I had a very privileged childhood - private school, figure skating, horseback riding, weekends skiing or in Hawaii. I wanted for nothing. And one thing that always pissed me off was when people treated me as if they thought I was a snob. Like they reacted to the way they thought I was going to treat them...or when bus drivers spit on us for no other reason than we were in our school uniforms.
I know...poor little rich kid.
But my point is that I feel in a lot of ways like I do a lot of what I do in my life because of this cosmic guilt I feel over how privileged I was. Like all the volunteering and crap. I feel like I have more to give back to my community than most people...like I owe more.
But I've been thinking about why I get angry about how I'm labelled...why I take it as such an affont, and why I am so quick to hold up my "contributions to society" as evidence of my un-snobbery. I think that what it really is, is a feeling of moral righteousness. Like I want some sort of award for what I do. And that makes me wonder, if you don't do something for the right reasons, then should you do it at all? And I think that the answer is, yes...you should...because the fact of the matter is that people benefit from your contributions whether you do it for noble reasons, or for nasty ones. But we should ask more of ourselves...we should expect of ourselves to do things for the right reasons, and not be so goddamned selfish.
And then I got to thinking about how I do treat other people. Maybe I do deserve a little anger or scorn. Maybe I am judgmental, and then aloof or cold when I deem someone to be beneath me. And I mean beneath me in terms of socioeconomic status, or in terms of intelligence, or education or attractiveness. This self analysis was all prompted by a conversation I alluded to in a drunken stupor on Thursday night. It really fucked me up emotionally, and has caused me to look at some of my interactions with people. We had a heart to heart about our relationship. We're good friends...but it took some time. I love him now...it really wouldn't take me much to fall "in love" with him...but it wasn't always the case. How do I describe him...he's quirky...he's not mainstream...he grew up in the bush...he's not conventionally handsome. And when I first met him...those were the things that were foremost in my mind. I could make excuses for myself - I was in love with the asshole with the dry-toast girlfriend at the time...yada yada yada...but none of that excuses that fact that the ugly truth is that I dismissed him. In retrospect, I can see that he put himself out there...and I rejected him. Not only did I reject him...but I don't think it would be too much to say I was rude. Quite frankly, if I were him I certainly wouldn't be friends with me, let alone saying the things he was saying.
There is no excuse for treating people poorly...sure, because you might become friends with them and grow very fond of them. But even if not...even if you never have cause to see them again. It takes just as much effort to be nice, as it does to be rude. And the bottom line is that we none of us are superior human beings...we maybe more advantaged, or luckier, or priviledged. But worthiness...shouldn't that be measured by our actions, and not by our opportunities? By what we do with our lives, and not what we were born with?
Sunday, October 29, 2006
Friday, October 27, 2006
I found out tonight that hadI not been an asshole one year ago today, I might have been with a totally awesome guy. Instead I found myself counselling him to propose to his girlfriend who is totally excellent.
I promised myself taht I would never regret.
I don't know that I can keep my promise. But I did swear to him that I am as much a girl
s girl as I am a guy's girl and therefore nothing happened.
I haven't decided if I regret it yet or not...
I promised myself taht I would never regret.
I don't know that I can keep my promise. But I did swear to him that I am as much a girl
s girl as I am a guy's girl and therefore nothing happened.
I haven't decided if I regret it yet or not...
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Wine & Cheese Schmooze Fests
Part of the territory is voluntary/mandatory attendance at wine and cheese gatherings with the firms. Voluntary in that it isn't compulsory, but mandatory in that you are shooting yourself in the foot if you don't go.
Tonight I got the inevitable question - so why aren't you interviewing for a summer position?
My breath caught in my throat for a minute - so calculating - what did they want to hear? Was this a test? What is the right answer?
So I took a deep breath and said - "Well, once I sign on with a firm I want to be able to dedicate myself and my time. And before I do that there is some travelling that I want to do and some adventures I would like to get out of my system. I'd like to try as many things as possible and take advantage of as many different opportunities as I can."
And there was a pause and then he smiled, and said that he did not summer either. He took the summer to do a tour of Europe. And then the conversation moved forward and we chatted about various trips that we had taken, yada yada yada.
Whew...land mine number one avoided.
Tonight I got the inevitable question - so why aren't you interviewing for a summer position?
My breath caught in my throat for a minute - so calculating - what did they want to hear? Was this a test? What is the right answer?
So I took a deep breath and said - "Well, once I sign on with a firm I want to be able to dedicate myself and my time. And before I do that there is some travelling that I want to do and some adventures I would like to get out of my system. I'd like to try as many things as possible and take advantage of as many different opportunities as I can."
And there was a pause and then he smiled, and said that he did not summer either. He took the summer to do a tour of Europe. And then the conversation moved forward and we chatted about various trips that we had taken, yada yada yada.
Whew...land mine number one avoided.
Monday, October 23, 2006
Astonishing
A friend of mine sent me a funny chain letter about the word "bitch." In response I was trying to track down one of my favorite feminist quotes. I never did find it, but in the process of looking for it I came across this:
Pat Robertson - 1992
"Feminism is a socialist, anti-family, political movement that encourages women to leave their husbands, kill their children, practice witchcraft, destroy capitalism and become lesbians."
It made me wonder why it is that feminism is so threatening to some. And I speak of feminism, not feminazism which I find somewhat distasteful myself, and somewhat counterproductive to the cause of equality. I wonder if it is fear which precipitates this type of thought? Can he truly believe this? In a rational, practical, realistic way?
I often joke that my philosophy of life is: why choose when you can have both. I joke...but I mean it at the same time. I love my career; I am challenged by it, and excited by it, and frightened by it. And when I engage with my colleagues, I attempt to do so as genderless individuals. I say I attempt because, ethically or not, I am not above using sex to my advantage. And before hackles are raised, I am not referring to sleeping my way to the top - you have to draw the line somewhere, but rather sex more generally. I consider it a tool...bros before hos is still regularly used in any occupational field, and I think that sex is a valuable and legitimate tool to be used in an attempt to break into that circle.
But I digress. My point is that, though my career is important to me, it does not diminish my desire to be a wife, and a mother. I value my femininity, my prowess in the kitchen, my nurturing side, chivalry in general. I certainly want to have a family, I have no desire to kill my children and I am not a lesbian. I recognize, and often celebrate the inherent differences between men and women.
But I don't to be told I can't do something because I am a woman. And I want my actions to be evaluated in a way that is not colored by the fact that I am a woman. I want to live and work in a world that rewards on the basis of merit, pure and simple. And I abhor the notion that people like Pat Robertson interpret that as being evil or unsatisfactory or as undesirable, somehow.
Why must we place limits on the capacity of people to live and thrive? Why must we force people into socially approved and defined boxes? Why must we force people to choose? Why do we interfere in the lives of people who are not interfering in our own lives? Why are we so arrogant as to impose our own moral judgments on others? Why is our focus on judging others rather than enabling them? Why are we not more concerned with bettering ourselves - living as good global citizens?
Damn you, Pat Robertson, for judging me. While it's true that I do not officially ascribe to any one of the major organized religions, I can tell you one thing for certain - No God of mine is that arrogant or that exclusive, or that vindictive.
Pat Robertson - 1992
"Feminism is a socialist, anti-family, political movement that encourages women to leave their husbands, kill their children, practice witchcraft, destroy capitalism and become lesbians."
It made me wonder why it is that feminism is so threatening to some. And I speak of feminism, not feminazism which I find somewhat distasteful myself, and somewhat counterproductive to the cause of equality. I wonder if it is fear which precipitates this type of thought? Can he truly believe this? In a rational, practical, realistic way?
I often joke that my philosophy of life is: why choose when you can have both. I joke...but I mean it at the same time. I love my career; I am challenged by it, and excited by it, and frightened by it. And when I engage with my colleagues, I attempt to do so as genderless individuals. I say I attempt because, ethically or not, I am not above using sex to my advantage. And before hackles are raised, I am not referring to sleeping my way to the top - you have to draw the line somewhere, but rather sex more generally. I consider it a tool...bros before hos is still regularly used in any occupational field, and I think that sex is a valuable and legitimate tool to be used in an attempt to break into that circle.
But I digress. My point is that, though my career is important to me, it does not diminish my desire to be a wife, and a mother. I value my femininity, my prowess in the kitchen, my nurturing side, chivalry in general. I certainly want to have a family, I have no desire to kill my children and I am not a lesbian. I recognize, and often celebrate the inherent differences between men and women.
But I don't to be told I can't do something because I am a woman. And I want my actions to be evaluated in a way that is not colored by the fact that I am a woman. I want to live and work in a world that rewards on the basis of merit, pure and simple. And I abhor the notion that people like Pat Robertson interpret that as being evil or unsatisfactory or as undesirable, somehow.
Why must we place limits on the capacity of people to live and thrive? Why must we force people into socially approved and defined boxes? Why must we force people to choose? Why do we interfere in the lives of people who are not interfering in our own lives? Why are we so arrogant as to impose our own moral judgments on others? Why is our focus on judging others rather than enabling them? Why are we not more concerned with bettering ourselves - living as good global citizens?
Damn you, Pat Robertson, for judging me. While it's true that I do not officially ascribe to any one of the major organized religions, I can tell you one thing for certain - No God of mine is that arrogant or that exclusive, or that vindictive.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Recently I was in court for a domestic assault. Buddy slapped his girlfriend around a bit.
The chargers were withdrawn in exchange for him entering into a peace bond, which is essentially a restraining order. It lasts a few months...and then nothing.
So I'm doing all this, and I'm actually pissed off because the original offer was 9 months on the peace bond, and I think that's ridiculous...3 would do. Fast forward to the end, the judge agrees and we are off. And I'm driving home and it all of a sudden strikes me that if I had engaged with this guy in any other venue of my life I would have been appalled by what he had done. If I had read about it in the news, or heard about it through the grape vine, my opinion would have been that he should have had the book thrown at him. If the girlfriend had been one of my friends, or my sister, or myself, I might have done him bodily harm.
It's a weird existance, that of criminal defence. The act exists in a vacuum where there are no victims, no bad guys, and no crime, really. All that exists are facts, and a definition. It's very unemotional...very impersonal. If the facts meet the definition, then you have guilt with a range of possibilities, and if not, then you have not guilt, with a range of possibilities. It's like a mathematical formula, it's like a science, and the players, who are human, are dehumanized.
It's weird though, because I feel as if my inclination to judge morally and ethically the behavior of others is suspended when I am acting in this capacity. It's like there's a buffer between my work, and their actions. The process of evaluating a case is so methodical, and meticulous...it is looking for holes, finding deviations in process...it is finding reasonable doubt and triable issues. And I think that this is right. The purpose of the trial process is to determine facts. I truly believe that this can only be done in an atmosphere that is objective, and unemotional. People say that the justice system spends too much time thinking of the accused, and not enough time thinking of the victim. I understand that this is unsatisfactory for victims...victims who are left with a consequence, and want someone...anyone to pay for that consequence. I don't know. There are some new restorative justice paradigms that are designed to deal with the issue of victims. But that's a subject for another day.
The chargers were withdrawn in exchange for him entering into a peace bond, which is essentially a restraining order. It lasts a few months...and then nothing.
So I'm doing all this, and I'm actually pissed off because the original offer was 9 months on the peace bond, and I think that's ridiculous...3 would do. Fast forward to the end, the judge agrees and we are off. And I'm driving home and it all of a sudden strikes me that if I had engaged with this guy in any other venue of my life I would have been appalled by what he had done. If I had read about it in the news, or heard about it through the grape vine, my opinion would have been that he should have had the book thrown at him. If the girlfriend had been one of my friends, or my sister, or myself, I might have done him bodily harm.
It's a weird existance, that of criminal defence. The act exists in a vacuum where there are no victims, no bad guys, and no crime, really. All that exists are facts, and a definition. It's very unemotional...very impersonal. If the facts meet the definition, then you have guilt with a range of possibilities, and if not, then you have not guilt, with a range of possibilities. It's like a mathematical formula, it's like a science, and the players, who are human, are dehumanized.
It's weird though, because I feel as if my inclination to judge morally and ethically the behavior of others is suspended when I am acting in this capacity. It's like there's a buffer between my work, and their actions. The process of evaluating a case is so methodical, and meticulous...it is looking for holes, finding deviations in process...it is finding reasonable doubt and triable issues. And I think that this is right. The purpose of the trial process is to determine facts. I truly believe that this can only be done in an atmosphere that is objective, and unemotional. People say that the justice system spends too much time thinking of the accused, and not enough time thinking of the victim. I understand that this is unsatisfactory for victims...victims who are left with a consequence, and want someone...anyone to pay for that consequence. I don't know. There are some new restorative justice paradigms that are designed to deal with the issue of victims. But that's a subject for another day.
Sunday, October 15, 2006
Uh-oh
I had a fantastic night tonight.
This weekend was the annual alumni rugby tournament at my school. It's a very important event for the guy's team. They take this stuff very seriously.
The girl's team is just fun...we know shit about rugby...and we wear pink...and giggle and shriek..
That being said...we did play a full tackle game today. I have a blazing black and blue cleat mark on my thigh to prove it. After all, we are law students...competativeness comes with the territory.
**Following the advice of the lovely Eve, I have decided that I do not need to punish myself and thus the remainder of this drunken post has been removed to protect the innocent, or the not so innocent - namely, me***
This weekend was the annual alumni rugby tournament at my school. It's a very important event for the guy's team. They take this stuff very seriously.
The girl's team is just fun...we know shit about rugby...and we wear pink...and giggle and shriek..
That being said...we did play a full tackle game today. I have a blazing black and blue cleat mark on my thigh to prove it. After all, we are law students...competativeness comes with the territory.
**Following the advice of the lovely Eve, I have decided that I do not need to punish myself and thus the remainder of this drunken post has been removed to protect the innocent, or the not so innocent - namely, me***
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Giving Thanks
Went home for Thanksgiving this weekend.
Charlie came as carry-on, and though she cried pitifully for the entire pre-flight routine business, she seemed to settle down once the plane took off. Maybe she was just so tired from crying...like babies...she cried herself to sleep. I have new appreciation for what it's like to have a temper tantrum throwing child now.
My parents absolutely loved her. My mother promptly stepped into the grandmother spoiling her rotten role: feeding her treats behind my back, buying her new toys, bragging to her friends about how cute she is, criticizing my methods - "Lindz, aren't you going to feed her...see she's hungry."
We had a full house for thanksgiving dinner, and Charlie learned quickly how to coax turkey from the plates of our dinner guests. It's a miracle she wasn't sick everywhere. She's a manipulative one she is.
I have another cat that lives with my parents. Purrsey - little runty grey tabby cat that I grew up with. She's almost 21 years old...same age as my sister. She's been declining these last few years, losing tons of weight (she's always had a thyroid problem, but now...it's a bit shocking).
She and Charlie tolerated eachother fairly well. Poor Charlie wanted to play, and poor Purrsey wanted nothing to do with the little whippershapper. There were a couple of instances where Charlie got too close and Purrsey growled a reprimand. So then Charlie took to stalking Purrsey around the house, and jumping out to scare her. Then she'd get scared herself and dart backwards out of the reach of Purrsey's claws.
It was really sad though to see the two of them side by side. Charlie is the picture of youth: so healthy and chubby and solid, with sparkling eyes and a shiny shiny coat. Her body is like an elastic band - jumping and darting about, turning sommersaults and playing with anything and everything. Purrsey on the other hand can only be described as an old lady: frail and painfully thin, she moves so slowly and her joints audibly creak. Her fur is not so grey any more, it's somewhat brown around the edges, and kind of dishevelled and dull. Her eyes, still green as always are somewhat bloodshot now.
I came upon Purrsey on my parent's bed one night, and sat with her and stroked her fur. And I started to cry, in the dark, just sitting with my cat. Part of me thinks that my parents should put her down...she just looks so frail. But then she doesn't seem to be in any pain.
She is the best cat...truly. When I was little I used to dress her up in doll clothes, complete with bonnet, and carry her around like a baby. When Maverick, the black lab, came she took complete control of that situation. She used to sit on the counter in the kitchen with her tail over the edge flicking it back and forth, tempting him to check it out. And when he inevitably did she would whirl around and smack him across the face. Or she would tempt him to chase her around the backyard...great fun for the both of them, until Purrsey decided that enough was enough...and then she would stop dead in her tracks...and he would practically do a sommersault trying to avoid bowling her over, and she would whirl around and smack him across the face. But the funny thing is that he was really protective of her. Stray cats would make their way into our back yard, and because she was so runty, she was a prime target. Maverick would always run to her defence, chasing away the stray. She used to like to sleep in bed with you, either under the covers or right on your chest. She'd like to wake up early, and wake you up too. She'd put one of her paws right on your eyelid. Then withdraw it and wait. Then if that didn't work she would put her paw on your eyelid and slowly extend her claws. Then when you'd open your eyes, she'd look at you as if to say..."who me??"
We had to put Maverick down a year ago...she came before him, and she's survived him now. I think she's lonely...maybe she misses him a bit. Part of me wonders if her death will also sort of close the book on my childhood.
But she was the best cat. A total bitch...with tons of attitude...but with a motor of a purr and unlimited affection for those she respects. She is the best cat.
Charlie came as carry-on, and though she cried pitifully for the entire pre-flight routine business, she seemed to settle down once the plane took off. Maybe she was just so tired from crying...like babies...she cried herself to sleep. I have new appreciation for what it's like to have a temper tantrum throwing child now.
My parents absolutely loved her. My mother promptly stepped into the grandmother spoiling her rotten role: feeding her treats behind my back, buying her new toys, bragging to her friends about how cute she is, criticizing my methods - "Lindz, aren't you going to feed her...see she's hungry."
We had a full house for thanksgiving dinner, and Charlie learned quickly how to coax turkey from the plates of our dinner guests. It's a miracle she wasn't sick everywhere. She's a manipulative one she is.
I have another cat that lives with my parents. Purrsey - little runty grey tabby cat that I grew up with. She's almost 21 years old...same age as my sister. She's been declining these last few years, losing tons of weight (she's always had a thyroid problem, but now...it's a bit shocking).
She and Charlie tolerated eachother fairly well. Poor Charlie wanted to play, and poor Purrsey wanted nothing to do with the little whippershapper. There were a couple of instances where Charlie got too close and Purrsey growled a reprimand. So then Charlie took to stalking Purrsey around the house, and jumping out to scare her. Then she'd get scared herself and dart backwards out of the reach of Purrsey's claws.
It was really sad though to see the two of them side by side. Charlie is the picture of youth: so healthy and chubby and solid, with sparkling eyes and a shiny shiny coat. Her body is like an elastic band - jumping and darting about, turning sommersaults and playing with anything and everything. Purrsey on the other hand can only be described as an old lady: frail and painfully thin, she moves so slowly and her joints audibly creak. Her fur is not so grey any more, it's somewhat brown around the edges, and kind of dishevelled and dull. Her eyes, still green as always are somewhat bloodshot now.
I came upon Purrsey on my parent's bed one night, and sat with her and stroked her fur. And I started to cry, in the dark, just sitting with my cat. Part of me thinks that my parents should put her down...she just looks so frail. But then she doesn't seem to be in any pain.
She is the best cat...truly. When I was little I used to dress her up in doll clothes, complete with bonnet, and carry her around like a baby. When Maverick, the black lab, came she took complete control of that situation. She used to sit on the counter in the kitchen with her tail over the edge flicking it back and forth, tempting him to check it out. And when he inevitably did she would whirl around and smack him across the face. Or she would tempt him to chase her around the backyard...great fun for the both of them, until Purrsey decided that enough was enough...and then she would stop dead in her tracks...and he would practically do a sommersault trying to avoid bowling her over, and she would whirl around and smack him across the face. But the funny thing is that he was really protective of her. Stray cats would make their way into our back yard, and because she was so runty, she was a prime target. Maverick would always run to her defence, chasing away the stray. She used to like to sleep in bed with you, either under the covers or right on your chest. She'd like to wake up early, and wake you up too. She'd put one of her paws right on your eyelid. Then withdraw it and wait. Then if that didn't work she would put her paw on your eyelid and slowly extend her claws. Then when you'd open your eyes, she'd look at you as if to say..."who me??"
We had to put Maverick down a year ago...she came before him, and she's survived him now. I think she's lonely...maybe she misses him a bit. Part of me wonders if her death will also sort of close the book on my childhood.
But she was the best cat. A total bitch...with tons of attitude...but with a motor of a purr and unlimited affection for those she respects. She is the best cat.
Thursday, October 05, 2006
It's A Good Day
Played volleyball last night for the first time in years. I love that sport...I don't know why I ever quit.
Woke up this morning and the sun was shining and it's warm...20 degrees. I wasn't in a rush this morning either so I fed the cat and made coffee, took a shower, threw some laundry in the machine and made an egg sandwich. Then I ate my breakfast and perused some of the videos on youtube. Then I read a case or two for my class. Then I got dressed and ready to go. All before 9:30. I love that...I love to get stuff done in the morning but still be leisurely. I had an appointment at 10, so I went there, ran an errand at London Drugs, dropped off the car and caught the train to school and was there by 11. Again...fantastic...it's not even afternoon yet and already I have a full day's worth of activities under my belt. Went to the library, did some readings, and ran into a friend who tried to talk me into volunteering for Cuts for A Cure. The cancer fundraiser where people shave their heads. I looked at her like she was mad because I'm kind of vain about my hair. I spend a lot of money on it and the products I put in it. But she promised that I wouldn't have to cut it, I could just help out with the administrative/organizing/fundraising part of it. So I agreed, and now I have that on my plate too...such a sucker I am.
Anyways I had some class...had a meeting...sent some emails...did some paperwork at my job...had lunch with a friend outside in the sun.
Now I'm back in the library, reading and waiting for my rugby practice. Then it's off to the bar to watch the first NHL battle of Alberta. Always entertaining as my friends are pretty much evenly split Vancouver/Edmonton/Calgary fans. There's always vested interest and bragging rights at stake in any games involving those three. I'll get home around 11...probably slightly intoxicated...then I'll pack for Thanksgiving weekend, play with the cat a bit and curl up to sleep. I'm taking Charlie home for the weekend. She's coming as a carry-on. I'm slightly apprehensive about how she's going to handle it...we'll see.
But my point is that it's been, and will continue to be such a good day. So productive and yet so stress free. And things are just going my way too. I love it when things go my way.
I've been a pretty miserable person this past month...with school and sickness and stress and work and getting behind and all of that nonsense. I feel like maybe...just maybe I might have control of my life again. That's a good thing.
Woke up this morning and the sun was shining and it's warm...20 degrees. I wasn't in a rush this morning either so I fed the cat and made coffee, took a shower, threw some laundry in the machine and made an egg sandwich. Then I ate my breakfast and perused some of the videos on youtube. Then I read a case or two for my class. Then I got dressed and ready to go. All before 9:30. I love that...I love to get stuff done in the morning but still be leisurely. I had an appointment at 10, so I went there, ran an errand at London Drugs, dropped off the car and caught the train to school and was there by 11. Again...fantastic...it's not even afternoon yet and already I have a full day's worth of activities under my belt. Went to the library, did some readings, and ran into a friend who tried to talk me into volunteering for Cuts for A Cure. The cancer fundraiser where people shave their heads. I looked at her like she was mad because I'm kind of vain about my hair. I spend a lot of money on it and the products I put in it. But she promised that I wouldn't have to cut it, I could just help out with the administrative/organizing/fundraising part of it. So I agreed, and now I have that on my plate too...such a sucker I am.
Anyways I had some class...had a meeting...sent some emails...did some paperwork at my job...had lunch with a friend outside in the sun.
Now I'm back in the library, reading and waiting for my rugby practice. Then it's off to the bar to watch the first NHL battle of Alberta. Always entertaining as my friends are pretty much evenly split Vancouver/Edmonton/Calgary fans. There's always vested interest and bragging rights at stake in any games involving those three. I'll get home around 11...probably slightly intoxicated...then I'll pack for Thanksgiving weekend, play with the cat a bit and curl up to sleep. I'm taking Charlie home for the weekend. She's coming as a carry-on. I'm slightly apprehensive about how she's going to handle it...we'll see.
But my point is that it's been, and will continue to be such a good day. So productive and yet so stress free. And things are just going my way too. I love it when things go my way.
I've been a pretty miserable person this past month...with school and sickness and stress and work and getting behind and all of that nonsense. I feel like maybe...just maybe I might have control of my life again. That's a good thing.
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