So, I am not really a "jeans" person. I typically tend towards long skirts and fairly high cut shirts (lots of turtlenecks!), although I am okay with tight sweaters/shirts. I like my privacy from the public gaze.
A little background on this personal/public issue--I have had more than enough unwanted comments in my life about my butt. I started getting lewd comments from delinquent kids in my neighborhood when I was 11. When I was in sixth grade a boy wrote on the overhead projector screen "(my name here) has a great ass!" and flashed this message to the whole class while my teacher was out of the room. I was too mortified to say anything to my male teacher. When I was 14 I was in a selective singing group, and we had to do a song and dance number in front of our peers. It included a hip gyration/wiggle (with our backsides facing the audience) and this prompted icky/admiring male comments directed towards my 17 year old boyfriend (who was in the audience). My own (normally sensible) father called me "Perky Butt" when I would wear my little (above the knee) schoolgirl-style skirt. When I was 21, a creepy guy nearly ran me down with his car as I was walking home from my summer job. He jumped out, *exposed*,and said "girl you've got a great ass--you made me come". There are more stories, but these are the highlights.
I had to buy jeans for my daughter's girl scout campout and I decided to wear them Sunday along with a fairly form fitting boatneck style top. At least nobody *said* anything about my appearance, but I definitely received more male glances, including one man who managed to find a reason to pace in a tight semi-circle directly behind me while he was waiting for his wife/girlfriend (she was in a completely different section of the store). What I dislike most about wearing jeans/revealing clothes is how it affects my attitude. It makes me feel more hostile/guarded than I like to be. I feel less charitable towards all unfamiliar men. It makes me want to carry pepper spray. Most of the nice guys also feel like they have to rigidly control their gaze while interacting with me, so they probably feel edgy too. Finally, I also find myself more distracted (in a sexual sense) by sensations of rough clothing across my nether regions--I guess b/c of my long established uniform of skirts or loose trousers.
I suppose I should *want* or *feel entitled* to walk around in jeans without creepy people bothering me or without the unpleasant feeling of being "on display"....but it seems so much easier when I dress more conservatively. Clothes just shouldn't be that important. Ironically, this is a day when we are supposed to wear jeans to make a "statement" about sexual violence and how women have the right to dress however they choose--that a woman's clothing "shouldn't be"/"isn't" linked with vulnerability to sexual violence.
EDIT: I did a little looking online--it turns out that the denim symbol has its origin in a famous Italian case (1998 wherein a rape conviction was overturned. The jury believed that consent must have been given (at some point) because the accused rapist would not have been able to forcibly remove the victim's tight jeans if she had not consented/was struggling.
LiveJournal tells me it's been 13 weeks since I posted anything here. I guess now that the sun is shining and my roof is no longer in danger of collapsing under ice, it is time to crawl out from under my rock. I am looking forward to getting a little more exercise and buying a new bathing suit this season (mine is six years old and the elastic is shot). I feel your bathing-suit related pain, Ms. Lark.
I wanted to give a shout out to nerdcodegeode and the green-eyed monster for the lovely belated birthday visit. Miss Julie--your gift of the coffee grinder and beans has brought such sweet relief on many a day of slaving at work. I had forgotten the sweet, sweet nectar that is freshly ground java. And Mr. Justin--I can't wait for the weather to be warm enough for me to benefit from my own set of sticks. Maybe one of these days I'll be able to play a respectable threesome with you and Mr. Jerry. (Okay, that sounds vaguely inappropriate--but you know what I mean...less ground scraping on my part and fewer projectiles toward your faces).
I'm trying to come to terms with this last experiment of mine for the Ph.d. I collected data from 20 people (projected total N, ideally 100) and then (after a travel-delayed meeting with my advisor) realized that there was a problem with baseline measurements for one of my peripheral measures of threat-of-electric-shock induced anxiety. This is very poopy, but not the end of the world. Mr. Jerry seems to think that there are ways around this problem, but that would require doing things differently from everybody and their brother using this type of measurement--and we do tend to be lemmings in psychology. I had my first dissertation-related nightmare about this, in which the King of my dissertation committee was forcefully recommending that I *temporarily* asphyxiate participants in order to achieve a true physiological baseline in between blocks of trials. In the dream there was actually a chair-mounted strangulation device (in use in his lab) that could accomplish this experimental manipulation.
Interesting note--I have only come across one person with electic shock tolerance that equals mine (i.e., maxxing out all 25 possible intensities on our generator) and you never would have guessed it to look at him--except maybe the scars that looked like knife wounds. That's one of the things I find endlessly instructive about this manipulation. It's hard to guess based on appearance how much people are willing/able to bear for a stranger and for the sake of science. None of the women have come anywhere close to approaching all 25 possible step wise increases in current that our generator can produce. Interestingly, the woman who came closest to me (she only got to 15 steps) was an army brat (like me) and also (like me) once grabbed an electric fence while admiring the horses that were beyond reach.
This means that I am a tough mama. But I still hate roller coasters and have never been on one with my eyes open.
When I used to do diagnostic interviews with a pediatric neuropsychologist, we had a clever little diagnostic probe in which we took considerable pride. It was "Do you have a favorite number?"
We would listen patronizingly to the interviewee's response as little lights blinked in our own brains at decision tree branches marked "OCD?" "Autism spectrum?". Strangely, I don't think we followed up with questions about *why* numbers were meaningful. We just assumed that we had an Atypical Kid on our hands and that said child must be on an inexorable downward slope to some diagnostic label.
Well, my brilliant, beautiful love also has favorite numbers. Boatloads of them. Only because I know and love this individual....I wanted to know more about the mysterious appeal behind these numbers....what makes .4375 and .9375 special? Why do you notice certain numbers on license plates and not others? Why do your programmer friends do the same thing? Well, he patiently explained to me...and it made perfect sense. There is a whole beautiful structure and applied context into which these numbers fit for him...related to musical metre and also related to units of measurement important in computing. And I am guessing they are beloved in the way a carpenter might love his tools or a painter his brushes. They are recognized the way a master chess player recognizes configurations on a board that to me just look like a meaningless jumble of pieces.
Now I am ashamed that we didn't ask those kids more about their favorite numbers. Now I know why for many---though not all--there was that certain flash of recognition, of hope, that people get when they begin to think that maybe they are not so different from others, that maybe they have found somebody who understands.
Today I finished the wrap up for what was my third big lecture. I got another round of applause! Emails from students saying they enjoyed the material, and even an email from the instructor saying how much she and the students appreciated my nice, "inspiring" style (she wasn't there for the day I gave the full lecture, just for today's 15 minute overflow).
I could handle doing this kind of thing to pay my bills.
A very special thank you to my beloved jpfed who captured streaming video for me and burned it to dvd when it appeared that my laptop was going to flake out and not show web video for class....and who also sat through a stumbling, halting dry run of of my first lecture and let me throw candy at him. He knows how nervous I really was.
Now back to the research endeavors I've been pushing aside b/c I was ridiculously concerned with making these lectures go well. I am on a clock that says I *MUST* defend my dissertation by Dec 19, 2008...or I turn back into a barefoot hillbilly with a pumpkin and a bunch of mice.
If you were given 75 minutes to teach 330+ young minds (future teachers, parents, citizens, etc.) about child development/developmental psychology....what are some of the things you would want to be sure to convey? Keep in mind that some of these young people may never take another psychology class or development-related class again, but the majority will probably become parents one day.
1. Why does microsoft word have to contaminate any files it touches, even if they aren't SAVED in Word? This is the second time this little nasty feature has screwed with my dissertation data and cost me time and data.
1.2 I am indebted to my love for his programmer's eye honed by years of experience and am grateful for his general prowess in regards to.....everything.
2. I do not have breast cancer. Just a really sore boob from an unpleasant core needle biopsy done with what could have passed for a hollow knitting needle spring loaded in a staple gun. This development facilitates a better perspective on minor set backs.
3. I had an amazing intro psych class when I was a Freshman at Yale. I really recognize this now that I am a TA for intro psych at Madison. Many things about Yale sucked, but I had some truly life changing classes there that helped get me where I am today. Peter Salovey taught my intro psych class. Phil Zimbardo stopped by to give a guest lecture on the Stanford Prison Experiment. I participanted in one of Isabelle Gauthier's Greeble studies for extra credit. We read "How to Lie With Statistics", "Peer Counseling", and "The Psychologist's Companion" in addition to anintro psych text.
I've been away from LJ for some time in an attempt to be more focused on the things I actually needed to be doing/ am paid to do. One of these things was to teach an intensive summer version of Experimental Psychology, a course required for Psych majors at UW Madison. Happily, my students finished their final oral presentations today and I am keeping my fingers crossed that even my most "needy" student will get a C and not have to repeat. I try to walk a fine line of being fair but also being compassionate...sometimes it's hard. The idea of having so much power over somebody else's suffering and even the course of their future is troubling to me at times. Try as hard as we might, there is a lot about grading papers that is subjective. In this case, a D means repeating, whereas a C is a crappy grade that would make it hard to get into grad school but would at least allow somebody to get the B.A. they've been pursuing.
On a surprisingly related note, I am also being paid to design an experiment that assesses individual differences in ability to withhold a learned, prepotent response that is normally negatively reinforcing (i.e. an escape response that turns off a threat or a noxious stimulus). This is relevant to the field of addiction, and relevant to the idea of existential courage in general. People who more likely to become addicted to substances and people who *are* addicted are prone to try to try to escape from their own negative feelings of distress/anxiety/frustration. An overlearned escape response and/or super-strong drive toward experiential avoidance typically makes it hard to use the data conveyed by negative feelings in an adaptive manner, *or* just to ride out the wave of negative emotion when that is the most responsible option.
To me, this raises the interesting question of what is it about the brain and/or consciousness that makes a given level of negative stimulation (emotional/physical) so much more aversive to certain individuals. It does seem clear that there are different circuits involved in assigning value/meaning to painful situations as opposed to simply registering pain. As an example of this disjunct in my own life, I was very afraid of the *unknown course* of labor pain my first time around and that fear-of-upredictable-pain was far more aversive then the actual pain. I was afraid the quality or intensity of the pain would change suddenly, erratically and unexpectedly--and I tried desperately to convey my fear of the pain/get reassurance from others, but I didn't know how. I think I will be much better able to embrace the pain of birth if I am blessed with another baby in the future. I didn't have any pain medication the first time, but I accepted an allergy medication that had a sedative effect and was enough to take the edge off of my terror. Of course, I blame that med for SP developing jaundice.
The idea of the costs of honing a taste for experiential avoidance (i.e., in precluding tendencies toward more adaptive emotion-driven behavior and/or precluding responsible nonindulgence in contextually inappropriate negative reinforcement) leaves me with a figment of an idea related to child guidance. Namely, are we robbing kids of important learning experiences if we foster their experiential avoidance by "saving" them from enduring the little and sometimes not-so-little discomforts (mental and physical) of daily life? Mind you, I am not advocating walking on hot coals, sleeping on nails, or Catholic style self-flagellation--or flagellation by others :-< I am far from being a masochist, but I do know that I get a certain self-generated reinforcement out of accepting and bravely bearing painful but necessary circumstances and I admire this resolve in others as well. THis wasn't always the case, though.
Finally, in applying all of this to the grading situation, if I lean more toward the C of a on a borderline low C vs. high D level paper, then I worry that I am being motivated to save *myself* from the negative emotion of knowing what somebody will have to endure and not being fair/objective enough...but I also know that the individual in question did a lot to override their own habitual drive toward experiential avoidance in order to stick with the class when the going got tough...and I want to reward this choice.
I just read a news report about a couple who grossly neglected their babies....including nearly starving them to death. The parents were allegedly "addicted" to internet based video games...seems they would not break their reward-seeking behavior to tend to their children's most basic needs...
So, I have just discovered the minor miracle of power/construction equipment and party rental businesses.
So many tools and gadgets in one place! And one can *rent* them at reasonable rates instead of buying them. A-ZRentall, you are incredible!
I can rent a generator! A circular saw! One of those ladder truck type things that the good folks of MGE and TDS use on Official and Important business!
Why did I not know before now that I would find the human performance extending possibilities of power tools so appealing? And to be able to rent these super expensive things instead of buying them--that's just awesome.
I shall have to refrain from renting one of everything in turn just so I can have the chance to watch jpfed use them (and show me how).
Traffic was heavy on University Ave this morning as I headed in to teach class. I was inordinately cheered by a bright red balloon that swirled whimsically across two lanes of traffic. I cringed when the balloon was nearly flattened by a dump truck...but then it whooshed safely below the undercarriage and was entangled in the rear axle. The tethered balloon trailed gaily for several feet, oblivious to any danger to its integrity. Then the balloon was free, and it appeared to dodge the fast encroaching wheel of next pipe-laden vehicle with just a fraction of a second to spare. A dirty hand shot out of the passenger side window of the truck and swiped forcefully in the air...but the curly white ribbon danced inches past the clawing fingers and the balloon soared on toward my vehicle. My van caught the balloon, or the balloon caught my van. It became lodged between my side mirror and the windshield. I considered trying to grab the balloon to save it...but when I eased on my brakes the balloon was free again and out of my sight.
This random balloon ballet was strangely beautiful to me, and I expect it was over in three seconds.
This is an example of the type of beauty that inspired the Taj Mahal. Also an excellent example of how that which is hidden is ever so much more desirable than that which is always on display.
We are a fortunate family to have been spared from a fire by our sweet adopted basset hound AND to be reunited with one of the most beloved teddy bears in the history of human childhood.
According to "relationship experts" (psychology and/or sociology reasearchers who have devoted their careers to understanding how marriages fail) here are 15 questions couples should ask (or wish they had) before marrying. I got this from the New York Times.
1. Have we discussed whether or not to have children, and if the answer is yes, who is going to be the primary caregiver?
2. Do we have a clear idea of each other's financial obligations and goals, and do our ideas about saving and spending mesh?
3. Have we discussed our expectations for how the household will be maintained, and are we in agreement with who will manage the chores?
4. Have we fully disclosed our health histories, both physical and mental?
5. Is my partner affectionate to the degree that I expect?
6. Can we comfortably and openly discuss our sexual needs, preferences and fears?
7. Will there be a television in the bedroom?
8. Do we truly listen to each other and fairly consider one another's ideas and complaints?
9. Have we reached a clear understanding of each other's spiritual beliefs and needs, and have we discussed when and how our children will be exposed to religious/moral education?
10. Do we like and respect each other's friends?
11. Do we value and respect each other's parents, and is either of us concerned about whether the parents will interfere with the relationship?
12. What does my family do that annoys you?
13. Are there some things that you and I are NOT prepared to give up in the marriage?
14. If one of us were to be offered a career opportunity in a location far from the other's family, are we prepared to move?
15. Does each of us feel fully confident in the other's commitment to the marriage and believe that the bond can survive whatever challenges we may face?
I very stupidly fell asleep (unintentionally) with eggs boiling on my stove.
I had a nightmare....I was looking down, helplessly, at a woman who choked and convulsed violently in bed. Her eyes flew open and widened in alarm and I watched helplessly as she burned up from the inside out. I think it was my amygdala and anterior cingulate trying to wake me up. I groggily woke up to the sound of
I focused on the faint but insistent beep beep beep...not recognizing the sound and considering going back to sleep (maybe my cell phone needs charging?) but Lucy was insistent, popping her enormous basset hound head into my groggy face and saying:
translation: "For the love of all that is holy, woman, get out of bed before you burn the house down!"
So I sat up in bed and smelled smoke. I charged down the stairs into more hazy, foul smelling smoke. It didn't seem at all hot and there were no weird sounds other than the alarm so I figured I should go figure out if/where there was a fire and if I could manage it my fire extinguisher. The living room was smoky. There were smoking, charred egg shells in a now empty pot on the stove. I felt like such an idiot! I turned off the burner and put the pot under running water. SP started to stir then. I explained that I had burned something on the stove but it was okay now other than being smoky. I moved her to the spare bedroom (which wasn't at all smoky) and opened the two bedroom windows then opened all of the doors and windows in the house and sat shivering for about two hours until everything had cleared. I let the Lucy and Danny out for most of that...then Lucy and I sat and spooned on the couch for awhile.
SP and are going to do some family fire drills. I confess, we have never held an actual fire drill, complete with alarm, crawling to avoid excessive smoke inhalation, and use of multiple exit strategies. I'm also going to install a couple more smoke detectors that have louder alarms. It gives me chills to think we were depending on only one--although it is an awesome one that has a 10-year battery life. (We had others in the past, but our normal strategy was to disconnect them when they malfunctioned/remove the batteries and not put them back up)
Lucy has some choice annoying habits, but she is a very good doggy girl, and I am thankful that she is in my life. My other hound was at my side in bed and never stirred until I prodded him to get up and go outside.
There is an older lady who lives near me who has the most perfectly manicured lawn and bushes. Her landscaping practically seems coiffed. She spends a lot of time sweeping her walk and washing her exterior windows until they shine. I gather that she is either a widow or divorced, and she seems lonely to me...as if she has no better way to spend her time.
Nearly directly across from her is an older man who also lives alone. He spends a lot of time watering his front lawn with a garden hose. He will often stand out there making repetitive arcs of the hose across his lawn while she stands with her back to him and sweeps silently or washes her windows. But they steal glances at each other every now and then. I have noticed this when I walk my dogs.
SP lost her beloved toy of all toys; the bear that she has slept with pretty much every night since she was 3 years old. Snowy the very dirty and bedraggled white bear travels back and forth between Mommy's house and Daddy's house in SP's backpack. We think Snowy fell out or wasn't properly placed inside when I picked her up last night.
Last night was an interesting night.
I made a poster including the offer of a cash reward; we spoke with the principal and the person in charge of the after school program. I really hope Snowy turns up.
SP did find comfort in the idea that if she had to choose between losing Mommy, Daddy or Snowy that it was least bad to lose Snowy. She also accepted a substitute bear of somewhat similar appearance ("Candy Cane", husband of "Snowy"). She stated that "maybe some of Snowy's love rubbed off on Candy Cane", and she took a little comfort in knowing that she has actually owned Candy Cane since she was 3 months old.
For many years I have been plagued by an odd nightmare. I am taking a flight out of the country. I arrive at the airport, and I don't have a passport. Somehow I forgot that one was necessary. Nor do I have any way of getting a passport in time to be able to make my flight. I must have missed dozens of dream flights over the years due to my habitual lack of a passport.
Last night, I had the dream again, only this time my daughter was traveling with me. Finally....we both had passports! We were going to visit my dad who happened to be in London (I have no idea why)...but we were running so late so as to miss the required boarding time for our flight. But then when I looked more closely at our tickets I saw that there was fine print indicating that we could take *any* flight we wished on that day. So all was well.
In this particular dream, I also discovered that I had a son and daughter that I didn't know about. I could see them in the distance, across a field, playing together. Somebody asked me "what's your son's name?" and I said "Miles--it's an anagram for Smile". For some reason, my daughter's name was Julia, but there was no explanation for that name....it is not a particularly favored name of mine. And I don't think it's an anagram for anything meaningful...
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