View from the Loft

Tattoos

I was just catching up on some blog posts by Mano Singham when I ran across his entry on tattoos. Tattoos are--to me, at least--an interesting contemporary cultural feature. I know a great many people who sport tattoos, and not all of these people have been tattooed in their younger years. Mostly tattoos seem to make a specific statement, although the casual observer may not understand the point. Tattoos are both personal and public--personal in their meaning to the wearer, yet public in that the expression of meaning is visible to all. Actually, that's not true, is it? Because some tattoos are never made visible to other people. Instead, they are private and seen only by the wearer, or perhaps someone with whom she is intimate. In that case I think the tattoo has a symbolic function for the person, whether as a reminder, a private feeling or knowledge, or the like. 

I think I understand some of the reasons for people wanting tattoos. My general feeling is hey, it's their choice, and I am not one of those who finds tattoos repellent (in general, although I've seen some individual ones that made me cringe). I have seen some downright beautiful, artistic tattoos using a range of colors and imaginative use of figures. Others, while being black or that dull blue-black color, have been designed by the wearer to signify or mark an event, belief, or some symbol iconic to that person.

At times I've considered getting one where it would be visible only to my mate. But I never do it, because I have a thing about getting my skin marked. I can't even stand it when I get ball-point pen ink on myself--I have to wash it off immediately. Face-painting is another thing that gives me the fantods for some reason. (I don't really know why--is it all that different from wearing, say, glittery eye shadow?) I don't know the psychology behind that, but I can see pretty clearly that if I can't stand washable ink/paint on myself, how would I deal with a tattoo? 

The permanence of a tattoo is one of the points of getting one, I'm sure, but it's that very permanence that is a sticking point for me. How can you say that in ten years you'll still feel the same way about something or someone? Perhaps for some people it's a statement of faith, in a way, a proclamation that yes, this is who I am and will always be. At my age, I tend to see how things and people change over time. I'm still married to the same guy after 47 years, but I can't honestly say that neither we nor our relationship has remained static over that period. 

On the other hand, I suppose a series of tattoos over the years could read rather like a history of one's life, with all its changes for better and for worse.

All of this is not even getting into issues like class, rebellion, social pressures, and so on. Tattoos can be powerful signifiers, yet as they become more and more common, I wonder if they still carry that power. Sometimes I think people's tattoos are just another physical feature, like one's height or eye color. I don't think they pack the punch they used to have. 

But again, that's not what all (maybe these days, not even most) tattoo-getters are going for. 

I've read some amusing, yet unsettling, screeds from those in the manosphere against young women getting tattoos. If I were young, that sort of thing might just tip the balance in favor of my getting a tattoo. Some men just can't stand the idea of women asserting their own identities. Women are "supposed to" look this way or that way, with some in the manosphere even going into long rants against short hair on women. Being told that I "should" be or look one way or another is a sure-fire way to get me to consider doing the very opposite. As a woman, I don't need men telling me how to behave or what my appearance should be like. If they don't like me for me, to hell with them. This is what the men's-rightsers can't stand, so yeah, go for the tattoos, ladies, if that's your thing!

In the long run, I guess I'm pretty much in favor of self-expression. You want purple hair? Fine by me--that's up to you. (I've flirted with the idea of wild hair colors myself.)  If you wear a tattoo of the Nazi symbol, you're doing me a favor by letting me know I need to steer clear of you. If you have a tattoo of a cat over your appendix scar, that tells me a lot, too. If you have a flower on your butt cheek where only you know it's there, well, it's none of my business to begin with, but if you told me about it, I'd assume it holds meaning for you.

Whereas tattoos were once a sign of either military service or rebellion, or perhaps a class signifier, now they're everywhere. As long as they're undertaken voluntarily, why should anyone object?

Reflections on the weirdness that is body image

A lot has been written about body image, particularly in the case of women, who suffer in greater numbers from eating disorders and the like that are related to body image. I don't have anything new to say about that, although the topic is a compelling one. Instead, I'm just going to relate my own recent experiences with my own body image and how it's sometimes at odds with reality.

Last May I suffered a health emergency that led to the discovery of an underlying chronic condition. In a few weeks I  lost around 30 pounds. For someone who, at least according to BMI, has never quite fallen into the "overweight" category--although I've come close--that represents a pretty significant weight change. I'm sure everyone around me got quite sick of hearing about it. The truth is that I was, and still am, amazed. I have not been at my current weight since at least before high school, and I'm 65 years old. It's as if I had to keep repeating that "30 pounds!" to believe it. Certainly I wasn't bragging about it, because I wouldn't wish anyone to go through what I have just to lose the weight. Indeed, there's nothing to be proud of, as the weight just came off with no effort on my part. Illness is a terrible weight loss technique.

So I went down two or three sizes and have had to buy an entire new wardrobe. This has caused me a great deal of anxiety along with some poor clothing choices. I hate shopping and dislike spending the money. For years I've shopped on-line, but now I had to try on clothes in an actual store. I can only take so much of it and then I have to leave, whether or not I've acquired everything on my list.

Oddly, I still find myself looking at and even trying on clothing that's bound to be too large for me. It's like I can't shake off the image of myself of thirty pounds ago. When I look in the mirror, I still look to myself like the person who wore larger sizes than what currently fits me. Every time I try on an article of clothing that can't possibly fit me, and yet it does, I can't believe it.

In the past, I've also had the opposite happen. I've had to try on or order a larger size, because in my eyes, I wasn't that size and thus didn't need it. Or there was an item of clothing I hadn't worn in a while and I was shocked to discover I could no longer get the zipper up.

I know someone who's had bariatric surgery and is now slimmer and trimmer than I've ever seen him, but he still thinks of himself as weighing close to 400 pounds. He still carries with him that stigma with which our culture burdens people of that size. And all the baggage that goes along with that stigma.

Then, of course, many if not most people my age get a shock every time they look into the mirror and see a sixty-something instead of a younger self. When did I become my mom? I probably looked my best in my thirties and early forties and I still expect to see that face when I look into the mirror instead of the one with folds and wrinkles and sags (which I think have been exaggerated by the suddenness of the weight loss, but who knows?). I know that at least some of my friends also look into a mirror and think "When did that happen?" Sometimes is as if the question should be, "Where was I all those years when my physical self was changing and why didn't I notice?"

It's striking how little reality has to do with how we think of ourselves. (I cringe to think of how that's also true way beyond body image.) I think I may have just a glimmer of understanding about how some people have body dysmorphia and starve themselves or work out fanatically to achieve the form they see in their minds, which might already be their actual form. They're not seeing reality; they're seeing an image of a physical self that is not objectively the configuration that the rest of the world sees. 

Because my condition requires many more calories than the average person needs, I'm probably in very little danger of outgrowing my current wardrobe any time soon. But I'm having a lot of trouble parting with the old clothes and making room for the new ones. Maybe one day the old physical me will resurrect itself and then I'll have to go through all this all over again, but in reverse. Who knows? Probably if that happens, I'll be trying to squeeze myself into pants that cut off my circulation, unable, once again, to see the real me.

 

 

How many people am I going to have to unfriend on FB following the Paris tragedy?

That is the question.

Already the comments are flooding in, blaming refugees for the terrorist attacks in Paris, calling for an end to asylum, calling for refugee camps to be burned to the ground, cheering on the fire in the Calais "Jungle" camp. 

Just as with America's 9/11, I am more frightened of the backlash than of the terrorism itself. Look what 9/11 got us: the execrable Patriot Act with its evisceration of constitutional protections; hatred of Muslims (and even Sikhs, who were often mistaken for Muslims because they wear turbans); xenophobia in general; a justification for bigotry and closed-mindedness. All in the name of safety.

In comments on news stories about Paris I am seeing sentiments such as "burn them all out," how at the Calais refugee camp "they" (who?) are just "cleaning the place up," and so on. 

The first thing that needs to be done in stirring up murderous rage against a segment of society is to dehumanize them, to imply that "those people" are really not people but vermin to be exterminated. Hey, it worked for Hitler! 

I'm reading about sleeper cells and so on. Sleeper cells there may be, but I don't see how we can guarantee against them no matter how draconian our practices become. We are never going to be 100% risk-free. And at what price do we attempt to guarantee safety? For some people, totalitarianism is acceptable in the quest to guard against terrorist attacks. 

It's not acceptable to me. 

I'd rather take my chances, thanks, than see our civil liberties eroded even more than they already have been. 

I find it horrifying that otherwise intelligent people have no problem with demonizing entire groups of people as if each and every person in the group is or could be a terrorist. I find it morally repugnant that people are calling for the literal extermination of all people of a particular religious/cultural group, children and all. But that's what's happening. 

Have we learned nothing from the various genocidal acts that have taken place in our history? Really? We are still at this level of justifying genocidal impulses?

So as terrible as the Paris attacks are--and they are loathsome attacks against humanity--I am more afraid of the aftershocks. I see a lot of evil transpiring after these events, acts that will make innocent people suffer. The rush to judgment, the surrender to emotions of rage and revenge, the desire to punish: all of these will come to pass and already are coming to pass. I see it on my Facebook feed, in comments on the news stories, on Twitter. 

I weep for all of us.

That time of year

Well, it's that time of year again, the time when the "War on Christmas" people stream out of the woodwork. It gets more ridiculous every year. This year it's the Starbucks red cups that are devoid of snowflakes or evergreen boughs or whatever. Definitely persecution of Christians!

Then we have Donald Trump promising that if he becomes president, we will all be saying "Merry Christmas." Dude, do you have any knowledge whatsoever of how government works? Of the constitution? Of the limits on executive powers?

I've said many times that I don't assume that everyone I casually interact with is Christian, so when I'm at Meijer, for example, I'll say something like "Have a nice holiday" to the cashier. It would be rude and presumptuous of me to assume that she or he is a Christian. They might be Wiccan or Jewish or Muslim or whatever. On the other hand, if someone says "Merry Christmas" to me, I'll say it right back. I'm all for having a merry holiday around the winter solstice.

We celebrate Christmas at our house even though we're not Christians. Most of the Christian traditions are pagan in origin anyway, but I have happy memories from childhood as well that make me want to continue the traditions I grew up with. I know any number of Christmas carols by heart, and I play them on CDs and on the radio. I like having a Christmas tree and gathering with the family both for Christmas Eve (at my sister's) and Christmas morning (with my kids and grandkids). As agnostics/atheists, we still like the traditions of Christmas. I think, actually, that Christmas is becoming more and more secular, and I'm good with that (but I still like a lot of the religious songs).

Saying "Happy holidays" is not a War on Christmas. It's an effort to be inclusive. This seems to be the one thing that some--and I emphasize the "some"--Christians cannot tolerate.

On my sister's birthday

you would have been 61
to my 63

I remember that day at lunch
we thirty-somethings
spied two women
well up in years
(each with a brimming
glass of burgundy, 
club sandwich)
companionable
gossiping
laughing

and we said
"that'll be us someday"

we couldn't know
there would never be a someday

I'm cranky (part two)

(Part one is here, in case you like to experience people whining.)

You know what's been making me cranky? Facebook, that's what. Or not so much FB as some of the people I've friended with whom I've become impatient, irritated, offended by, or fed up.

Now, I'm not going to stop using Facebook, at least at this juncture. But recently I've defriended four people in a fairly brief timespan.

The first time was a case of moral outrage. Someone I considered a friend (in real life) posted (and I'm paraphrasing) "Children who aren't vaccinated should be taken away from their parents and placed in refugee camps." Refugee camps. It so happens that my daughter didn't have her kids vaccinated. Even if that weren't true, it's a disgusting, callous statement. When I reported this to my daughter, she said, "People think they can say anything on the Internet. And he probably thought he could say this to you because he thinks only right-wing fundamentalists or Christian Scientists don't have their kids vaccinated."

Second was a friend (also a friend in RL) who waxed enthusiastic about the defense of that ass Phil Robertson. She, along with some of her friends, made the whole episode into a free speech issue, completely disregarding the homophobia and racism in what Robertson said. (The racism bothered me more than the homophobic statements, mainly because it was such revisionist history.) His vile, bigoted statements were defended not only by her but by some of her obnoxious friends who decided to join forces in their ridicule of me and my "ranting and raving."  I had already considered unfriending this person because I couldn't take the constant Goddiness. But this made the decision for me. Why open yourself up to constant irritation and resulting high blood pressure?

The other two were people who asked me to be friends without having met me. I agreed because they seemed to be people whose opinions and jokes and gossip I would enjoy. But in each case, the annoyance factor outweighed the good points. I won't even try to go into the details here, as they would make for dull reading, but I swear I was pushed to it.

Now, you can say I'm intolerant, but in fact, I have FB friends with whom I disagree completely on matters of politics and economic policy and the like. Just recently I had a FB discussion with a friend who grew up in Poland during the time of Soviet rule and disagreed with me about Edward Snowden because he sought asylum in Russia, and it was mutually respectful and civilized. Many times I've had a discussion with people I disagree with and continue to maintain them as FB friends. 

There's just a level of cluelessness sometmes that finally makes me think, "I really don't have to let myself in for this kind of crap that just makes me tense and unhappy."

And cranky.

I'm cranky (part one)

I'm cranky for a lot of reasons.

Let's start with number one: since the winter solstice, we have had two weeks without heat. We had a day and a half in between the weeks. An ice storm knocked out our power completely starting on December 22nd, so we could not have the traditional Christmas Day family gathering here. Our daughter was a gracious hostess and her husband a gracious host for dinner that day, so it's not as if we didn't have Christmas. It was just unexpected, and at least one of the grandkids was quite disappointed about not coming to Nana and Pop's house. 

We live in a rural area, so we rely on a well for our water, a well that uses a pump powered by electricity. Thus we had no running water for about a week. Not fun. We tried to keep it in perspective, though, thinking about people with no roof over their heads.  And we do have a generator, so we kept our freezers and refrigerators running throughout. We lit up the Christmas tree in the evenings. We have a propane space heater that puts out a lot of heat, so we didn't freeze, and for a couple of nights the bedroom gas fireplace worked. Then it quit, and we slept on the sofa and loveseat in the living room after that.

We'd been hoping to have an extended family get-together here on the 29th, but due to the power outage, we had to cancel. That was after cancelling once before because we were both sick.

A day and a half after power was restored, we got up to a cold house: the furnace had broken down. That was a week ago today. Having electricity is good, though. We bought a couple of small electric space heaters and use one in the bathroom so we can take showers without freezing to death. We had bought a queen-size inflatable bed last summer (which we had completely forgotten about during the ice storm) , thinking we might have overnight guests who would need it, so we put that up in the living room. Our kitchen and living area are contiguous and the propane heater, plus one electric heater, do a good job of keeping the temperature in the 60s. Of course we are spending a lot on propane, but what are you gonna do? 

And now we've had about 15 inches of new snow, complete with wind and some pretty hefty drifts, and plummeting temperatures. Still waiting for the new motor that will at least temporarily repair our furnace. But we may very well have to get a new furnace this year. Neither of us wanted to try having a replacement installed in the winter.

We had hoped to have our son and his significant other over on Sunday, but with the snow and the distance they have to travel, we cancelled out of fears about the road conditions.

So nobody has seen our tree or the Dickens village or the cedar roping except us and the furnace repairman. It's a lovely tree, too, twelve and a half feet tall and, if I do say so myself, beautifully decorated--not designer decorated, but eclectically decorated. The grandkids did not get to snag the candy canes off the branches or find the ornaments they particularly like. Disappointing.

Of course we are quite privileged, regardless of inconveniences, compared to so many who have been living in terrible circumstances, often due to economic policies that are hurting untold numbers of people. We try to keep that in mind.

But being human, we still piss and moan.