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Category Archives: Cultural Critique

A Place Of One’s Own

Do you remember hearing about people who kept an uncle in the attic?  Was that just my family?  The attic seemed to be where relatives who might not be entirely suited to living in society, were stashed.  You never hear these references any longer.  We could chalk that up to the demise of the cohabiting extended family, but I doubt it.  If there ever really were uncles up there, they’re long gone now.  The modern generation of uncles is more mainstreamed or perhaps people don’t have attics any longer.  The extended family does seem to still be cohabiting, but now it’s the adult children.  And they seem to not be in the attic or basement but be in their old room.

You’ve heard countless reports of adults in their 20s (or older!) living with their parents.  They don’t seem to be there to offer support to parents presumably in their senior years, but to live as they did as a teenager.  They live in the manner they’ve grown accustomed with; reliable climate control, plumbing, food, laundry, cable, wireless, and perhaps access to a car.  You’ve no doubt heard that unemployment is the cause of this phenomenon.  No doubt for some it is.  But there’s something else in play too, no?

Let’s think back, way back (cue flashback music and wiggly screen.)  There you are headed off to college.  You’ve got your new comforter, milk crate of albums, a hotpot and every stitch of clothing you own.  Maybe a parent drove you to campus.  If so they’re long gone by the time you start to unpack.  Those first few hours are filled with nervous meetings of roommates and suite-mates and a growing euphoria of having left home.  Yes, the university is nice.  Yes, the classes seem mildly interesting.  But YOWZA, you don’t have to live with your parents anymore!!!!  You go through the next four years jerry-rigging yourself into a major that will render you employable.

Ah the world of work and the demoralizing entry-level position.  You probably worked weekends, maybe even graveyard shift.  You’d stumble home to your apartment, careful not to wake your roommates sleeping on the couch.  You’d collapse in your bed, lucky to share an actual bedroom with just one other person.  Most nights you’d be too tired to boil up a generic hot dog or open a can of no-frill baked beans.  In the morning you’d wake up 10 minutes early to avoid the maddening crush of all your roommates fighting over the shower.  Our developmental milestones were measured in how many roommates we were able to discard.  Living alone was the ultimate brass ring.  I’m not so sure that’s the case any longer.

There is now more than one generation that has no familiarity with sharing a childhood bedroom let alone a bathroom.  Colleges and universities know this and have been churning out “singles” at an impressive rate.  There is also little romance now associated with being ‘poor.’  There have been too many post-Reagan decades for communes and ‘living off the land’ to hold any mystique for people under 40.  We all spend money in ways that would have floored our generic hot dog eating selves.  Bottles of water?  Cups of coffee for $5?  Electronics?  New cars?  It’s fair to say we considered making a long-distance call a luxury back then.

There are no doubt many young(er) people living with their (extraordinarily generous) parents who have simply had a bad run of luck.  They chose a path to a degree that they could afford.  They chose a course of study that should lead to employment.  They’re ready willing and able to share a garage apartment in the suburbs with three strangers.  But nothing has gelled for them.  They are cooking all the family meals, taking care of the home and generally making themselves an asset to their parents while they look for employment and housing 8 hours a day.

And then there’s everyone else.

There’s Brandon, whose parents paid his tuition entirely and set him on a debt-free course, only to have him drop in and out of the workplace.  He currently lives at his parents’ home while working on his web business, or saving up for a condo (home ownership is now a birthright by the way.)

Emma has college debt, some of it avoidable no doubt.  She eschewed starting at a community college and floundered a bit for it.  Her 4-year degree took 5 1/2 years, but she’s done!  Yes, $200K is a staggering amount of debt for anyone, but surely a dance major can find well-compensated work?

And then there’s dear sweet Madison.  She/he (who knows with a name like Madison!) worked her way through a school she could afford.  She applied for every grant, fellowship and scholarship and even got a free ride to graduate school.  Madison has a good job with a bright future.  She lives with her parents because it makes everyone happy.

Are unemployment rates high?  Of course.  Are students being trained in areas which have projected job growth?  Perhaps.  Has our culture changed radically in the past 20 years?  Absolutely.  That flashback you, bolting through the door of your parents’ home towards your own life is now quaint.  If you had been raised in the child-centric universe that exists today, you may have been less eager to jump into adulthood.  It would seem that the most important takeaway from the “more adult children are living with their parents” buzz is that it may very well not simply be the result of high unemployment.

 
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Posted by on June 24, 2012 in Childhood, Cultural Critique

 

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The People On The Bus

I never had to ride a bus to school, and that was a blessing.  To this day I’m still a little wary of them.  Rare class trips confirmed that they were the ideal breeding ground for my anxiety; an enclosed space with mysterious and opaque social rules and customs.  Where you sat and with whom was evidently meaningful to other riders.  On those rare trips I knew enough to stay clear of the back of the bus.  Even as a very small person I sensed that no good could come from being so far away from an adult.  As a younger child those seats seemed very high and quite conducive to hiding bad behavior.  Bad behavior has always frightened me.

A story of a bus matron (which we did not have on our class trips) being verbally abused by children does not surprise me.  Children are people.  Some people are lovely some are disgusting and some fall somewhere in-between.  What does seem inconceivable to me however is that this behavior would have continued for any amount of time.  It stands to reason that at least a handful of children on that bus are little versions of me.  They were frightened by the behavior.  The thought of getting on that bus every morning made their stomachs hurt.  They told their parents.  They asked to be driven to school.  They explained that they’re bad kids on the bus.  There is no vow of secrecy or non-disclosure agreement on the bus.  These are not members of organized crime.  They’re just kids that happen to live along the same bus route.  Someone (if not many) told.  Kids tell.

Following that theory (and it is just a theory, devoid of any factual support whatsoever) could it be that the parents did nothing to stop it?  Once we get past our shock, it does sound plausible, no?  Don’t we tend to assume that things are not our business?  Don’t we usually duck and dive under a bush to avoid any form of confrontation (unless it’s from the confines of our car and involves obscene gestures, or through anonymous comments on the web?)  Despite all government pleading, how many times do we really see something and say something?  Do we “suffer” through a broken streetlight, or wonky elevator?  Or do we fill out a maintenance report?  Do we gape, horrified at teenage girls pulling their tops up on the side of the highway?  Or do we explain how those photos they’re taking might someday limit their options in life?

Hopefully we speak up.  Hopefully we’ve been on the planet long enough to understand the dangers of silence.  Hopefully every day we choose to tip the balance away from disgusting and towards lovely.

 
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Posted by on June 23, 2012 in Childhood, Cultural Critique

 

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We Got Trouble*

A study has been conducted which examines depression and computer usage.  The researchers evaluated participant’s indications of depressive characteristics and correlated those to computer usage.  People who viewed email compulsively, or viewed a lot of videos on-line also showed signs of depression.  The report concludes with recommendations for a software to alert users of depressive behaviors.  Any intervention or awareness regarding mental illness is a good thing.  But before we start organizing a keyboard awareness day or choosing a color for our ribbons and rubber bracelets, let’s consider this study.

Isn’t the very crux of depression that of an inward orientation?  Are we at all surprised that people who are depressed are not out in the world socializing?  Isn’t the desire to turn on the computer actually a positive sign?  (Versus drawing the curtains and taking to one’s bed?)  Virtual connections are virtual, but sure beat cutting off all contact with the world.  Why would the researches make such a concerted effort to ignore the possibility that increased screen time leads to depression?  I’m not trying to start a rumor or anything, but could it be that they were funded by a mental health software company.

In the end, all this internet sound and fury is reminiscent of the Great Television Scare or Video Game Scourge of years past.  Comic books, dime store novels and packs of sen-sen conjured these same fears once. None of these trends/novelites have the power to ruin.

Depression is an illness it is not an allergic reaction to circumstances.  Do people enter a depressive state due to cataclysmic life events?  Certainly.  But that is a depressive state not depression.  Potato Potahto?  Not exactly.  There are many serious differences between a normative response to sad and/or traumatic events and that of a state of being.  For one thing a depressive state has a beginning, middle and end and a cause.  Knowing there is a cause to feeling so bad is the difference between night and day.  Having your world close in and become gray and fuzzy for no discernible reason is both frightening and self-perpetuating.  Our natural inclination is to move towards pleasure and away from pain.  If you can not see pleasure, if everything you see and feel is dark and thick and unrelenting, you’ve no reason to believe that there is a different world.  The darkness is the reality and it can be difficult to claw your way towards something you can’t detect.

Social isolation can certainly exacerbate depression.  Humans (even the most anti-social of us) are meant to interact.  (As a species we would perish without the desire to mingle.)  However people with depressive tendencies are a diverse group.  Their depression can be triggered or worsened by physical changes (hormonal transitions, illness, sleep deprivation, etc.) by life changes (moving, job changes, marriage, divorce, etc.) by nature (cycles of the moon, seasons, etc.) or by a myriad of other triggers/events.  That said, as an illness whose hallmark is inward focus, forced external interaction can be very effective.  Volunteer work can alleviate symptoms of depression.   It would seem that the very act of doing something for someone else, gives the brain a break from its persevering.

Living in a culture which extols the virtue of self above all else is powerful nourishment for the growth of depression.  If we were to pay attention to all the messaging, we should be painstakingly obsessing over every body part/function and moment in our lives.  We are to chronicle every; party, meal, trip, pee stick, grade promotion, softball game, and sonogram to the world and thereby give us the patina of great significance (Because It Happened To Us.)  We are encouraged not to experience life and its many moments, but to “create memories.”  So much self-consciousness is not good for the self.  Isn’t it a culture of; “your special day” “best snack provider-friendliest-rookie-player trophy” and general sense of entitlement that is far more socially isolating than technology?

When the first books were mass printed, the townspeople were up in arms.  What would happen to communal oral storytelling traditions.  There goes the neighborhood!  The first home radios caused some anxiety no doubt.  Families were now holed up in their living rooms staring at a box.  Little did they know, that box-staring was just beginning.  Television took people out of communal movie theaters (which were/are communal only in the sense of shared germs, smells and noise, not in any actual ‘communing’)  Personal music devices were said to be bad, yet I have never seen a campaign to bring back the boom-box, and I’ve never quite understood how the iPod affects behavior any differently than transistor radios did.

Invention and innovation do not come from the sky to do evil to our land.  They are not the flying monkeys.  Products/progress succeeds because there is a hunger that it satiates.  The fact that consumers represent the population and are thus diverse and include those with mental illness, is expected.  How one behaves, with or without technology will always be a lens into an individual’s inner workings.  Unfortunately it will always be far more tempting to design research or blame which looks to demonize the new and inanimate.  Mental illness, criminal behavior, gambling and pornography obsession are real issues.  Spending our valuable resources to shout; “No, no, look over here, the internet is to blame” does not seem wise.

*The Music Man – Meredith Wilson (1957)

 
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Posted by on June 17, 2012 in Cultural Critique, Media/Marketing

 

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Dear Ms. Magazine

Happy Birthday Ms. Magazine!  It seems like only yesterday when you were born.  It must be annoying to hear that over and over again.  40, wow!  You look great!  Really you do.  Don’t give me that look, it’s okay to care about your looks if you’re a feminist, don’t try that on me.  You look great, really.  You know a lot of other magazines have very bloated advertising, and a rather eerie glossy finish.  But not you.  Yes you’ve freshened yourself up over the years, but that’s what keeps you modern and relevant.

Do you remember the first time you came to my house?  Me neither.  But I remember you being there in those early years.  My housewife mother must have heard about you at her consciousness-raising group and invited you home.  I’m guessing you got passed around a bit.  Household expenditures were tightly monitored (it was the 70s after all, things were tough all over.)  Come to think of it, it took some chutzpah to start a magazine outside of the standard advertising model on the cusp of the recession, didn’t it?  But you never did shy from a challenge.  They laughed at you.  I know you remember that.  Who did you think you were?  A serious magazine for women?  A business run by women?  They said a lot worse too.

It must have been hard at times, all that bullying.  They even made fun of your name.  You know, that name that is now a standard fixture in the English language; appearing on all official documents and forms?  You were the first to talk about abortion openly, instigating untold honest conversations and sharing in homes across the country.  You shone the spotlight on domestic violence, helping to place the shame where it belongs; on the perpetrators.  You gave voice to issues that often had no visible champion.  You helped us to understand our bodies and minds and how they can work.

You never have been popular.  I don’t mean that to be hurtful, it’s actually praise.  Who wants to be adored by the masses?  It’s far more satisfying to be loved by those who ‘get us.’  You did come along at the right time, that’s for sure.  No one was rolling out a red carpet or anything.  No, no.  But the swelling of bias and bigotry awareness of the early 1970s was a boon to Ms. and feminism.  Even the most misogynistic would begrudgingly admit that 51% of the population should be treated equally.  Not so far as enacting the ERA or anything, but wait, no sad stories, this is your birthday!

Milestone birthdays can be affirming but they can also be a bit jarring.  It’s a gift to age, to survive!  While no one wants to live in the past, it is the shared memories that give us a feeling of being a collective.  How many remember when grown women were routinely called ‘girls?’  Remember when we didn’t even have names?!  We were Mrs. Robert Smith or Mrs. Nathan Green.  We not only keep our first and last names now, but sometimes a man actually takes a woman’s name (gasp!)

I remember that you were the only magazine in our house, quite possibly ever.  I’ve no doubt you played some part in my mother returning to school and becoming the writer she always longed to be.  You probably had a hand in the household responsibilities being distributed to all family members (yeah that was just great, thanks!)  I can see your handiwork now, in my own outlook on life.  I struggle, like I know you do, with the backlash of some of our progress.  There are times I thought we’d be further ahead by now.  I know you know.  We still have work to do don’t we Ms.?  Maybe 40 really is the new 30!  Happy Birthday Ms. and thank you.  Now get back to work.

 
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Posted by on June 14, 2012 in Cultural Critique, Media/Marketing

 

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The Right To Choose

The New York Times has ‘uncovered’ some misleading rhetoric regarding Plan B (aka ‘the morning after pill’.)  Many of those interested in banning the contraceptive have hitched their wagon to the notion that this pill sloths away attached cells from the uterine wall.  This is in fact not the case, and never has been.  Plan B prevents the attachment (by means that are very natural/biological but may be too ‘eeeeew’ inducing to discuss here.)

Without getting too technical or “no, she did Not just say that” let’s review what we’re discussing here.  What the banners were using as their justification for preventing access to contraceptives was that Plan B was in fact an abortifacient.  Their position is that as soon as two cells meet (an egg and a sperm) a human exists.  Sentimental rhetoric aside, there is a name for the meeting of these two cells; it’s called a zygote.  A zygote is not a fetus or embryo.  Zygotes slough off and disappear on a regular basis.  It’s nature.  Many regular monthly cycles include these invisible cells.  A zygote probably has as much of a chance as organically becoming a human as any unmet egg and sperm.  That covers the biologically, now for the chemistry.

The last thing I would ever do is provide ammunition to anyone looking to limit the human rights of others, but you know what?  You know what does slough off cells?  The I.U.D. and birth control pills do.  Both of these devices include hormones that change the lining of the uterine wall.  The presence of anything in the uterus (like an I.U.D.) prevents any attachment to the wall.  A zygote’s got nowhere to go.

It’s astounding to consider that people (and mostly they seem, to me anyway, to be men) are so concerned about sperm when it’s inside of someone else.  How could it be, if they are truly concerned about what happens to their contribution, that we still have absolutely nothing resembling reliable male birth control?  The only means we have is not traditionally embraced by men and is probably as old as the I.U.D.  Listen up men, you’ve had the corner on the medical field for centuries, whatya been doing?  Where’s your walkathon or ribbons to raise awareness for male birth control.  Where is the wait-list for reversible vasectomies?  Where is the partaking in relations only for fertilization?

I won’t hold my breath.  It’s always much more interesting to point to others as the problem.  It might even serve social purposes to belittle an entire gender, assuming they a) don’t know how their bodies work and b) can’t make informed decisions about their own reproductive life.  For whatever reason, these attacks on a woman’s body and rights have been going on forever.  And let us be perfectly clear, any limitations to contraception are an attack on women not an attempt to “save the zygote.”  There are facilities all across this globe that are creating and/or processing these microscopic conjoined cells through very expensive and sophisticated means.  They do not all become implanted, and those that do, do not all adhere and grow.  Yes, this brave new world of medically induced fertility is worth more than a cursory review from an ethics perspective.  We should be looking long and hard at the benefits and costs to our society and to the individual of these developments.  But what isn’t complicated is that every person should have control over what is done to his/her own body.  Forcing anyone to carry a pregnancy is barbaric.  Pound whatever religious text as you try to do it, hold up whatever placards you find most repugnant, but in the end, anyone daring to tell a woman to carry a pregnancy is nothing less than a barbarian.

 
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Posted by on June 6, 2012 in Cultural Critique

 

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