Friday, January 19, 2018

Entry 407: Alright, I'll Talk about Aziz Ansari

The Aziz Ansari story is a perfect example of the type I'm not going to comment about on social media.  It's one that's highly nuanced and contextual and not conducive to snippet opinions.  But I figured I would write about on this blog because I can write as many words as I feel I need to properly express myself, and because not many people read it anyway.  If you are not familiar with the details of the story, you might want to read the article and the criticism of the article and the criticism of the criticism of the article before you go on.  (And for a take-down of the way the story was reported read this article or listen to this podcast.)

My position on it is a total cop-out.  I'm struggling to find a definitively right or wrong position.  It seems to me as if reasonable people can disagree.  Personally, I don't think any party involved, neither Ansari nor "Grace" nor the publisher of the story, Babe.net, behaved particularly admirably.  If I were forced to pick who was the "most wrong," I would definitely say Ansari -- he behaved like an entitled jerk; he violated the "camp site rule" with a younger woman; and he acted in a manner totally contrary to his "woke" persona.  (It shouldn't be surprising, when actors -- people who get paid to pretend to be something they're not -- don't behave publicly how they do privately, but it still is sometimes.)  However, I can't wholeheartedly get behind Grace either.  She's young, but she's still a grown woman.  If she was as uncomfortable with how the evening was going as she claims to be in the article, she should have ended it long before she did.  She had many opportunities to do so gracefully and safely throughout night.  By her own account, Ansari wasn't threatening her or holding her captive; he's an older celebrity, but he has no tangible power over her; he's not her boss or mentor or anything like that; the stakes for her saying "thanks but no thanks" and booking an Uber as soon as he made her feel uncomfortable were not that high.  At what point do you hold an adult responsible for her own actions, even if somebody is being an asshole and cajoling her to do something she doesn't want to do?  I mean, she says that within a few minutes of being in his apartment they had already kissed, gotten naked, and exchanged oral sex with one another.  Things were moving too quickly for her, but she doesn't say anything or extricate herself until after they had done everything but intercourse.  It's understandable somebody would misread the situation and believe these were consensual acts.

(And, by the way, one reason I feel comfortable saying all this is because it's the position of several woman I've talked to about it -- including my wife.  We actually got into a mini-fight the other night because she was adamantly arguing that it's on Grace to leave if Ansari isn't responding to her cues, and I was taking the other side.  At one point I said the phrase "victim shaming," and she just left the room.  That one is on me -- it was a poor choice of words, and I know she doesn't like debating things once they get the slightest bit combative (whereas I don't mind and even enjoy it at times).  Also, it was super late, and we were tired.)

But the story doesn't end there.  Over the course of the rest of the evening, it sounds as if Ansari basically hounded her and harangued her for sex, even after it became pretty clear she wasn't totally comfortable.  This isn't cool -- at all.  It's not adhering to the "tea test."  Ansari was trying to pour tea down Grace's throat at every turn.  As a guy, the move there is to sit back and let her initiate things if she wants to.  If she doesn't, then you can offer her the sofa or a cab home and go to bed.  Alternatively, you could just ask her flat-out what she has in mind for the night's activities.

But a big part of the problem -- maybe the problem -- is that neither women nor men have been socialized to behave in a way that puts sexual encounters on an even footing.  There are unhealthy societal norms and pressures in play.  Girls are often disincentivized from an early age to advocate for their own desires, and they are often incentivized to acquiesce to boys.  For these reasons, it becomes a lot harder for somebody to say "Grace should have left!" and just leave it at that.  Yeah, she should have, but she didn't, and, judging by the responses this story has produced, a significant portion of the female population understands exactly why.  In fact, Vox wrote a piece about how completely ordinary this type of thing is.  You can't just dismiss the voices of millions of aggrieved people under the guise of "personal responsibility -- not my problem."  Well, you can, it's called libertarianism, but you're not going to actually solve anything that way.

By the same token, Ansari grew up in our society just like Grace did -- he grew up with the same messed-up norms and pressures.  Men are incentivized to behave the way he did because it often results in sex -- and not just bad or coerced sex.  A lot of times being persistent results in good, fully consensual sex.  I don't think I'm speaking out of school by saying a lot of women like it when a guy is aggressive.  Some think it's a turn-on; others want sex, but don't want to feel guilty or stigmatized about wanting sex, so they behave passively and leave it to the guy to crack through the veneer.  This is especially true, I think, of younger women and in one-night hookups.  Thinking back to when I was that age, it seemed like there was always this little pointless song-and-dance that had to be done where a woman would feign hard-to-get, even if she wasn't and didn't want to be.  I hated this little song-and-dance -- it's the primary reason I didn't hook up much then.  (At least that's my story, and I'm sticking to it.)  It's like that joke on The Simpsons:
Alien Kang to Marge: Congratulations. You have been selected for our crossbreeding program. To put you at ease, we have re-created... the most common spawning locations of your species. You may choose either the backseat of a Camaro... an airplane bathroom, a friend's wedding... or the alley behind a porno theater. 
Marge: I absolutely refuse to go along with this. But since I have no choice, I'll take the alley.
My point isn't that guys have it "just as bad" or that anything like that (we don't) or that these societal norms are distributed equitably (they aren't).  On the contrary, my point is that the model for how we pursue sex, especially when we're young, can be really fucked up for everybody involved and women get the worst of it.  I've heard many people say something to the effect of -- okay, maybe Grace's encounter isn't sexual harassment and it just falls under the category of "bad sex", but isn't it still a big problem if thousands and thousands of sexual encounters result in one side feeling regretful and shitty about how things went down?  That, to me, is the crucial question, and the answer should be a resounding "yes."  How do we fix that big problem?  That's the subject for an entire other post, but I think real sex education (not just anatomy) would go a long way.  Also, I suppose, we need people to continually call out this type of thing when it happens.  In that sense, Grace -- even if you take issue with how she comported herself, or the clumsiness with which the piece was reported -- might have done a good thing by telling this story publicly.  It kinda sucks for Aziz Ansari to be publicly embarrassed for something in his personal life, but he did behave like a cad, and if Grace doesn't call out a celebrity by name, this story doesn't crack the mainstream.  Plus, I think Aziz will be fine.  I don't think his career is done or anything like that.  Nobody thinks he's Bill Cosby.  If he were to drop another season of Master of None tomorrow, I would still watch it.

Until next time...

Saturday, January 13, 2018

Entry 406: Literal Shitholes

It is uncanny timing for Trump to bring to the forefront the term "shithole," as here in the G & G household three-fourths of us are having issues with our literal shitholes.  I don't mean to make of light of Trump's remarks -- they're awful and hurtful to a lot of people.  But they certainly aren't surprising.  This is who Trump is, and this is why his base likes him.  We've known this for a long time, at least since his "birther" movement.  For me, that was all I needed.  He perpetuated a totally made-up rumor that our first black president wasn't born in the United States.  That's still mind-blowing to me.  If, from that, you drew a conclusion other than Trump is a racist, then you are living in an alternate reality.  Trump and his base simply confirm what we already know about them over and over again.

And since we are on the shithole subject, let's clear the air on a few things.  Nobody gives a shit that the president said "shit" -- the vulgarity is clearly not the issue, and anybody bringing that into the discussion is either dumb or disingenuous.  And "shithole" isn't just an indelicate synonym for "poor country."  Trump wasn't using "kitchen table talk" or whatever it's being called.  This is the type of language he only uses for nonwhite people.  There are many poor regions of the United States, many of them are predominantly white, Trump never uses harsh language on these places.  The poorest states in the union -- Mississippi, Arkansas, West Virginia -- are places Trump regularly flatters as "real America".  So, it's not just a lack of eloquence; it's cut-and-dried racism.  In fact, if I had to sum up the essence of Trumpism in a sentence, I would do it thus: Trumpism is the belief that poor black and brown people are poor because of personal failings and bad decisions -- laziness, corruption, violence, etc. -- and poor white people are poor because the government is taking their money and their opportunities and giving them to undeserving poor black and brown people.  In short, Trumpism is white supremacy.

Anyway...

In personal news, as implied above, I and all my issue caught a nasty stomach bug this week, and it's been pretty gross.  I've had my fill of poop and puke, that's for sure.  I'm savvy enough to get it all in the proper receptacles; unfortunately, I cannot say the same for my children.  We've already had to clean our sofa, our bathtub, and our foam play mat, in addition to running a load of laundry seemingly every twenty minutes.  It's no fun at all.  I think we are through the worst of it, but I'm not sure.  Lil' S1 seems to be feeling better, and I'm feeling better.  I think Lil' S2 is the only one still in the thick of it, and he's easier because he always wears a diaper.  This is one time I'm glad he's not potty-trained yet.  S, for her part, has somehow avoid illness, despite sharing a bed with all three of us at various times.  I think she has a tougher belly because she lived in India when she was young and she travels so much.  She's become inured to different types of germs that the rest of us aren't -- or maybe she's just gotten lucky, who knows?

To make things a little bit more annoying, I had to take the car into the shop this morning.  (I did so without shitting my pants, which was the primary objective.)  Not only did the battery need to be replaced, but a cover underneath the driver's seat had to be rebolted.  It got knocked loose at some point, presumably somebody backed into it while parking and didn't leave a note (I used to clandestinely watch cars parallel park from my window, and it's like a game of bumper cars when drivers don't know anybody is watching), and we never took care of it.  Of course, that just made things worse in the end, as it started to actually drag on the street, and I had to jimmy-rig it with duct tape just to get it to the repair shop.  The man who runs the repair shop is really nice though.  He didn't even charge to rebolt the cover.  The only problem is you have to get your car to him by 8 am or he fills up for the day.  So, on a day in which I really needed to sleep in (my stomach issues have been causing me to make a lot of nighttime runs to the bathroom), I had to wake up and drop off the car, and then take the bus back -- in the rain.  Well, that beats subfreezing weather, I guess.  But not by much.


Whenever our kids have tummy problems, our pediatrician tells us to give them crackers and a clear soda, so we have a sizable supply of Ritz and Sprite on hand at the moment.  I've been indulging myself with little tastes, even though I've been trying to cut back on excess snacking.  Ritz are a particular weakness of mine.  They are especially good with cheese or Nutella, but even plain they're solid.  I can easily put down an entire sleeve of them in a sitting if I let myself.  As for soda, I forgot how good it is because I drink it so seldom.  Replacing soda with fizzy water is a relatively easy way for me to drastically reduce empty calories and sugar consumption.  But I'd be lying if I said a sip of Sprite doesn't light up a pleasure center in my brain.

Alright, I hear a child screaming my name.  That's all for today.  Until next time...

Saturday, January 6, 2018

Entry 405: Ringing In 2018

I'm back.  I've been back for a while actually, but, unfortunately, despite the high single-digit readership of this blog, other things often take priority over it.  My break was good -- as good as it can be in 2017 with a madman still running our country.

We first drove to Columbia, South Carolina to visit S's parents, which I always enjoy, except for the actual driving part.  It's a guaranteed fight between S and I straight out of the gate because she always wants to leave at some ungodly hour, 5 am, or something like that, and I don't.  I'm down to leave early, but my early is more like 8 am.  S has good reasons to want leave that early -- less likely to hit traffic, more likely the kids will sleep, etc. -- but I have a good reason to not want to leave that early: It's too goddamn early!  She always tells me, "you can sleep in the car."  But I can't.  It is almost physically impossible for me to sleep in a car.  I can try.  I can close my eyes and lie still, but I won't fall asleep.  S is one of those people who falls asleep really easily and can quickly adjust her sleep schedule without too much trouble, and she doesn't really get that other people (e.g., I) can't do that.  It's a little bit like a happy person telling somebody who's sad, "just be happier."  Anyway, we did end up leaving early (but it was more like 6 am, by the time we actually got out of the house) because, when it comes down to it, there are only a few things in life over which I'm going to absolutely dig in my heels.  For the most part, I utilize a complain-and-cave negotiation strategy.



Anyway, Columbia was nice.  I had to work remotely the entire week before Christmas, but I didn't mind much because many people (clients, bosses, coworkers, etc.) are on vacation around then, so it's almost always a low-stress time of the year.  Also, if I'm being honest, working is often preferable to being with the kids all day.  The little one in particular is a hellion at the moment -- an absolutely adorable hellion, but a hellion nonetheless.  He's full-on "terrible twos," which in our experience is actually "terrible two-and-half-through-four-and-a-halfs."  The big one is past that stage, thankfully.  He still gets in trouble, of course, but the random tantrums are much less frequent, and when they do come you can usually reason with (i.e., bribe) him to clam down.

S and my big getaway for the week was going to see the new Star Wars film, which apparently is a new annual tradition.  It was fine.  I didn't love it; I didn't hate it.  I give it one thumb sideways.

On Christmas Eve Eve, we drove to Hilton Head Island where we met S's sister and their cousin and his family.  We rented a house about a five minute walk from the beach.  S's dad and I drove down together in the same car -- a three hour drive.  It went pretty well.  We chatted a bit and then when he would start to doze off, I put in an earbud and listened to a podcast.  The only annoying thing is that he kept wanting to navigate using a road atlas, and I'm like, "uh... I got this thing called GPS on my phone..."  At one point my phone told me to get off the major highway and take a back road, so I did, and S's dad insisted that I stay on the highway.  I told him that the phone usually knows the best way, but he was adamant, so I went back to the highway ("complain and cave," remember).  You know what's coming: Smash cut to us sitting in a traffic jam.  To his credit, he was very apologetic, but that didn't make the cars in front of us move any faster.  At least from that point on he let me follow the GPS instructions without protest.


Hilton Head is a weird place.  It's really nice, even in the winter, but something like 70% of it is gated communities, so you get the feeling the rich people are keeping out the plebes.  There's this historically area with a little lighthouse and a bunch of quaint, kitschy establishments that is inaccessible by public road.  You either have to pay a fee or use the beach (or pretend you're part of a group of people who have an access code, like we did one time).  But the entire island is cozy and fun and you can rent bicycles and pedal around for a day.  (I ended up riding about 20 miles, so I also got in a good workout.)

The housing accommodations were good.  For the most part everybody got along.  Putting seven adults and four kids into a moderately sized house can cause problems, but it wasn't bad.  The kids constantly had something on that was making noise -- TV, iPad, what have you -- so that was annoying.  Also, our kids are at a bad age for sleeping in their own beds.  Lil' S1 is fine by himself, but what happens is Lil' S2 demands one of us sleep with him, and then Lil' S1 feels left out and also demands one of us sleep with him, so to sleep somewhat comfortably, we really need two queen-size (at least) beds.  If they are in the same room, it's a plus, as we can sometimes get the kids in the same bed.  Also, if the floor is carpeted and we have enough blankets or a pad, we can jimmy up a makeshift bed for them on the floor.


But at the beach house, we only had one king-size bed, and the floors were hardwood.  The first night we all slept together -- or rather we all laid there together.  I don't think there was ever a moment in which all four people in bed were asleep.  It was just too many bodies.  The next night I slept by myself on the couch in the living room, which I realized halfway through the night folded out into an actual bed -- so, yay me.  It still wasn't very convenient though, because it was in the main area attached to the kitchen, so I pretty much woke up whenever the first person woke up, and S's family is a bunch of early risers.  They would try to be quiet, but, again, I'm not a normal sleeper.  If people are whispering or making coffee or fixing breakfast five feet from me, I'm going to wake up.  That's my curse of hyper-vigilance.  I probably slept less on my vacation than I sleep at home.

After Hilton Head, we went to Columbia for a few more days.  S and I went to see The Shape of Water (our second movie of the trip!) at the local indie theater -- you know what I'm talking about.  There is at least one in every city.  It's an older building in the downtown area; the theaters are small; it's staffed by a bunch of young people of indeterminate race and gender (plus one old man with stringy hair in Chuck Taylor Converse); the concessions are actually reasonably priced; and they show movies that are actually decent instead of Superheroes: The Reawakening, Part Six.  The movie wasn't great, but it was pretty good -- thumbs up.  I spent the first half of it trying to figure out where I knew that guy from.  Thankfully it dawned on me (he was the lead in A Serious Man) or the entire movie might have been ruined.



Anyway...

Back in DC now, and it's fucking cold.  I don't think the high for the day is going to get out of the teens.  To make matters worse, I'm having trouble starting my car.  I have to push the button like 20 times before the engine actually starts.  I couldn't start it at all last night after I picked up the kids from school/daycare, so we had to take the bus back, which required me to walk with two kids a quarter mile or so to the bus stop and then wait for 15 minutes in the cold.  (They didn't seem to mind though; they always get a kick out of riding the bus.)  I had AAA come out to test the battery, but that might not be it.  I might have to take it to the shop -- so annoying!  My least favorite part of being an adult is the need to own and maintain an automobile.



Alright, I gotta call it a post.  Until next time...