Peter MacKay: An Idiot Disguised as an Anti-Feminist.

Canadian politics.  God.  What an exciting place to be.  We did have that Senate scandal.  Oh yeah and that guy from the Prairies who tried to "re-open the debate on gay marriage" and Steve was like "no.  Can someone get John Boy his BB gun, he's obviously getting bored and we need him kept out of trouble".

I'm not saying that we have bad or boring politics - I think our game is clean and orderly and generally pretty mature!  I think some of the policy is worthy of dramatic discussion - like every time Steve tries to take away people's Charter rights.  To me, that's scandal!  But generally, insofar as the players are concerned, it's certainly not the scene of The West Wing.

SO, now, in that group of polite politicians, who are we gonna pick on?  Writers everywhere would be out of work without a target so C'MON YOU GUYS who?!

And the winner is: Peter MacKay!

As a proud supporter of female rights, this Peter MacKay "scandal" has really been on my mind.  In summary, and if I correctly understand, this is what happened.

MacKay (Minister of Justice) is at a Nova Scotia Bar Association function and gets asked why there aren't more female judges.  MacKay allegedly says it's because not enough women apply because of their strong bond with their children.  Women's rights activists like Arlene Huggins (president of the Canadian Association of Black Lawyers) were ticked off by these comments and MacKay was referred to as a "victim blamer" and was likened to characters off of television shows like Mad Men (which, by the way, I think is a stretch because Don Draper is handsome and Peter MacKay clearly didn't bag his wife by looks alone...but I digress).

This was after mothers and fathers day, which is relevant because MacKay ALSO wrote some e-mails that also ticked off some people.  The e-mails have drawn headlines like this one: "Peter MacKay's emails to Staff: Moms change diapers; Dads form leaders".  Seemingly the best quotes from these e-mails comes from the Moms e-mail: "By the time many of you have arrived at the office in the morning, you've already changed diapers, packed lunches, run after school buses, dropped kids off at daycare, taken care of an aging loved one and maybe even thought about dinner."

Apparently the Dads e-mail was to the effect of change the future, shape young minds, go team, fight, fight, and things of that nature.

On Thursday, MacKay's wife, Nazanin Afshin-Jam wrote an Open Letter to Leah McLaren, who had written an "Open Letter to Peter MacKay's Wife".  The whole thing is masked in passive-aggression and the kind of drama not actually found on The Hill, and sort of resembles that time Sinead O'Connor tried to write an Open Letter to Miley Cyrus (who, for anyone who missed out, basically just replied with "oh please, I can't even see you from the top").  Anyway, Afshin-Jam wrote back defending her husband in language which was all of eloquent, expected and sufficiently boring to not warrant reproduction here.  Suffice to say, comments about hearsay evidence, irony, and how MacKay does most of the heavy household cleaning make an appearance.  For those of us who have been schooled in national politics from the sassy Olivia Pope, we are pretty certain Afshin-Jam wrote those letters with great encouragement from one or all of: her husband, her husband's boss, her husband.

(Side bar: one can imagine an Onion article entitled "MacKay's Wife Writes Open Letter Defending Husband After Much Bargaining; MacKay to Lose Man Cave and Change Diapers for Eternity"....but I digress.)

In any event, I've been following - somewhat bored and with a fair amount of eye-rolling - the story of when MacKay "victim blamed".  I have some comments.

1. Can someone just clarify what the actual problem is with his comments other than the fact of them being true (and assuming we all hate truth)?  Evidence has suggested for quite some time now that the reason why fewer women become politicians is because they don't self-select to run in elections.  Most of the women who could potentially self-select for politics are in professions such as law, so I, personally, think it's likely accurate that the reason lots of women don't self-select to apply for judicial appointments is probably the same.  NOW if there is actually a MacKay Scheme in which there are no actual applications and he's just selecting men all on his own...well, let's get talking.

2. I followed with great devastation, disgust and interest all the many and varied rapes that have happened in the last 24 months in which the raped was blamed for her own raper's conduct - slutty clothes, twitter feeds, flirty text messages, being born a girl.  God, that was horrible.  And, now, MacKay has "victim blamed" female lawyers for not being made judges?  It's not my intent to too radically minimalize the issue, but did we just take a term that was developed to protect rape victims from being blamed for their own rape and extend its application to the extremely privileged class of lawyers who are sufficiently capable and competent of even applying for the judiciary?  Did that just happen?  Because, quite frankly, that is offensive.

I suggest, in no uncertain terms, that the extension of that term is, in and of itself, so much more offensive than Peter MacKay being a bit of a chump with chronic foot-in-mouth syndrome.  The women who have not had their applications accepted for judicial appointments are not victims, their big dogs trying to play with other big dogs.  The women who don't throw their hat in the ring, but who are sufficiently competent that they could, are not victims, they are big dogs who decided they didn't wanna do it.  Maybe it's not because they have kids.  Maybe it's because they have fear of failure.  Maybe it's because they perceive they won't get it because they're women (thus have a fear of failure).  Maybe it's because they have a nice cushy life and get to wear sick clothes at the office and close huge deals and they don't care to put their name forward.  Whatever their reason, to mistake these women who either (a) don't get appointed, or (b) don't self-select for application, as victims using the same terminology that the raped are labeled with is mortifying.  They're not victims, least of all in the sense the term "victim blame" has intended to convey.

I think it's time to put to rest this pseuedo-drama for the bored and just accept that MacKay is a chump who probably doesn't follow any sort of feminist or equalist movements.  He's just a bit of a moron who's not good talking without a nice, plotted out script.  I reference MacKay's attempt to discuss the new prostitution law, Bill C-36, when MacKay was so chaotically confusing it bordered on the impressive (see: Peter MacKay's prostitution law news conference sowed confusion).

MacKay's great mortal flaw is not that he hates women, it's that he's not much of an orator when he's all flabbergasted by a question.  Now, if people want to rally together, stir up some drama and remove him from office for that reason, I'll fist pump with the best of 'em.  When it comes to those fixated on his "anti-women" tendencies, though: may I suggest you start watching Scandal and The West Wing to satisfy your hyper dramatic political urges.

The Habit of Complaining in the Forty-Hour Work Week (Inspired by David Cain)

A few Fridays ago a small group of us were having Friday drinks at my office.  Edging towards that 5pm mark, people had already started loitering around the board room, stopping in offices and chatting as that Friday afternoon fatigue was rapidly setting in.  Finally, there it was - 5pm, the time of the angels of heaven above, the time when all good people everywhere are clinking glasses and celebrating!  Small life victories - like making it through the week, okay, so more like making it through the last two hours - are what we're going on here, people.

As we sat in that room on a really lovely, sunny friday, with an iceberg in view in the harbour, we chatted about how absolutely unfortunate it was that one girl couldn't drink because she had to go to a bridal shower about an hour outside of town.  (And, quite frankly, I wasn't even being facetious for the sake of a laugh - going to a bridal shower on friday instead of drinking is literally one of my personal nightmares.  More bridal showers should be wine showers.  Just bring enough wine for me and himself for a year so that we actually make it, after all they say the first year is the hardest...but I digress.)

I was reminded of this (and other) complaining - not just by the girl who had to go but by us on her behalf - after reading a fantastic article, "Your Lifestyle Has Already Been Designed (The Real Reason for the Forty-Hour Workweek)".  The author postulates that the way the work week is designed forces us to have so little free time to ourselves to do the things we enjoy, that when we choose to do things - especially of a social nature - our hands are quite often forced to do things that are expensive (think lunch with your girlfriend, drinks with the crowd, dinner and a movie with your significant other) because our time is not only very limited, but also because our hours of freedom fall to times where greater capital is required for most social activities (think lunch, dinner, weekend brunch, evening drinking).  The more we spend to enjoy our time, the more we need to spend to enjoy our time.  Once you're in, can you ever really get out?

As I remembered the complainy banter we had going on at our Friday at five, I realized the forty-hour workweek has also resulted in these very complaints.  My colleague had finally made it to the weekend and instead of doing the bit of socialization or fun she wanted to do, she had to do something she was obligated to do.  Because her time is so short as it is, to attend said bridal (not wine) shower was cumbersome, irritating, frustrating, and, most definitely, bitch worthy.  

Of course, the things we don't want to do that we must do in our limited free time are not isolated to lame social activities like bridal (not wine) showers.  We also need to factor in horrible chores like grocery shopping, getting your oil changed, going to Costco (honestly just end this privileged first world existence I'm leading right now), or mowing the lawn even if it's grey and cold outdoors.  No matter what the terrible chore is, when your time is limited, people are frustrated and like to air that grievance.  Other people working that forty hour work week understand the annoyance of such time-thieving activities, and they don't mind the venting because they'll get to vent, too.

Each week the things that didn't get done the week before remain to be completed and just add to the stress of the forty hour workweek worker, encouraging more complaining as more and more colleagues fall into the same bottomless bit of tasks and limited time and growing fatigue.  

I got to thinking - first of all, none of these things are so bad.  Even though, personally, I think that bridal showers should all just morph into wine showers without further adieu, to each their own.  I want to be happy to be invited to such a function!  What makes these activities feel worse than they are is the complaining.  Complaining is just a habit of negative rather than positive thoughts popping into your head and being uttered before you think through whether it actually contributes much to a good dialogue.  The more we complain, the more we will complain.

What's worse than just the complaining in and of itself is the overall effect a constant string of complaining and negative thoughts has on you.  The more one sees the world painted in negatives, the more negative it all seems to be every day.  If we're creatures of agency (we are), then we get to control ourselves and our own output and how we act in society.  This habit of complaining - perpetuated by the limited time we all have in common and the activities we don't want to do in that limited time - just makes each day more negative.  We become trapped, feeling more and more down, the time off we do have shrouded in consistent slight misery, the days at work a little bit less enjoyable.

The slight misery encouraged by our complaining and subsequent bad attitudes isn't static, with things we can't wait to do hopefully always just around a corner of some kind.  But, as the author of that article suggests, those things are likely sufficiently costly that the forty hour work week will most definitely remain your ruler, and your limited time will probably force you back into friday drinks, dreading and vocalizing the dread you have about the next lame tea party you have to attend.  

If one is set on having and paying for the many and various "things" we seem to most definitely need living up here in cushy Canada, the forty-hour workweek is a necessary evil.  But that complaining lending insult to injury - that just might be a little addition all of our own making.  They say it takes twenty-one days to break an old habit/build a new one (well...I think Oprah and Deepak Chopra say that anyway), maybe we should all take a challenge to stifle that complaint.  I can't say for sure, but my guess is the stifling could lead to silencing some of those negative voices in the first place, and if that leads to a happier work day, workweek, it seems worth it to me.

Clever Mind and Coloured Locks: Why Brains and Beauty Isn't Just a Pithy Phrase

You know, I spend a fair bit of time thinking about this blog of mine.  I love writing, I love sharing ideas, and sometimes I even believe some of the people who are reading this genuinely like it and that just makes me feel good.

In any event, quite often when I’m thinking about this blog and about whether or not I have anything to say I find myself leaning towards my own issues – hating stick figures, existing in a generation of perpetual slackers, and about, basically, being a girl.  I know I've posted a fair number of times about feminist sentiments.  A far more interesting number, though, is the number of times I consider a feminist issue, and sit down and write a blog, but when it comes time to hit the “Publish” button I can’t do it – not for fear of speaking my mind, nor because I think I’m being repetitive, and not because I think I’m on about a sob story.  The actual reason is because I have this worry that you, potential male reader, will read it, roll your eyes and think I’m a silly little girl finding adversity where simply none exists.

What is so interesting about that is that, even if you, potential male reader, did in fact read any of this and think that, it really wouldn’t matter.  It seems so readily apparent that women, even in enviable first world countries such as this one, are still suffering systemic problems on a day-to-day basis, the outcome of a general lesson we’ve somehow been learning since we were little girls of not taking up too much space and of not being too noticeable, and of being pretty, and of being clever but not so clever as to outshine.

And if we have somehow forgotten the role inscribed in us – that we ought not to be so bright that we outshine – we had better at least have out intellect firmly rooted in models that are not reminiscent of a man, lest we let our legions of sisters down.  Because we are supposed to embody the characteristics of the maternal, even when we are crossing lines and being bright and shiny and sometimes too bright and too shiny, and fighting the fight of oil tycoons simply isn’t the stuff that warm, cuddling mothers are made of. 

Interestingly, we are much more likeable when the reason why we dye our hair and wear makeup is because those things actually indicate elements of ourselves – that we are womanly enough to care how we look because we are supposed to look this way.  We are not supposed to be proud to be grey.  To be grey is offensive to the sensibilities of good people who want to believe that even if we are smart, capable, and intelligent, we are still demure, not entirely self-confident, sweet, sensitive and worried about our fleeting beauty.  Those two and a half hours we spend beautifying with chemicals four times a year are indicative of qualities that we are supposed to possess as women who are sufficiently womanly to serve as role models.  Neil McDonald wrote, in beautiful, fist-pump-inducing language about Christine Lagarde:

“The first female director of the International Monetary Fund is a fiscal conservative of intimidating intellect, so impossibly self-possessed that, here in Washington, where your television image matters more than just about anything, she leaves her hair grey”

This balance of brightness and strength is required to totter precariously on an overly taut tightrope of compassion and femininity, because to lack such qualities is strange and absurd and offensive not only to the man who is thusly emasculated, but to the girls.  Oh for heavens sake, could someone think of the girls?  How are they to understand Christine when her hair is so offensively, obnoxiously, unapologetically grey?  One cannot be a role model when one is simply trying to be a man.

I don’t endeavour to say this confusing dark abyss of gender role chaos and cruelty is unique to women.  These intrinsic anti-strong-female societal views, however, lend so easily to beating down all of the Christine Lagardes and Marissa Mayers.  We struggle to say no no, but we’re equally capable - this is what we all believe!  And yet, every shot we’re given to prove that we actually believe what we say we believe, we take and we hand back – gently – to the man in the driver’s seat, calmly suggest Lagarde dye her hair back to that luminescent shade of black it obviously used to have, insist that Hilary Clinton just put down the scrunchie already, and discuss Michelle Obama's interesting decision to cut her bangs and then grow them back out.  I can only assume this whole time, then, I've been wrong.  It's not you, potential male reader, that I should be most nervous of backlash from.  The fact of the matter is it's not just the patriarchy that insists we maintain the patriarchy.

stick figure families, bragging, and my polite request for you to STFU.

Like many of my blogs, this one begins with a wee anecdote about a friend that I have.

I have a friend who hates stick figure families on the back of cars.  She hates them so much that she bought an extremely amazing anti-stick-figure-family sticker for her own car. 

I have wanted to ask her, hey, friend, what's your particular beef with stick figure families?  Honestly, I think figuring out exactly what it is that a person hates most about stick figure families is very telling.  So, Madeleine, if you're reading this and you ever emerge from studying the law, and if you ever have time to answer this query of mine,  do let me know.  Also, the rest of you (all nine of you that are reading this) can let me know, too.  We can discuss what it says about ourselves over wine sometime.

ANYWAY.  As i was driving to Mount Pearl today - which, as a side note, is one of my least favourite activities and paired with the horrible radio hosts that newfoundland cares to boasts, it was kind of my own personal nightmare (which maybe I deserved because it was such a beautiful day and I kept getting to leave the office and it was great...ANYWAYS) - as I was driving to Mount Pearl I saw one of these rage-inducing stick figure families and because the radio was GD awful I decided to spend some time thinking about those black-out-rage-inducing stick figure families, and I finally deduced out what it is that I personally hate so much about them.

And here is what it is: IT'S THAT YOU'RE EFFING BRAGGING ABOUT HOW GOOD AT LIFE YOU ARE.

As if people holding hands in broad day light wasn't enough, now there are these ridiculous stick figure families that exist to tell me all about how I have yet to achieve any of the life goals that are relevant enough for me to put on the back of of my ride.  Ohhh I get it, you and so-and-so fell in love at some point and EVERYTHING WORKED OUT.  Shut the fuck up!  

Oh, so he asked you to marry him did he?  Oh and then you both got good jobs?  And now you have this CRV?  That's really great.  Fascinating.

Oh, and wait, tell me more - you guys have two perfect kids?  And they play soccer?  Oh my god - did you just say that they're actually really good at soccer?  And also adorable - curly blond hair, blue eyes?  You lucky sonofabitch!  

And, obviously, you both have your shit together enough that, in addition to the successful relationship and the engagement ring and the CRV and the two perfect, blond children, you also save abandoned animals and you currently have a mama cat and her kitten at home - and of course, they're featured in your goddamn stick figure family.

Anyways - I just wanna say: NOBODY likes a bragger.  So shut the hell up.

Let's think about MY stick figure people.  First of all, I get it, your life is great.  Everything worked out for you.  You probably feel sorry for me that I don't have a stick figure family to brag about like you do.

Well, this is what mine WOULD look like, but nobody is making these really awesome stick figure people.  

As a starting point, there would be a stick of figure of me.  And I'd be singing some great song on a lavishly decorated stage.  In a really cute dress.  Ohhhh you usually just buy cute dresses for your kids do you, baby mama?  Well, I really hate to brag, and not that we should compare how cute one's children are to one's self, but I'm super glad I look good in my little stick figure dress.

Secondly, there would be another stick figure of me.  I'd be wearing some super high heels while I'm busy closing deals at the office.  Yes I would.  I hope you're envisioning me with the swag of Jessica but the outfit of Rachel from Suits because THAT'S what my second stick figure represents.

Thirdly, there would be another stick figure of me, and it's me at the bar and I'm flirting with a very charming/handsome/actually SCRATCH that gorgeous stick figure man.  We're actually doing shots and, also, I bought the round because I really am such a legit chick.  My gorgeous/charming new friend ought to be giving me a high five in this stick figure depiction because not only am I witty and interesting,  but I buy drinks!  Because most girls these days are always just trying to be doted on and getting drinks bought for them but then there's me, buying rounds of Jamieson.  Also, I'm having a generally really deadly time.  

Now, it's not that I'm actually envious of the lives that other people are leading, because the stick figure life described above (for which I simply cannot find the stick figures for!) is really and truly the life that I'm just so glad to be leading right now.  Those stick figure families really do look like bragging to me.  Something tells me, though, that if the life I bragged about was me in a wardrobe I love meeting people at the bar there just might be some eye-rolls in the car behind me.  

sometimes the best advice...

I saw this image earlier today shared somewhere on my Facebook.  When I looked at it first I was literally all about it - love squats, love veggies, die for having ruby reds and, being that I'm not a masochist, I clearly don't want boys being mean to me.

I don't know why, but suddenly it occurred to me how backward, insane, upside down, just overall ludicrous that final sentiment is - don't let boys be mean to me?  Pardon?

I'm not sure about the rest of you - or the author of this cute little piece of bullshit advice - but I have tried and I have failed miserably at controlling the actions of other people.  I can't do it.  One of my greatest lessons has been that you cannot control the actions of others, you can only control those of yourself.  You can endeavour to control your own emotions, too, but let's be frank and real and honest, that's a difficult task to fulfill as well.

This quote reminded me somehow of the whole #victimblaming psychosis permeating our news in the last year.  If I "let" a boy be mean to me, am I suddenly enabling my own misfortune?  Is it my fault once again that I am somehow a victim?  REALLY?  Even when someone is trying to reinforce that we can be strong - albeit super superficial (seriously - squats, veggies and lipstick?  This is honestly just about being goodlooking.) - does it really devolve to if I am made to be a victim - no matter great or small - it is something that I let happen?

And what if it's a girl who's mean to me?  Is that my fault too?  Why isn't there some life advice here for when shit bitties enter your life and make you feel like...well...shit.  Why?  Am I not to blame if some basic bitch makes me feel bad?  Maybe when it's a girl, and girls being equal, it's understood that we cannot control the actions of others.

Or wait, is it because I shouldn't care if a boy does something that should, (potentially) objectively speaking, upset me?  In which case - much like my criticism of Beyonce - why aren't my feelings evolved enough to be upset by a person who, (potentially) objectively speaking, should be able to upset me?

I don't know which one of these scenarios is the worst - that I am the master of my own despair; that it's man-hating (and p.s. I love boys!...sorry bullshit-advice author); or that my own emotional intellect is meant to be low if I am to be perceived as strong.

So sad - I really did like this pic and her ruby, ruby reds.

to the left, to the left: confusing beauty with empowerment

Once upon a time girls dated boys and it didn't always work out and girls ended up sad sometimes.  Upon a query of how to figure out their bad mood/attitude/outlook on boys, somebody suggested “throw on some Beyonce – oh, and also, never listen to Rihanna, she just sits in tubs and wallows all day!”  And so girls everywhere laughed…and then went home and listened to Beyonce and sang along to “Irreplaceable” and were somehow so empowered.  Girls everywhere then listened to "Irreplaceable" for years every time anything ever went wrong in any relationship ever.  As if it was a panacea for all the evils men can do.

I think Beyonce is a really great musician - man that chick can legit wail!  Some girls REALLY love her though – Queen B, fighting for females since she was born apparently; writing songs about how replaceable her cheating boyfriend is and how lucky she is that the joker she went to prom with isn’t the homeboy she’s marrying now (as in "Best Thing I Never Had").

I thought I was empowered, motivated, invigorated by this apparent show of strong female character until it suddenly struck me - this is literally not strong or empowering at all.  Let's discuss.

First of all - B, why don't you care more that the person you lived with has apparently been hustling around town cheating on you?  That is such a violation of trust.  I feel quite sad just thinking of that.  But, apparently, you don't care.  You're actually fine with it.  You appear to have kept your little back book so close to your chest, so full of numbers of guys just dying to take you out, that it doesn't matter.  You will now date somebody else.  Trust be damned!  I don't begrudge you moving on, B, but, isn't this a little fast?  Do you reallllly think you should be dating already...?

really, really bored and
ridiculously, ridiculously
good looking.

I also notice in these videos, that you're scantily clad on more than just one occasion.  Also, dolling yourself up quite often.  How much time do you actually spend getting ready?  Like yes, you are clearly drop dead gorgeous in this video, but, indeed, seemingly trying to remind yourself that while you're a 10, he's probably only an 8 at best.  Beyonce, is it kind of fair to suggest that your empowerment here is predominantly based on the fact that you're probably, objectively speaking, the hottest woman on the planet?  Could your esteem actually be tied up in the fact that you are literally hot as rocks?  And that, because of how good you look, yes, there are actually a ton of guys for you to distract yourself with?  

And speaking of all those guys who you can now date instead, it would also appear that your sense of strength and empowerment actually derives from male companionship - whether you're tragically beautiful or not.  Provided someone else loves you, being cheated on or treated poorly is fine.  It's not that you, alone at home, are fine.  It's that you, with some generic man to have and to hold, aren't ever actually alone, and thus fine.

I appreciate there are certain parameters that need to be adhered to when crafting a work of pop music wonder.  The songs are approximately four minutes, the hook has to be catchy and with few words so people can catch on quickly when they're at the club, and the subject matter has to be both easily relatable and be at the height of whatever emotion is being perpetrated.  Those mechanics are fine with me.  I quite like popular music.  I usually scan the radio for "Wrecking Ball".  I'm not kidding.  I love that song!  

It shouldn't get confused though - Beyonce is not actually a case of a strong female character in these songs.  She's a highly beautiful, physically perfect woman with an intense desire to be loved over everything else.  Having a partner is what gives her value.  Being beautiful is how she gets a partner.  It's simple.  But it's not empowering.  They're great songs.  But they're not empowering.  

Also - don't even get me started on how reckless it is to rebound.  Dammit Beyonce, you're literally the worst role model EVER.

27, i've been waiting for you: the things i've learned leading up to you.

this just in: my 27th birthday is almost here!  i think many people would approach this corner with hesitation, trying to stop the day coming.  it's one day closer to one year closer to 30!  only 3 years til 30!  i plan to feel that way when i turn 28.  but, insofar as 27 is concerned, i have been waiting for this day to come.

for various reasons, i have loved the idea of being 27.  this number "27" just seems like it's a good number, with mainly good vibrations and positive associations, including (i) my birthday is on the 27th day (ii) my parents were married on the 27th day, and (iii) the square root of 27 is 3, and everyone knows 3 is a good number.

you probably think i'm reaching on that last one and so be it.  i love 27 and i don't care who knows it.  in any case, i've got this feeling about 27 and i think it's gonna be bumper year.

the thing about being able to approach a year this way is the benefit of looking back.  hindsight is 20/20, after all.  so, in exercising my own hindsight from the last 26 years, a list:

10. time:

working a lot, sleeping little, being busy - none of these make you a better, happier, more interesting, more enviable, more likeable person.  the man who made time made lots of it - try and make the most of it.

9. honesty:

come clean with people from the get-go.  these interactions we're having with each other - these aren't jokes, they're not scripted and on some sitcom or television drama.  when you neglect to be honest you're robbing the person you're interacting with of the choice of whether you're worth interacting with.  whatever the short-term gain is, abusing someone's trust and their ability to exercise discretion is not tight and gets you kicked to the curb.  some people might not be strong enough to respond to a lie in a strong manner at first - they become strong enough at some point, though.  

8. forgiveness:

i have had some really substantial falling-outs with people.  some of it has been over trite nonsense and some of it was probably in good conscious.  in any case, i spun my wheels and became obsessed with all of these broken relationships, talking shit about people endlessly.  it's exhausting and unhelpful.

Paulo Coelho is my favourite author.  he summarizes his journey to learning about forgiveness in this exchange with his teacher:

"You haven't managed to erase the scars of some injustices committed against you during your life.  But what good does that do you?  None at all.  It does absolutely nothing.  It just leaves you with a constant desire to feel sorry for yourself for being the victim of those who were stronger.  Or else makes you want to dress up like an avenger ready to inflict more wounds on those who hurt you.  Don't you think you're wasting your time with all that?"

"I certainly think it's human."

"It's certainly human.  But it's neither intelligent nor reasonable.  Respect your time on this earth." (By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept, see "About the Author".)

practice forgiveness all the time, especially when it's difficult.  it doesn't mean ever interacting with a person who hurt you again, but it does mean your own peace.

7. people aren't the same:

sometimes people seem like photocopies of other people you've met at some point, and so, when you get to talking, you can decide really quickly that they're a very good person or that they're bound to screw you over.  they might very well be a super stellar individual or, in the shittier alternative, they might, for good reason, get your fight-or-flight-syndrome kicking into higher gear.  however, the thing that remains is that the reason they are good or shitty is not because of some other person you know, with similar characteristics, who was good or shitty.    

6. pretentiousness:

i was an extremely pretentious teenager, especially when it came to music.  i was on a rap-free/country-free diet.  i exclusively listened to music that was "significant", "meaningful", "deep", "complicated".  i can absolutely be quoted as saying that i thought future generations would laugh at what would be written about our generation in music history text books.  at some point i got over that...probably right around the same time i realized there just isn't anything 'wrong' with hip hop music.  in fact, i am listening to g eazy as i write these words.  in fact, i think hip hop is presently my favourite thing to throw on.  and, in further fact, Shad has not only been the tightest show i've seen in years but has optimism, intellect and creativity - lyrically and musically - that makes the bands i believed were so vastly superior seem...well, quite average.  there isn't a prima facie (hah!) case of great music, but dismissing a genre before getting on in there is prima facie pretentious.  and that shit is annoying as hell.  i didn't sound educated, i sounded like a pretentious bittie - and nobody likes that.  apply twice a day to all subjective opinions.

5. being hungover during the week is ok:

i really don't remember any of the days at school when i was hungover, but i do remember having a killer time the nights before.  i bet you when i am old and grey and sitting back and looking back, i'll be like "MAN, that wednesday night i learned to play the whaps was such a good time" and i will not remember the hangover i suffered through the next day.  unless your reason for saying no is really good, have a glass of wine with your friends when they want to even if it is during the work week.

4. exercise and nutrition are actually important.  

i am a fiend for sugary this and sugary that.  i once spent so much money on candy at the bulk barn that i still haven't admitted to anyone how much i dropped.  i also love binge eating bulk candy while i watch netflix.  and when i do this i can't sleep as well, i fret about work, i miss my friends, i turn my mind to douchebag exes.  get out for some fitness - endorphins seem to take care of these problems and productivity is out of control afterwards.  only winning, no losing.

3. eating on the couch.  

don't do it!!  sitting on the couch and watching tv while you eat is a recipe for eating shit that's not good for you long past the moment you're hungry.  eat at the effing table like an effing adult.

2. i like shoes, i like clothes.  

i used to get really furious with myself because i wanted material items.  i'd beat myself up and get all down on myself because some people have just the clothes on their backs and blah blah blah.  this is true.  i can't make having lots of clothes and lots of shoes into anything meaningful.  but i like them.  and i'm going to have them.  i just have to accept my flaws on this one and move forward into 27 with a bomb wardrobe.

1. things really do look better in the morning:

my mother has always said this, but because i am a creature of rash, big emotions i never really meaningfully understood it.  however, in an age of drunk texting, i can't believe it took me so long to wrap my mind around: this is the reason why we wake up on saturday morning and look at the phone and groan, like...why emily why.  when it's dark out (and with OR without wine, people), a shit situation can look double shit.  you want to talk that out?  yell it out?  duke it out?  wait til tomorrow - if you still want to when tomorrow comes, wait til the next day.  what i've found is that the rash conversations you want to have when it's dark and you're reeling from some douche move by some douche person, in the morning you might just find yourself thinking that the juice is simply not worth the squeeze.  at this point, see item 8 and practice some forgiveness.  then, put on a great outfit as per item 2 and go out into the world.  

the skeets of tomorrow

in one month's time i will be getting called to the bar and i will be a real lawyer!  no longer a baby lawyer (aka an articling student), but more of a lawyer on training wheels.  for my last trick as a baby lawyer, i had to spend two weeks at legal aid.  coming from a full service corporate law firm where i do 75% corporate work...it was very different.

i was really eager to do my legal aid rotation.  when i applied to law school i had every intention of working in the area of human rights generally,  and, at the time, refugee law specifically.  so, the opportunity to spend some time with legal aid, providing access to justice, seemed like the exact cup of tea i wanted.  i was over the moon!

like all things, though, dipping your toe in cold water comes at a cost.  the cost for me came on tuesday, january 14th, and in the form of youth justice court.

i was told while i was shadowing some lawyers that the only way to make it through life as a legal aid lawyer without becoming full-on depressed is to learn to laugh at what's going on around you.  a rape joke here, a joke about murder there...you know how it is.  one part dark, two parts mandatory for survival.

while i was at youth justice court i was shocked at how young and sweet faced some of the accused were.  you know that snow-white hair that children have?  before they grow up and their hair changes to sandy or dirty blond?  i saw a child with snow-white hair and a baby face who was alleged to have committed assault with a weapon.  i mean, i get it, the definition of weapon is broad, and they don't read out the particulars of these charges at first appearances so it could have been a swimming pool noodle for all i know (somehow i doubt it)...but still.  that chubby-cheeked cherub wasn't meant to be at court.  now i can't forget his face.

anyway, i was becoming depressed.  and i suddenly found myself thinking - youth justice court is the summer camp of tomorrow's skeets.  it made me smile for a minute and chuckle to myself.  i even tweeted that shit!  i really thought it was objectively funny.  but, funny or not, finding myself making that joke was a dark experience.

these kids are so young - they are assaulting people and committing identity theft and fraud when they are children.  the worst part, though, isn't that they do the shit that they do.  as we all know, kids get up to badness all the time.  it's part of being a kid! and you could see it in some of them that things had spiralled and it shouldn't have happened.  they were the ones who were worried about midterms conflicting with their next court date; the ones whose dads had gone with them to their court date.  that's normal - or at least edging on normal.

the ones whose faces i don't think i can forget weren't like that.  between their vacant expressions, their potty mouths before court was in session, and the beats they had blasting outside their courtroom, there was an understanding of the system; an understanding of "breaches"; an understanding of court etiquette and how you address the judge.  the kids i can't forget are the ones who were on first name bases with the officers who arrested them and had been to court before to testify for their friends.  the ones i can't forget include the boy who had just turned 16 and carried himself like the best 26-year-old skeets i know, itching to get out to smoke his draw before recess ended and court was back in session.  being at court, with a lawyer, in front of a judge - these things have become normal to them.

but, i kept thinking to myself, this isn't normal.  maybe it's not true that they're the skeets of tomorrow.  but in my heart i know it is.  these kids will be in the system from now until forever.  that is the uncomfortable feeling that i know to be true.

i've argued endlessly that most crime is systemic; that crime is perpetuated in that it is committed by those who will commit it again and again because they were born into a family that was committing crime and so generations of [Surname] commit crimes.

and, you know, people have argued back, with the best example being prostitution, of course.  and i've said "well, if we legalize prostitution now and re-humanize those who have been de-humanized, we can teach them to teach their children better.  we can protect them, and encourage them to protect their children better".  and the retorts went, "but, emily, have you seen how much money a prostitute can make?"

i haven't.

but here, in this sad case of youth justice court, i don't see how you can retort back to me.  a brief survey of the courtroom quickly draws attention to the regulars and to those who came there quite by accident - the former vastly overcoming the latter in numbers.  these children who commit assault, where is their financial gain?  well, in my opinion, it's not a gain.  it's just the reality they've come to understand.  it's the reality that they accept.  their reality.

be it that they are from families of crime or lost somewhere in the system foster care, these kids find sitting in that court room - hats off, speaking to "your honour" - to be as normal as i find taking an 11am coffee break.  this systemic problem might be the root of my callous joke, but callous or not - i sadly can't say that i'm wrong.