We're here. We cheer. Get used to it.

I love sports. Passionately. I’m the chick asking the bartender to switch the channel so I can watch SportsCenter and check scores. The one whose iPad pings every time there’s news from MLB AtBat. The one who has two columns in TweetDeck just for sports – one for news, one for my like-minded crazy fan friends – about half of whom are female.

Yep. It’s true. Women like sports. Women follow sports. Women know sports.

Ta. Da.

More than ever, the theoretical sports fan clubhouse is co-ed. The reality is that women aren’t always being welcomed in with a hale and hearty how-do-you–do. Sometimes that clubhouse is locked. Or the front door slammed in a face. And sometimes windows are opened and trash in the form of vitriolic comments hurled out onto bystanders.

Riddle me this: what is it about a woman who is a sports fan that is so threatening? Especially in the online world of sports information and commentary. Why do some men find it necessary to demean, harass and threaten female sports fans? That’s not a simple question. And there’s no simple answer.

Some personal background: I cannot remember a time when I was not a sports fan. On the nature versus nurture spectrum, I fall smack in the middle when it comes to who I am. In the words of hotel desk clerk and alleged twisted old fruit Tucker Smitty Brown, “I am just as God made me, sir.”** Both naturally and nurturally. Sportingly.

Sports were just a part of life growing up in west coast Florida. Daddy played college baseball and was drafted by a Major League team – but had to change gears due to an ankle injury. My parents had season tickets to Florida Gator football games. We as a family sat through every single disheartening game during the Tampa Bay Buccaneers first season. I watched tennis. Golf. Football. Baseball. Basketball. Hockey was foreign to me – in those days, when dinosaurs and such roamed the earth, hockey was not part of the Florida sports market. It was played up north, where things were cold.

I took lunch money from a boy named Harold (name changed to protect the sucker) when the Reds took the ’75 World Series from the Red Sox. Lost lunch money to a boy named Wally (name changed to protect the jerk) when the Vikings bit the big one and lost to the Raiders in the ’77 Super Bowl. I can still name the field by position of the ’75 Reds.

Had a poster of McHale/Bird/Parrish, aka The Jolly Green Giants hanging in every post-collegiate apartment in which I resided until it fell apart. Cried when Len Bias died (which I still contend led to the decline of the Celtics empire.) Not so good at reading defensive structure but I do know what’s what on the offensive side of a football play. I still can’t distinguish one kind of pitch, save for a knuckleball, from another. And when you start talking about sabermetrics, my eyes do kind of glaze over – I’m so right-brained, it’s ridiculous and you know… statistics.

Suffice it to say -- I'm a legit, life-long sports fan. Know enough about it to be able to watch with purpose and to hold my own in a deeper-than-small-talk conversation. Many of my gal pals are also sports fans. We enjoy sports. We attend sporting events together. We are involved with sports talk on social media.

FYI: We are not unusual. Or weird.

We’re here. We cheer. Get used to it.

Fortunately, I can’t speak to being harassed in person over my love of sports, since it’s never happened to me to any serious degree. When some chucklehead has given me a hard time in a bar or at a game, I can either defuse the situation with charm (hush) or shut things down with "just the facts, sir."

However... there was that time at the ’04 Peach Bowl when the Mister had to physically pull me away from getting into a verbal-or-maybe-more altercation with an asshat Miami fan because he inserted himself into my conversation after the game to express his stupid opinions about the Gators and… over 10 years later and I’m still a little agitated about the whole thing.

But I digress.

Even though he was a gigantic asshat.

So. What is it about female sports fans that male sports fans finds to be so awful? Are we threatening to them? Earnest questions. I ask because I do not know. I ask to seek understanding -- and to perhaps help shepherd solutions.

Women don’t watch sports like men do. We’re not wired the same way (Mars/Venus/Yada/Yada). We are generated by emotion. The experience. We’re passionate by nature. And that transfers to the emotions we feel when watching a game, particularly one in which our favorite team is playing.

Ashley Judd is a passionate, educated and well-spoken fan of the teams of her alma mater, the University of Kentucky. When she deigned to express her opinions on Twitter about game play during a recent basketball game in the SEC Tournament, she was barraged with crude name-calling, offensive innuendo and a backlash that was both horrific and perplexing. All because she shared her take on a basketball game. A BASKETBALL GAME. No one – NO ONE – should be subjected to such treatment in such a situation. Would you want your mama hearing you say such things? A clichéd question, but it’s true. If you don’t have anything nice (or polite. or respectful) to say – don’t say it.

And PS: when you speak before you think or show your ass via words on Twitter or Facebook or Tumblr or Reddit… WE CAN HEAR YOU. There is no such thing as off-the-record in cyberspace.

The anonymity of the Internet provides social media users with a cloak behind which they can hide and just vomit out verbal venom. I believe Ashley’s situation belies a bigger issue with gender perception and relationships – but that’s not new information. And a topic for another soapbox on another day. I am fortunate to have guy pals who respect me and my opinions when it comes to sports. No backlash there, save for banter when it comes to being on opposite sides of the aisle in a team rivalry. Or when I snake a player in a fantasy football draft. Mwah ha ha.

When I was a contributor to a local sports blog, I received my share of snarky comments. That’s when I learned to not read the comments (a good rule of thumb for life in general.) I took it as a sign that at least people other than my parents and friends were reading what I wrote. I’ve also been on the receiving end of some combative tweets thanks to tracking via hashtag when I’ve live tweeted a sporting event.

I’ve been...
... told to shut up
... called stupid
... declared to be “out of your league”
... labeled a bitch

The one that really pissed me off: I was told to calm down "little lady" when I got my dander up over something.

No one tells me to calm down. No. One. Especially if you’re someone I do not know. Let's not even discuss the "little lady" bit. I'm trying to keep the profanity down here.

For the record, the most emotion I’ve ever seen expressed during a sporting event happened at the ’91 Super Bowl, which was held in Tampa at the Big Sombrero. Buffalo Bills versus New York Giants. The Gulf War had just started and we all pulled ourselves away from CNN to undergo heightened security checks (Tampa Stadium was just a stone’s throw away from Command Central at MacDill Air Force Base) and to hear Whitney Houston sing her iconic rendition of The Star Spangled Banner. It was an emotionally-charged environment, even before the game started. And then came the Bills’ missed field goal that sealed a one-point victory for the Giants. I was sitting in a section full of Bills’ fans. As the clock ticked down, grown men had tears rolling down their faces, unashamed to demonstrate their heartbreak. Fathers comforted sons. Husbands and wives clung to each other.

A purer representation of the Agony of Defeat I’d never seen, nor have seen since.

Calm down my ass.

Gents, we don’t want to best you with our statistical knowledge nor do we want to be tested on facts and figures to prove our worthiness as a fan. We don’t want to crash your inner sanctum or smoke your cigars while we watch football on Sunday afternoons. We might comment about how nice a player's smile is or about the fit of the uniforms (and if you have a problem with that, here's a copy of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit issue for you to peruse while you ponder this...) We don’t want to be relegated to wearing pink sports apparel – the gear in the team colors suits us just fine. We want to watch games and matches and meets and tournaments in the way that makes us happiest. Whatever that may be.


More than anything, we want to be respected.

Not too much to ask, is it?

** A This Is Spinal Tap reference. In case you were wondering.

A Word from Atop the Soapbox

We have met the enemy and they is us.
~ Pogo

Muse. Muse. Muse.

Ponder. Ponder. Ponder.

I’ve been mulling, nay marinating, on something for quite a while now.

You know, it’s kind of a weird time here in the old U S of A. There’s a lot going on. A lot.

Everyone has an opinion. Which is great. It’s what this country was built on. Although I am dean of the school of thought that says you only get to voice said opinion if you vote, but that’s another rant for another time.

But. And with any good rant, there’s always a “but”… the way these opinions are being expressed isn’t quite as great, at least from where I’m sitting.

We are, y’all, a nation divided at the moment. Left. Right. Liberal. Conservative. Republican. Democrat. The Great Divide runs right down the middle of the Canyon of Ideology. And it’s getting wider and wider with each passing day and with each refreshing of your Twitter feed.

Civilization is a method of living and an attitude of equal respect for all people.

~ Jane Addams

I'm not concerned with your liking or disliking me... All I ask is that you respect me as a human being.

~ Jackie Robinson

As a reasonably aware person – I try to keep up as much as my crazy life will allow – I know that politics as usual these days is an intense place to be. The immediacy of the way we communicate allows voices to be heard, information to be shared, action to be taken – all fused with intelligence and passion. What’s missing, as I see it?

Respect. And hearing. Not just listening – but hearing.

I have a behavioral meme I run with my Choir Urchins at least three times during a rehearsal period – I call it a Gimme Five. When Miss Janey says “Gimme Five”, that means she wants looking eyes, listening ears, quiet mouths, hands to yourself, feet on the floor.

We could all use a Gimme Five moment, y'all. Sooner, rather than later.

Because right now, we’re mired in the muck of disrespect. Closed-mindedness. And not hearing anything but what we want to hear – which is most likely a parroting of our own deeply held views.

It’s not getting us anywhere. Anywhere productive, anyhoo.

It’s been about talk. Not so much about action.

Vitriolic language is bantered about to make points. It’s become sport.

Guess what?

Incendiary language doesn’t put food on a table.

Snarky 140 character blips don’t help a family facing a mountain of medical bills and a moat of insurance issues

Divisive comments don’t get that guy off the unemployment line and onto the route to having a job. And feeling good about himself.

Sticks and stones may break my bones but words take up residence. Bones heal. Takes a lot more to evict words that hurt or sting.

Lest you think I’m merely pontificating from up here on my soapbox… I’m not innocent. I own my culpability in this one. I can wield my tongue with a sharp snarkiness that points and pokes. I watched the war of words and worlds escalate on social media between ideological opposites immediately following the Tucson shootings. When pointing fingers took president over concern for the injured, I vowed to curb it. Reel it in.

It’s damaging. It’s ridiculous.

Most of all -- it’s not productive.

And above all, I’m about things that are productive.

Somewhere, somehow, in a world when we know about news almost before it happens and the court of public opinion is fluid and viral and fickle -- we’ve lost sight of what matters.

Making a positive difference.

The art of compromise.

The impact of collaboration.

Respect.

Humanity.

People.

The seduction of a soundbite or a re-tweet is palpable. And like it or not, pundits have solidified their place in our society where processing news filtered through ideological cheesecloth is a national pastime. However, said pundits have a tendency to become the news themselves (Mr. Olbermann and Ms. Palin, I’m looking at both of you…) further muddling the real issues.

We’re going to have our fair share of such things in the next few days, as the President delivers the State of the Union address tonight. I’m thinking about watching it on C-SPAN, for as dry as that might be (it’s Sahara dust bowl dry, y’all), it’s the message straight up. With no chaser, left right or center.

When all is said and done, the one thing that cannot be disputed (and should never be disputed. Ahem.) is that everyone, in his or her own way, loves this country. Just as it’s no one’s place to pass judgment on whether another person is religious-enough, it’s no one’s place to judge whether another person is patriotic-enough.

And PS: all those folks who look at things differently than you – they are not bad people. They are not stereotypes. They are individuals. Part of the whole. And they should be respected and treated as such.

This land really is our land, my fellow Americans – from California to the New York Island. Working together to make it the best place it can be would do more to honor the intent and action of our founding fathers than any amount of spewing rhetoric could dream of doing.

I’m ready. Are you?

So let us begin anew—remembering on both sides that civility is not a sign of weakness, and sincerity is always subject to proof. Let us never negotiate out of fear. But let us never fear to negotiate...

...Let both sides explore what problems unite us instead of belaboring those problems which divide us...

...And so, my fellow Americans: ask not what your country can do for you—ask what you can do for your country.
~ President John F. Kennedy

Back to the Future

Picture it. Fall, 1994. An early November evening. Tuesday, to be exact.

I was a grad student in my first semester taking a class in Latin American Contemporary Fiction. We met one night a week, first for three hours in the classroom proper with our professor and then took the action and our pontifications to the campus watering hole afterwards, where beer was consumed and philosophical snark was dispensed.

That particular evening, along with our beer and opinions, the single television in the joint, mounted high on the wall, carried midterm election results. Tom Brokaw and Tim Russert brought the news of a huge, cross-country Republican win, which the GOP dubbed the "Republican Revolution."

We grad students watched the results with an interested yet somehow detached eye. We laughingly referred to the star of the evening, Newt Gingrich, as Axolotl Gingrich, after the Latin American amphibian featured in a surreal short story (by Julio Cortázar) we had just finished reading. The witty semi-urbane-ness of our naive, slightly arrogant educated selves helped to mask our concern and uncertainty, as most of us fell more than left of center with our politics. In those days, such things could be assuaged with some banter and booze. Which is what we deployed.

A midterm election going the way of the party other than the one in the White House. A first term President who spent substantial time his first two years in office working on a health care plan. The country at a crossroads.

Sound familiar?

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

And so we carry on, Americans. Each of us trying to do our part for what we believe is the correct path for our country. It's what we do best.

Sometimes you eat the bear. And sometimes the bear eats you.

Forward ho.

A Word from Atop the Soapbox

People are people
So why should it be
You and I should get
Along so awfully

This just in: I’m a naïve, but well-meaning idealist. Through and through.

Why else would I be reeling from a very unexpected encounter with blatant and vitriolic racism. The likes of which I’ve never seen before. And still cannot imagine, even after just a glimpse.

The set-up: I was innocently Googling something for another blog project. And in the results from that search, I saw a word that made me stop. A very racist word. The most racist word of all, as far as I’m concerned. A curious click led me to a site I never would have even imagined existed. The most appallingly racist, xenophobic and mob-mentality-fueled thing I’ve ever seen.

And it’s rocked me to my soul. My naïve, idealistic soul. And not in a good way.

(FYI: I’m not going to share the Google topic, nor the word, nor the URL of the site on which the word appeared. That would serve no constructive purpose. The end.)

So we're different colours
And we're different creeds
And different people have different needs
It's obvious you hate me
Though I've done nothing wrong
I've never ever met you so what could I have done

I’m not surprised that there are still racist currents running through our country – on both sides of the ethnic divide. My shock and horror comes from the frenzied, entrenched narrow-mindedness I saw. The sheer hate for one person from another because of the color of his or her skin and nothing more. The celebration of acts of discrimination and belittlement and hurt. The telling of tales.

Blatant racism. Celebrated and shared. It was akin to a virtual Klu Klux Klan meeting. And I suspect that it’s probably not the only site like it on these internets.

I just don't understand.

You've got to be taught to hate and fear
You've got to be taught from year to year
It's got to be drummed in your dear little ear
You've got to be carefully taught

I’m not here to argue on behalf of any extremist side in the racial divide, as xenophobia exists in both camps. I’ve seen it first hand from each group. Even had it directed at me personally. Will is one of a very small minority of Caucasian students at his school. And while I’ve never seen him treated with anything but friendliness and respect (and some flirting with some older elementary girls) I’ve come up against a bit of unfriendly behavior from the parents. Been called names and thrown a couple of profane hand gestures in the parking lot. Received a lot of looks. Ignored or cut off while standing or waiting in a queue.

I try to take it all in stride. Especially when I watch Will in action. My brave, open-minded boy. Who knows nothing of this racism. Who himself can be an example not only for people with disabilities, but for his race as well. We should all be able to act accordingly - and follow young William's innocent but correct example.

Now you're punching
And you're kicking
And you're shouting at me
I'm relying on your common decency
So far it hasn't surfaced
But I'm sure it exists
It just takes a while to travel
From your head to your fists

I have kin who resided and embodied the stereotypical perspective of upper middle class Southern whites of the ‘50s and ‘60s. While I cannot and do not condone their attitudes, I have to take them in context and perspective. However, I never saw or understood them to be anything but racist in word. Not deed. Never malicious. More ignorant and fearful, to be honest.

But that brand of racism is a far, far cry from what I glimpsed on that message board. This is contentious. Angry. With movement. Scared me a little. And I don’t scare easily.

This is also not a partisan issue. It’s got nothing to do with political parties or ideology. To use examples from either side of our current political spectrum to help make a point diminishes the matter at hand. This is a human condition issue. It’s about people. Plain and simple. Who were, in fact, all made equal by our Creator. It’s presumptuous of us to judge and view otherwise.

I can't understand
What makes a man
Hate another man
Help me understand

I was asked if I was going to “report” this message board for offensive content. Turns out the domain owners have barricaded themselves behind a privacy service. And while I firmly adhere to the Voltaire school of thought in most matters of controversy or disagreement – I do not agree with what you have to say, but I'll defend to the death your right to say it – I must admit that this gave me a moment of pause. Getting entangled with people of this mindset is not the battle I want to fight, the hill I want to die on, so to speak. There are other ways to address the issue. You're reading one of them right now. So thank you.

You've got to be taught to be afraid
Of people whose eyes are oddly made
And people whose skin is a different shade
You've got to be carefully taught

More than anything, now that I’ve had time to process and the initial shock and awe has subsided, I’m sad. And disappointed. For as far as our country has come since Dr. King and others worked so tirelessly and faithfully for civil rights, we apparently still have a long way to go. In those early days, the issues were more out in the open. Obvious. These days, such things are more cloaked and subversive. And as a result, more divisive and potentially dangerous.

I’m not going to say that there are no easy answers, because I don’t believe that’s the crux of the matter. It’s solutions that need to be cultivated. For as long as such people belong to such sites and perpetuate such lines of thinking from generation to generation and don’t want to alter their world view, solutions that stick are a long time coming.

And that makes me saddest of all.

I can't understand
What makes a man
Hate another man
Help me understand...

Sign it. Share it. Restore it.

This Gulf thing. Been a while since we (as in you and me) have chatted about it. It’s still there, even though it’s reported that progress is being made in a successful fashion to cap the bloody thing. And I’m still full of #$)*$&#$ about it.

Not much is happening here in my part the west coast of the F-L-A in terms of physically helping the cause. But I’m staying currently educated and trying to plug in to as many places and sources as possible. As the cliché goes, I’m ready, willing and able.

One of my besties, she of I Read Banned Books, enlightened me to this cause: Restore the Gulf. It’s easy to participate in this one: click on the link, have a little look around and just plunk down your John or Joan Hancock on a petition that emphatically says “I demand that a plan to restore American’s Gulf be fully funded and implemented for me and future generations.”

Notable Louisiana residents (including my political boyfriend James Carville, Emeril Lagasse, the Manning brothers and Sandra Bullock) have come together in a short video to plug the cause. Look! Here it is:



So while you’re taking a hit off your morning coffee or energy drink or unsweetened raspberry iced tea fron Dunkin’ Donuts (not that I’d know anything about that last option) take a gander at the video. And sign the petition. For so many reasons.

Not the least of which is that it’s the right thing to do.

A Word from Atop the Soapbox

Protest: an expression or declaration of objection, disapproval, or dissent, often in opposition to something a person is powerless to prevent or avoid: a protest against increased taxation.

There is no place hotter than inland Florida during the summer months. Humidity clings to the air like tween girls to one other upon a Justin Bieber sighting. So to be dressed in proper ’80s business attire (it was, after all, the summer of 1986) which included hose, heels and an “I Am Woman Take Me Seriously” paisley silk bow tie scarf, it had to be some sort of important occasion. And it was.

I was blowing off summer classes in Gainesville and driving in a van with some pals to participate in my first protest. In Tallahassee. At the capital building. Outside. The cause: stopping tuition hikes.

In my world in the era of Reagan-omics, protests and other forms of political activism were relegated to the ideological fringe, even on a college campus. In those days, my personal resolve wasn’t developed or particularly strong and I, at least on the surface, went along to get along. I would look at the outspoken souls who chained themselves to the doors of the campus administrative building to protest economic involvement in South Africa (which in those days was still under the cloud of apartheid) and wonder what it would be like to join them. Never had enough nerve or self-confidence to do so. The pull of peer pressure and acceptance was too great.

When the opportunity to “march on Tally” came up, I jumped at it immediately. And march we did. Carrying signs, shouting chants “Stop Tuition Hikes NOW!” Making nice for the photo ops. Cameras still and video documented our activity – many from around the state. Cool! A rewarding day and good deed done.

Once back home in Gainesville, I checked the answering machine in my ghetto apartment (now that’s another story for another day) and found a message from my parents. Who wondered how my day was. They had seen me in a news clip about the protest. And until then, had no idea where/what I was doing. Yeah. That was a fun ensuing message.

Fight the power. Except if it’s paying your bills.




Unless you’re new here (and if you are, Hello! Welcome! Come on in! Can I get you something to drink?) you probably know that these days I lean a little to the left (HA!) on most issues political, social and the like. I don’t have many kindred spirits in this arena in my real life (I am but a curiosity to the many, many Republican conservatives I know) – and as a result, I try to keep my mouth shut and relegate my opinions and actions to speaking carefully when asked specifically to do so and blathering virtual words. Like these. Funny how that works, isn’t it…

The colossal brouhaha in the Gulf with gushing oil, smoke, mirrors, excuses and repercussions has, basically, gotten me all riled up. More than likely, it’s because this one hits close to home – literally. I live 10 minutes from the Gulf and if the breeze blows just right, I can smell the salt air on my patio. My casual poo-poo-ing of a situation usually just involves some research, maybe a letter ripped off to the appropriate governmental representative and a lot of verbal indignation.

Not this time.

I want to take some action. To make me feel like I’m doing something to help the situation. Make a difference. And at first blush, I thought protesting might be the answer. Marching with a sign, in the Florida heat, letting my voice be heard. Except this time, it would be for something slightly more global than what my college classes cost an hour. I found details of organized protests across my county, where people would stand and chant and wave signs in front of BP stations.

But. Something about that didn’t set right with me. And so I delayed my pursuit.

After thinking about it for a bit (and after a thoughtful conversation with the slightly more conservative Mister) I realized that while it would feel good – to me – to express my righteous indignation via a classic protest, it’s not all that pro-active. It’s the bigwigs at BP at whom I want to direct my ire – not the dude or dudette who owns the station. (And yeah I know that a protest of this nature isn’t just about that, but it’s not the route I personally want to take.)

I guess I’m just looking for something tangible to **do** to demonstrate how I feel – and to help. Not just to restate the obvious when it comes to blam and say “Bad BP, bad BP.” But to work to make the situation better.

Maybe that’s uber-idealogical of me. It’s how I’m wired, for better or for worse. Dwelling on pointing fingers for extended periods of time isn’t constructive, in my opinion. Getting about the business of pro-active assistance is.

So while you won’t see me on the news wielding a sign and chanting in front of a filling station, you might, should the situation have escalated so, see me with my bottle of blue Dawn on the Gulf coast here in my part of the F-L-A, cleaning oil off a precious sea creature and giving them some TLC. And you can be sure I’ll keep reading and learning and expressing my righteous indignation, even if only in words.

And someday, you will catch me in a protest for something when I believe it will be the most constructive thing to do. Make sure you call or e-mail me when you see me on the news. Thanks. That would be groovy.

Meme Monday. It's got a purpose.

People think responsibility is hard to bear. It's not. I think that sometimes it is the absence of responsibility that is harder to bear. You have a great feeling of impotence.
~ Dr. Henry Kissinger

Fun fact: I am a liberal.

Yeah, I know. Guess what else? Water is wet and birds (save for a couple of exceptions) fly.

Miss Janey’s left-leaning tendencies are not exactly a secret – I’ve been called, more than once “everyone’s favorite liberal.” In a few cases, I’m the ONLY liberal some people know (remember where I live, y’all. I’m not a member of the Religious Left for nothing. ) I’ve a friend who swears there’s a file on me and my “activities” in some government building. The fact that I bought and now proudly display a phone that was used in a KGB building in Moscow during the Cold War pretty much probably confirms this.

My liberal interests over the years have been mostly regulated to the social issues (don’t get me started…) and fiscal side of things. That’s not to say that I didn’t care about the other prong in the liberal trifecta – the environment. But my passions lay elsewhere. I’ve protested, written letters, worn ribbons, donated time and finances.

Until that damn methane bubble went and blew. Spewing oil into my beloved Gulf of Mexico. That did it.

The toll this disaster is going to take on so many aspects of the economy of the Gulf region can’t even begin to be counted yet. Not sure how I’m going to help here – but I’m going to lend a hand somehow. Might be something as simple as donating Dawn (the blue kind) to help clean our precious Florida wildlife. Might be something more – something where Will can participate too. But I want to help in some way.

Because saving the environment just got personal.

And, as I am wont to do pretty much anytime when my eyes are open, I got to thinking. About being a better world citizen. About the little changes I can make in how I conduct the business of living my life.

So today I made a point to haul my grocery tote bags with us as Will and I did our post-school run to the store. He likes ‘em, as they are easier for him to help carry.

Today I also began participating in a little initiative helmed by Sir Paul McCartney and his daughters called Meat Free Monday. To quote the site: Meat Free Monday is an environmental campaign to raise awareness of the climate-changing impact of meat production and consumption. Many people are unaware that livestock production is responsible for 18% of global greenhouse gas emissions – that’s more than the entire transport sector.

As I am the OCG (Original Carnivore Girl), this was a challenge for me to even consider participating. But I made it. I think it will be a mutually beneficial exercise for me, the world and Sir Paul.

And in honor of Meme Monday, I found quite serendipitously this meme about my eco-habits. I’ve answered honestly – and while I’m a little ashamed of some of my responses, it’s nice to know exactly where I have opportunities to grow in this area. No, I’m not going to take off for parts unknown on a Greenpeace boat or become a full time vegetarian (not that there’s anything wrong with that.) or start a hemp wardrobe. But I am going to be more aware of what I do and how I do it.

Because it’s now personal.

Be the change you want to see in the world.
~ Mahatma Gandhi

Do you recycle?
No, but I should. I discovered just a couple of days ago that the neighborhood recycle area is about five minutes from the house. No excuses. I do now read the paper on line and on my Kindle. So there’s that.

Do you do you laundry with hot or cold water?
Cold, with warm for whites.

What kind of light bulbs are in your house?
For the most part, they’re the energy efficient ones. I think. We’re still moving in and I’m getting used to the joint.

Do you compost?
No – but I’m thinking about it. There’s space in the new backyard to set something up. On the list to research.

What kind of vehicle do you drive?
A Honda Pilot.

Do you use plastic or reusable bags when grocery shopping?
I’ll fess up – I had been using the plastic ones. Yeah. I know. But now that the reusable ones are found, deployed and back in the care, I’m on that track.

What are three ways you conserve energy?
*I try to turn off lights when we’re not in that room. However, the Junior Member of the Household like to flip switches on and off. I mean well
*I take super efficient showers with pretty cool water.
*I try to run major appliances during non peak-hours. Doesn’t always happen that way, but again – I mean well.


Away, away, from men and towns,
To the wild wood and the downs,
To the silent wilderness,
Where the soul need not repress
Its music.
~ Percy Bysshe Shelley "To Jane, The Invitation"

A Word from Atop the Soapbox

** climbs onto soapbox**

My favorite show on the telly is kicking into its third, highly anticipated season. Yep, talkin’ ‘bout Mad Men. In giddy anticipation of the premiere a couple of weeks ago, I Tweeted about my insane affection: “ridiculously -- and i do mean ridiculously -- excited about the Man Men premiere tonight. Just exhaled w/passion thinking 'bout Don Draper.”

Got an interesting response from my Twitter pal Djd323232 that surprised me a bit…“Just curious - doesn't the complete lack of respect for women on that show drive you nuts?”

I responded that “it did at first. Along with the constant smoking. But I have been able to put it into context. it is a true sign of the time… it just solidifies the authenticity of the prog (sic). i'm not fussed. the show's about more than that for me...”

We went on to have a spirited and respectfully civil discussion about this issue, both making our points.

But it got me thinking. For a while. About my gender and history and treatment and where I stand and what I do.

It was my first real job out of college. I was the Bright Young Thing in my office. Passionately opinionated, wearing my liberal idealism on my sleeve. Experientially naïvely naïve, as only a 23-year-old can be. I toiled as a print production coordinator for a company that distributed corporately-produced educational films – while I had a desk in a cubby, I basically worked in a plant. With many folks, male and female, who’d been with the company since before I was born.

To say there were generational differences would be an understatement.

Not only was I young, I was female.

And while there was NEVER the slightest hint of sexual harassment, there was some sexual, for lack of a better word, discounting.

The first time the swarthy genial warehouse manager called me “sweetheart” I let it slide, chalking it up to being just a random thing. After the fifth time, it was obvious that using such terms was part of his regular vernacular.

And it really bugged me. A lot.

I was already on my feminist soapbox around the office anyway – the “executive” suite of offices had only a men’s room and the fact that there was no ladies’ room irked me.

What can I say – I was a very idealistic, Mary Richards-esque 24 years old. Give me a purpose, a perceived injustice, a cause – I’d take it on. Give me any rule, I’d break it…

Anyhoo.

I mentioned my youthful feminist complaints to my office bestie, a wonderfully wise and seasoned woman nearly 20 years my senior. Who knows why we were friends – we just hit it off. She gave me some very wise counsel that calmed me down and squelched the flames coming off of my hypothetically burning bra.

She reminded me that I was of a different generation than the gentlemen with whom I was working. And that for them, the use of the word “sweetheart” or “dear” meant nothing condescending or demeaning. It’s just how they communicated. Nothing more, nothing less. If anything, these guys used it with affection. And I simply needed to put it into context.

I’ve mellowed a bit since those days, at least in this regard. I’m still all about Doin’ It for My Gender, but I like to think I’m more mature and clear-headed now with my actions and attitudes – remembering to take all things into consideration and looking at a situation from all angles.

And it’s that attitude which allows me to watch Mad Men without going ballistic regarding the treatment of women in the program. As out of place (and frankly, abhorrent) as it seems now, it’s true to the time in which the show is set. I can see where this might bother some – and I respect that – but I’m simply choosing to check my 21st century mores at the door and watch it from a creative and storytelling standpoint. It’s a trick I honed in graduate school, when I had to set aside my religious and moral perspective to fully understand certain authors and their messages.

It works for me. Your millage may vary.

Regardless. Context. Not a bad thing to keep in one's toolbox.

**jumps off soapbox**

A Word from Atop the Soapbox

*climbs onto soapbox*

Pet Peeve time.

Maybe it’s just me, but...

I get really irritated with the increasingly common deployment of terms traditionally used (offensive as they are) to describe people with developmental disabilities as insults or put downs.

Retarded. ‘Tard. Short bus.

Using the Special Olympics as an illustration of something negative or demeaning.

For example, check out this sentence I just read recently on a blog: "Picking a fight on the internet is like running in the Special Olympics, win or lose, you're still retarded."

So. Offensive.

Pisses. Me. Off.

Seriously. Few things make me more angry than this shit.

I know I’m hyper-sensitive because of Will’s situation and the worlds in which we predominantly travel -- the community of kids with special needs. My little guy is developmentally delayed. He’s bright (sometimes too much for his own good...) but has problems with communications. And is behind, age-wise, with his skill sets. We have no idea what his prognosis will be -- he’s made such fantastic progress and I continue to fervently believe his possibilities are endless. Regardless... these slams, such as they are, hit a little too close to home for me.

(If you're curious about Will or are bored or are looking for a cure for insomina, check out The Will Chronicles, my blog posts about his -- and my -- crazy life journey. Scroll all the way down to the end to catch the wackiness from the beginning...)

Anyhoo.

I prefer to think that people use these terms as put-downs more out of ignorance than anything. They’re really not processing the full impact of what they’re saying. And again, keep in mind that my intolerance for such things is heightened because of the way my life works.

But the cavalier way in which these things are said bothers me. Really bothers me. I feel like it’s my responsibility to stand up for those in whose name the insults are being tossed and say...

"Do you have any idea what you just said? Please stop. Now."

I’ve even corrected friends of mine who said something -- without thinking -- in this vein in front of me. Can you say awkward? But I made my point.

Guess what? That kind of talk = not funny. In the slightest.

And it’s egregiously detrimental to the image, both externally and within individuals, of a segment of society that has a hard enough time just being accepted for who they are.

So -- please think before you speak. There are plenty of other words one can hurl in insult or teasing... just consult your local thesaurus. Or ask me.

Thank you.

*jumps off soapbox*