truth). I stepped into the potential view of a group of guys hanging out in a room on the ground floor of the building next to us as you stepped closer and asked my name again. While glancing at the window into the room of guys hanging out, I gave the fake name again. When you looked up and noticed the people in the building, you visibly frowned, looked around, and took off. I waited until you turned the corner, and then I waited a few more minutes. Finally, I ran to the parking ramp, ran to my car, and drove home. <br />
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I should be up front in noting that I'm really angry that my natural response was fear. I'm mad that I have to be on guard when walking alone in the evening or at night. It really sucks that I can't just walk to my car without thinking about my personal safety. I'm angry that I was put in a position to feel intimidated, scared, and unsafe. You shouldn't just be able to stop me and ask personal questions! Or should you? Actually, that is part of the problem-- maybe you should be able to approach me without my reaction being about fear and safety. I'm upset that you were automatically a threat in my mind. After reflecting on this, I realized maybe you would be angry about this too, not only on my behalf but in regard to the fact that you are automatically a threat just because you are a guy. If you aren't angry, perhaps you will reconsider based on my reflections. I should be able to walk to my car anytime, anywhere without so much as a second thought about safety. You, however, should also be able to approach a woman, or any person actually, without being stereotyped as a threat simply because you're male. My partner, father, brother, nephews, and male friends should be able to move through life without being seen as an inherent threat to female safety as much as I should be able to live without being seen as a pair of breasts and nice smile. While my reaction is very consistent with my personal experiences and the messages I receive as a woman in US society, I'm guessing some of your behavior was the result of your experience as a man and messages you receive about what that means. This is hypocritical and a double standard, and I missed an opportunity to share a different message with you. <br />
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I realize I did not treat you respectfully. What I should have done was stated <i>I</i> was <i>feeling </i>uncomfortable and asked you politely to step away from me. By not doing this, I did not give you the opportunity to correct my assumption that you were a threat. Instead, by not saying anything, I may have given you the impression that I was interested in speaking with you. Not only that, but I disempowered myself by not being honest. Also, if you really thought you knew me, I responded quite rudely. In addition to this, I suppose it is possible you just wanted to talk to me and were unable to think of a better way to introduce yourself. Regardless, I made a potentially unfair assumption about you, and I apologize.<br />
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I am not sorry, however, for being mindful of my surroundings. I am not naive, and with the influx of crime alerts coming out on campus not attending to my surrounds would be foolhardy. If you were an actual threat and demonstrated that, I would have done whatever was necessary to protect myself. Had you attempted to engage in any sort of physical contact with me, I would likely not be expressing as much concern for the situation. No, I think my general concern about our interaction is centered on respect as you did not demonstrate you were a threat beyond some agitated, nervous behavior, a very poor location, and a poor opening line. <br />
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I appreciate our interaction as I think back on it despite the fact that I was fairly terrified the entire time we were talking. It has highlighted some of my own thinking and some potential blind spots. I think the assumption of men as inherent threats is a blind spot for a considerable number of people. Until society is ready to support interactions that are not based on fear or poor assumptions, however, I might recommend approaching people in well lit areas, hands visible, and with honestly. <br />
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<br />R. R. Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08400145777848602844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3090423475254908932.post-66782180528000579422013-10-17T19:45:00.001-05:002013-10-17T19:45:25.830-05:00Random Things That Made Me Smile TodayFirst, I got an email from Statistician with this link in it today: <a href="http://skeletorislove.tumblr.com/" target="_blank">http://skeletorislove.tumblr.<wbr></wbr>com</a> I wish I could come up with a witty something or other about Skeletor but I just can't-- my mind is wiped...other than to say, good mental health could lead to an <i>Eternia</i> of happiness for all of the Masters of the Universe, yuk, yuk, yuk.<br />
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Second, one of my little sisters has a pretty serious and long standing obsession with penguins. She actually answers to both, "Penguin Pete" and "Penelope Penguin" in the course of a conversation. This is what you do with literally 6 feet of snow in my family:<br />
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Apparently, his name is "Parry." Parry happens to be wearing my tie. I don't know exactly why Parry was chosen as the name, a name fail if there ever was one. I would have gone with Philbert, Polonious, or Pascal. Regardless, Parry the Penguin is pretty amazing.<br />
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Third, in order to make it through my PhD program without completely decompensating, my use of Star Wars references has spiked, as has my now irrational desire to watch the un-besmirched versions of the Original Trilogy to cope/avoid life (a decades old coping skill for me). Most of the time, I manage to contain them to my own head; however, sometimes I can't help but share them. I think this was particularly evident when I had to abbreviate Empire Strikes Back (ESB) in a post, and I ended up with the very acronym of the building my program is located in. Of course, this was absurdly amusing to me because I can identify a fairly accurate proxy for most of the characters using people in my department. It was less funny when I had to explain to my cohort-mates why it's so amusing that SharkFox is Jabba the Hut, my primary advisor is C3PO, the Dean is Sarlacc, and the main office is almost as bad as the pit of carkoon. <br />
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Smile. Random things are happening. <br />
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<br />R. R. Younghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08400145777848602844noreply@blogger.com0