Category Archives: Uncategorized
Edited 4/23: UpSpring has pulled Milkscreen breast milk production “test” from the market. Nice job, lactivists!
Quickity-quick, before I run to pick up my preschooler, here are some links of interest regarding the fraudulent and dangerous Milkscreen test for breast milk production.
FDA warning letter, with contact information for FDA officials
FDA complaint line for Texas, where the company is based: 855-630-2112
Amazon page for Milkscreen – leave a negative review!
Change.org petition to Target to stop selling this crap
Make your voices heard before this product hurts more women and children!
I’ve seen this image going around in the wake of the Steubenville verdicts, and it’s a great rhetorical salvo: Hey, what if we actually put the responsibility for rape on the rapists, instead of the victims? Crazy, right? It’s a very good reminder that most of the rape prevention advice we’ve heard is directed at women, instructing them how not to be raped, and how messed up that is. The implications behind it include the assumption that men are just gonna rape, nothing to be done about it, and that women could possibly do or wear or drink something that “causes” them to be raped.
So I’m not trying to criticize that list here. However, I think we could go further, and construct a list that isn’t directed satirically at malicious rapists, but to every good person out there who wishes they could help prevent rape. Not in a “potential victims: don’t wear slutty clothes!” way, but guidelines that all well-meaning people could actually use to make rape less prevalent.
I think Men Can Stop Rape is a good start. Sometimes they veer a little paternalistic, especially considering their advice is aimed solely at men. But the idea that we should protect and support our friends from creepers, jerks, and potential rapists is most welcome.
So I sat down and thought “What do I want my daughters to know? What do I want their friends to do? What standards do I try to hold myself to?” What would be on a sincere list of suggestions for all people who want to help, not just focusing on potential perpetrators or potential victims?
I was heavily influenced by this excellent post on Captain Awkward. It tells stories of social groups passively allowing creepers to test group tolerance for sexually invasive behavior. Read this! It’s chilling how even women who are themselves harassed and groped feel awkward calling the creeper on it, and how the groups tend to exclude women who complain, rather than the perv who is assaulting people. And Captain Awkward’s response is wonderfully wonderful.
All that said, here is my proposed list of ways to prevent rape. These are for men, women, girls, boys, people who worry about being raped and people who worry about their friends being raped, and people who just want to make our society less tolerant of rapists in general.
How to Prevent Rape
- Remind yourself often that women are human people worthy of respect.
- Remember people’s bodies belong only to them.
- “No means no” is fine, but better to look for an enthusiastic YES!
- Don’t let anyone have sexual contact with an unconscious person.
- Yes, even if “it’s their own fault” they’re unconscious.
- If you have to stop and wonder whether something is illegal, assume it’s not acceptable behavior.
- Look after your friends – don’t stand by while someone takes advantage of them.
- Look after strangers too!
- Call people on their inappropriate behavior!
- Don’t put up with creeps in your social group.
- Don’t blame women for complaining about unwanted touching and other invasive sexual behavior.
I’m including an image for easy sharing, but if people like it, maybe someone with more graphic design skill than I have (i.e., any) could think of a way to pretty it up like the image up top. Let me know!
I don’t tend to describe things as “sacred,” but for me the First Amendment comes close. When I contemplate it, I feel a flutter of awe and respect. I think enshrining citizens’ freedom to believe, speak, report, and associate as they see fit is a monumental achievement in history. I consider it a key component of both patriotism and freedom, and I don’t take infringements of it lightly.
Yet after Friday, I’m willing to consider some further restrictions on the press. That’s not something to take flippantly – it’s a potential threat to the foundations of our society to consider legislating against free dissemination of information. But I think it might be worth it. We need to openly investigate whether breathless, lurid, 24/7 coverage of mass killings leads to more mass killings. And if there is a reasonable indication that it does, we need to try to craft careful, narrow, reasonable limitations that might prevent fame and notoriety from inspiring carnage. The press can never rein itself in on this subject, because there will always be worry that competing media outlets will embrace “if it bleeds it leads,” ad-grabbing sensationalism. It may be that it’s worth government intervention to mitigate that pressure.
Please know that I’m only talking about talking about it. I’m not calling for sweeping legislation or doing away with freedom of the press. I’m saying that we need to discuss the issue, to investigate whether there might be a significant risk created by the way media covers this subject, and if so, to see if there is anything we can reasonably, Constitutionally do to address it. If we ask these questions, it may well turn out that there’s not enough evidence of causation, or that there is, but there is no rational way we can ameliorate it without infringing too far on basic rights. But we must ask the questions. What happened in Newtown means you have to have the conversation before you decide it’s a no-go.
And so, I’m also asking my fellow Americans who cherish the Second Amendment to join me. Please, please be willing to have this conversation! Don’t shut down any discussion that has a whiff of gun control by saying, “Criminals will get guns anyway, discussion OVER,” or declaring that the only relevant subject is mental health. The relevant subject is how to prevent mentally ill people from using guns to make headlines. And that involves mental illness, guns, and headlines. Again, it may be in the end that we can’t make things significantly better through gun safety laws. It may be that we could, but not in a way that complies with the Constitution. But we need to investigate and discuss these issues before coming to that conclusion.
Until now, I’ve viewed mass shootings as akin to lightning strikes – random, something that may be lethal and horrifying, but nothing I can do much about. I have insulated myself from the details of the massacres because “I can’t do anything, so there’s no point in worrying about it.” But I just can’t do that anymore. Maybe it’s because my child is in school, or because I grew up 15 miles from Newtown, or maybe it’s just because finally the weight of accumulated incidents has become too much. I may find in the end that I really can’t do anything, but I have to at least ask the question first.
I am willing to engage in some creativity and openness, some brainstorming in which even impractical, ridiculous, “unthinkable” ideas get put up on the blackboard to be pruned away later. Even when those ideas make me feel profoundly uncomfortable; even when they could threaten the foundational ideals of our culture. I’m begging you to do the same.
Because I’m a masochist, I listen to Christian radio from time to time. A few days ago I heard the intro to a Focus on the Family episode discussing how to show your children you love them.
This is a question that has never occurred to me in nine years of parenting. “How can I make sure my kids know I love them?” is a completely bizarre question to me. I may be anxious and uncertain about a lot of things in life, but I have always had 100% confidence that my children know I love them, such that it’s been a background certainty like the sun coming up each morning.
Now that I stop and think about it, they know I love them because I have always taken care of their needs, had fun with them, read to them, cuddled them, and treated them as individual human beings deserving of respect. I tell my girls I love them at least once a day, without calculation of how much it will reinforce our bond or boost their self esteem, but because I love them so hard it just bubbles up out of me and must be expressed!
I suppose there are loving parents out there who would like some concrete guidance on communicating love. Maybe some people are just more naturally reticent, or they didn’t have role models in their own parents for being affectionate. I’m not saying this show was a bad thing. It just surprised me at first!
But I couldn’t help thinking that Focus on the Family in particular has to puzzle over how to express love to children in part because it advocates beating them. FotF’s website has an extremely detailed manual on spanking, which instructs parents to hit their children with a wooden spoon, while weirdly saying it’s not violent, but also that it must inflict pain. Oh, and equating this process with showing love:
The Bible never implies that the rod of discipline should be violent. . . . When you spank, use a wooden spoon or some other appropriately sized paddle and flick your wrist. . . . If it doesn’t hurt, it isn’t really discipline, and ultimately it isn’t very loving because it will not be effective in modifying the child’s behavior.
This bizarre, contradictory approach is continued in their recommendations for the “discipline” surrounding the spanking, which calls for extreme authoritarian interrogation and demands for capitulation, but also holding and hugging the crying child and telling God how thankful you are for them, in an “intimate, touching moment.” This is supposed to demonstrate that you deeply love your child while also being willing to discipline them, but to me it seems more likely to make a kid very wary and confused. You can’t average out abuse and emotional manipulation and call it an expression of love. (Frankly, it reminds me of the cycle of domestic abuse, where violence is followed by extreme affection, and yet also blamed on the victim: “You made me hit you by doing X.”)
And yes, I have smacked my kids on the butt a few times, when I flew off the handle. But you know what I did next? I apologized and said it was wrong for me to do that, as you do when you mistreat a fellow human being. I can’t help but think that’s a better approach to making sure your children feel loved.
So rather than just not posting anything this week, I’ll at least share the mojito recipe.
For me, the important thing was to get the fresh flavor of the mint, without winding up with little bits of mint floating around getting stuck in my teeth. I tried one recipe that makes a mint simple syrup, rather than muddling mint leaves, but I felt that that destroyed a lot of the flavor. I experimented until I found a satisfactory way to extract the oils from the mint and lime, while keeping the mint relatively intact, and straining it out.
Christine’s Mojito (no floss required)
3 wedges of lime (1 wedge=1/6 of a lime)
about 12 leaves of spearmint
1/2 – 1 oz of 2:1 sugar syrup
3 oz light rum
Holding each lime wedge inside the cocktail shaker (you want to capture all those oils!), squeeze out as much juice as you can. Then drop the wedges into the shaker. Add mint, and gently press everything with a muddler or the handle of a wooden spoon, taking care not to pulverize the mint.
Add syrup and rum, a handful of ice, and shake just enough to mix. Pour into one or two glasses (depending on your stress level and whether you have a friend handy who likes mojitos) filled with ice, and top with a splash of soda. Garnish with mint sprigs, if you like.
Oh, and if you do have a friend over to share, make sure you have more than one proper cocktail glass, or you might wind up doing this:
(It still tasted just as good.)
Hey all. I’ve had a relapse of my depression, and just running the essentials of my life and the kids’ has been overwhelming lately. I just got back from the drug store, where I obtained Prozac, organizing supplies, and ice cream, so hopefully things will be improving.
Not to worry, I will be posting soon. The Catholic church has been doing too much evil and disgusting stuff for me to miss the chance to discuss it. Hopefully I’ll get into it this week; if not, then next week, when I will also be sharing my experience at the Reason Rally.
Nothing to do with skepticism or mothering, but what the hell.
I’ve been consumed with Mass Effect 3 since its release last week. The ME series is phenomenal, and my hat is off to the writers and artists who created it. At the same time, I’m part of the huge cadre of fans who hate the last few minutes of ME3, not because it doesn’t end the way I wanted, but because it really fails on a storytelling level: it is disconnected from the wonderful complex web of decisions and repercussions that make the games so distinctive. It’s also incoherent, and unsatisfying. I am enjoying the different fan offerings for alternative endings though. There’s so much creativity and passion out there, even if Bioware never tweaks the ending (as they are unlikely to do), it’s fun to watch the movement.
WARNING – Slight spoilers begin around here.
For my part, I was very dissatisfied with the explanation of the Reapers’ motivation. The story seems to be that they preserve organic life by “harvesting” it, but that hardly fits with their malicious and relentless push to destroy every vestige of intelligent species each cycle. So I crafted my own bit of fan fiction that indicates where the Reapers might have come from, and why they do what they do. I’m not much of a fiction writer, so it’s probably pretty crappy, but I take comfort knowing that it can’t be as crappy as the nonsensical explanation offered in-game.
The First Cycle
“This machine will outlast everything!”
The salesman patted the demo model affectionately. “And this isn’t just the most reliable piece of farming equipment, it’s the most advanced. Fully automated, with the new long-life battery, plus solar panels integrated into the surface. She’s even got a revolutionary laser cutter, doing away with the wear and tear you get on physical blades. Once you turn it on, it’ll practically run your operation for you.”
Neela saw her husband nodding and staring at the harvester, his tail lowered in wonder, but she said, “How does it manage that? It may look lifelike, but it can’t be that smart.”
The salesman ably maneuvered to the appropriate talking point: “Ah, this has the most advanced A.I. available. Based on the platform that runs military drones, updated with biomimetic neurological circuits. This unit can gather data and extrapolate from it to cope with novel situations. It can care for your crops virtually unsupervised, from planting to harvest. Then when there’s no work to be done, it automatically stores itself and goes into sleep mode to conserve energy, leaving some low-drain sensors up to detect when it’s needed again. It even has a rudimentary thought-sensing capability – it doesn’t approach our telepathic communication, but it can get the gist of what you want it to do.”
Sinec nodded again in appreciation. “Amazing! And it’s cute, too. Almost looks like a little robot kid.”
It did in fact have some childlike qualities. Its wide-eyed look evoked the large eyes of children, while its elegant contours and stylized shape made it seem non-threatening, even endearing. Neela had read that the company wanted it to resemble a living farmhand, without being so lifelike as to be uncanny. She thought they’d hit the mark pretty well.
“Oh yes, some people get downright attached to them,” the salesman informed them. “I hear there’s a sweet old lady in the next town over who chats with hers! Spends the evening reading The Scriptures to it, if you can believe that. I don’t know if she’s just lonely, or she thinks it’ll get religion!” He began to laugh, but trailed off as he looked up at Neela.
“Oh listen to me, talking nonsense. Of course there’s no possibility of the A.I. understanding such things. Very strict controls put in to limit any, ah, evolution in undesirable directions. They think well enough to sort out problems, much like your shuttle integrates GPS info and collision avoidance data to get you through traffic. A far cry from philosophy, am I right?”
Sinec chuckled dutifully, waving a foreleg as though dismissing the whole line of thought. “The real issue is the price,” he said. “You’ve got to demonstrate that this will repay the upfront cost, and pretty quickly too.”
“Of course,” the salesman’s eye opened wide as he saw the sale coalescing. “Now, it depends on the model you choose. Most people go for the Regent model, but I really recommend the Sovereign. It’s more of an investment, but it also pays back faster. I’ve got the paperwork that lays it all out – maybe we could go inside and go through it.”
As Sinec ushered the salesman toward the house, Neela followed slowly. She looked back at the machine hovering in the yard, its tail held high to capture solar energy, while its large red eye stared blankly out at the horizon. She realized she was holding her breath. She gave herself a little shake, and then went inside.