Photo Essay “Seasons of Vera”

Vera Zenko chased after the Nazi wagon carrying away her mother who was pregnant with her younger sister. The soldiers took pity and threw the mother off the carriage. Today, Vera is 91 years old. She calls her current life her “final seasons” and tells her biography to photographer Tatiana Tkacheva through the contents of her dress closet.

I first saw Vera in Volozhin, Belarus, when she was walking to the pharmacy. Vera was wearing enormous sunglasses, a checkered dress and raspberry-colored socks and shoes. It was love at first sight. I walked up to her to make her acquaintance and, five minutes later, we were sitting in her home and she was showing me her outfits and narrating their history. Later, I visited and stayed with Vera in Volozhin several more times.

She has lived her whole life here, during which time, the multicultural Polish city of Volozhin came under Soviet rule and later became Belorusian. Vera’s four brothers and sisters were scattered all over Ukraine and Belarus. Vasil and Olga are, by now, deceased, survived by siblings Nina and the youngest, Galina. Their parents came from a peasant background: the mother tilled the fields, while the father, who was literate, worked for the local, as they say today, “self-governing authorities”. Vera stayed in her native city. Here, she got married, taking the last name Perepecha, gave birth to three children, worked and eventually raised her grandchildren.

This past January 1st, Vera turned 91 years old. She is not afraid of old age. Once, Vera told me that she is living out her final seasons, when every spring can become the last. She loves to dress up. The closet contains her entire life: each dress comes with its own story, its own memory.

“This is the end of my life. Everything important already happened and passed. Childhood, famine, war, love, children. Papa was executed by the Germans. Mama was left alone, pregnant with Galina, with the four of us children. In memory of Papa, I keep a hand-woven belt. He never beat us but I was mischievous and, once, he threatened to punish me if I don’t stop making trouble. I got scared. Stopped acting out of spite. I keep the belt to this day.”

© Tatiana Tkacheva

Vera went to buy a gold-accented fabric for her daughter’s prom dress. She was going to have the dress sewn in the House of Fashion in Minsk. But the atelier in Volozhin refused to sell the textile without a dress order. So, she had them make this lilac dress, just so that they would sell her the prom dress fabric. 

“I saw myself in the mirror for the first time when I was around ten years of age. We were selling sorrel to local Jews. Their house had a mirror. I became upset when I saw my reflection — I was pale, skinny and wearing an ugly dress. I ran home and cried. Mama stood me by a pail of water and said that I am the most beautiful. For one baggie of sorrel, we were paid five kopeks. My sister and I bought necklaces. I chose the lettuce-colored one. Went to the well for water, bent down to see if it’s deep or not and — whoosh — my necklace flew down. How I cried! It is probably still down there.”

© Tatiana Tkacheva

Vera’s outfit with a hat. She purchased the hat when she worked at the passport office in Volozhin. The hat is Vera’s favorite accessory.

© Tatiana Tkacheva

On the left: Vera bought this dress for her daughter, as to not let money go to waste after the collapse of the USSR. The daughter got married. The dress stayed with Vera. On the right: Vera in her daughter’s wedding dress.

“So much happened over those years. I had to obtain everything on my own: education, work. Back then, major literacy was not required. I had four years of Polish school, then we were overtaken by the Soviets and studied under them for one year, then the Germans arrived. I stayed away from their school. They were recruiting into the Yunak — that’s like the Young Pioneers for the Soviets. Me and a few other kids got scared and ran away. After the war, I completed tenth grade through night school. By then, I was already working in the passport office. I had nice handwriting and was instantly hired. I started having money. I could now sew and buy outfits. The dresses invented themselves. The styles we drew from pedestrians in the city streets. Mama made patterns. My sisters and I did the stitching. I really loved hats. When I would go to Minsk on a business trip, I would buy myself a new hat.”

© Tatiana Tkacheva

Vera wearing the belt she keeps in memory of her father.

© Tatiana Tkacheva

On the left: Vera wearing a skirt she turned into a dress with straps. The shirt was sewn by her daughter to wear for school military training. On the right: A suit Vera bought in a second-hand store to wear at her granddaughter’s wedding.

“I was trendy. I liked getting dolled up. And I had plenty of suitors. But I loved Sergey, my husband. For five years we had a friendship. He spotted me for the first time when my girlfriend and I were strolling the street, in the wintertime. That was a thing to do in our town: the young would get together and promenade back and forth along the streets. The boys would check out the girls. And then walk them home.”

© Tatiana Tkacheva

Vera, wearing a dress handed down from a girlfriend. Purple is Vera’s favorite color.

© Tatiana Tkacheva

Vera is wearing a transparent white blouse and a patterned skirt. Such white blouses were popular in Vera’s youth.

© Tatiana Tkacheva

Vera, in a dress created by her daughter for her seamstress exam. The necklace comes from France, brought by Vera’s sister.

“I procured myself a plush coat. An uncle fastened wooden heels to the rubber booties. Mama would tie a beautiful scarf on me and pin it with a brooch, so that all the flowers were visible. Sergey fell in love with that scarf. Later, he would say that he did not see me or my girlfriend, just the scarf. I was wondering why that little soldier was following us around everywhere. We lived together for thirty one years. Raised three children. Lived in peace. There was no time to quarrel.”

© Tatiana Tkacheva

On the left: Vera, in a dress from her daughter-in-law. Vera was already retired when her son got married. The bride’s parents were against the union. Vera let the newlywed couple live with her and helped raise their firstborn. On the right: Vera’s daughter-in-law wore this dress when she first started dating her son.

© Tatiana Tkacheva

Vera in the plush coat she got through special connections in a store in Volozhin region. She is wearing a floral pattern scarf called “shalinovka”. Vera was wearing this scarf when she first met her husband Sergey.

“Gold teeth used to be in fashion. I really wanted to put in golden crowns. Sergey tried to talk me out of it. But I did it anyway. I frequently recall how he sat me on his lap, hugged me and kept saying that he loves me. Sergey died from cancer after Chernobyl. He disintegrated in mere months. With him died all his money. I was left alone. The children were still in school and needed help. I handed all my pension over to them and tightened my belt. My mother-in-law, when she was dying, gave me her notebooks with prayers. Once I helped a woman cure her finger just by praying over her. The finger healed. Then, people started coming to me, asking for help. I did not deny them.”

© Tatiana Tkacheva

Vera is wearing slacks she bought when she was hospitalizedl with cancer. Vera does not like slacks. In everyday life, she prefers skirts and dresses. But in the cancer ward where Vera was hospitalized, everyone wore trousers.

© Tatiana Tkacheva

On the left: Vera is wearing her daughter’s prom dress. To obtain this fabric so that it could be turned into a dress at the House of Fashion in Minsk, Vera had to commission another dress for herself in the Volozhin atelier (see lilac dress in first photo.) On the right: skirt and blouse, purchased by Vera at a department store 10-15 years ago.

“I did not accept money, but I did not reject food. That is how I survived. I am ugly, long-nosed. When I compliment myself, then I start to see — it’s true, I am beautiful. Each face works well with its own nose. All the young are beautiful. There is a whole album of these photographs. But life flew by as if in one day. Yours will fly by too. I’ve been thinking that it’s time to start giving away my dresses. What good are they to me? If I die, they will be thrown out. This way, I will give them away to people myself. I don’t have a favorite dress. Whichever one I am wearing is my favorite. Let me show you what treasures I have. I am so rich except I don’t have a father or a mom…”

© Tatiana Tkacheva

A gray coat  worn by Vera’s daughter when she was a college freshman.

© Tatiana Tkacheva

Dress and shoes Vera set aside for her funeral.

*   *   *   *   *

*NOTE FROM THE TRANSLATOR:

I found this to be a very compelling human interest story and wanted to bring it to English-reading audiences. I had to take a few liberties and adjust the translation for easier readability / flow in English (mostly in the photo captions) — but I tried to stay true to the original voices of the author of the article and especially Vera, with her particular minimalist style of expression.

The original story in Russian was published on March 16, 2018, by Tatiana Tkacheva, on the website www.takiedela.ru that serves as the information portal for the charitable project “Nuzhna Pomosch” (“Help Needed”). I am not affiliated with them, though I do come across their posts sometimes and it appears that they do good work. They certainly deliver an admirable social service with releasing stories such as this one, from all over the vast expanse of Russia and former USSR, giving publicity to people and places overlooked or forgotten by the world at large. 

For Background Extras in TV and Movies, High Heels Are Still a Sexist Double Standard

male female feet high heels shoes dance floor disco

There are unavoidable occupational hazards out there in the modern American workplace but having to wear high heels should not be one of them.

If this is not self-evident already, let’s recall that:

— Wearing high heels leads to significant long term damage to one’s orthopedic health, causing a lot of pain in the process.

— Other than stroking our dysmorphic sense of aesthetics, high heels are useless in the workplace. Wearing heels does not enhance productivity of any particular task. On the contrary, high heels impede most physical performance as they literally limit one’s ability to walk.

— Wearing high heels is expected only from women, making it a sexist requirement and I have a problem with that.

Being a freelance writer, I don’t even have to put pants on every day, never mind formal footwear. So, I have kind of forgotten that high heels were a “thing” out there, still forced on women as part of their professional uniform. That is until I started moonlighting in the show business which turned out to be a “shoe business” I cannot abide by.

New York City is basically a real-size movie set for many Hollywood productions. And so, to break up the isolated, sedentary work cycle of the home office, I occasionally sign up as a non-union “background extra” for TV shows and movies.

Even though the pay is nothing to write home about, there is no denying that it’s a fascinating scene. You get a behind-the-curtain look at how movie magic is made. The sets are amazing, the logistics of production are awe-inspiring and the background extras are a funky bunch of New York dwellers that are fun to get to know and to observe.

Sure, the hours are dismal: you can easily start at 6 a.m. and go for fourteen hours. And then need to come back at 7 a.m. the next day and do it all over again. Your time is divided between shooting the actual scenes and the be-ready-at-any-moment waiting outside the set to be called back in. Many hours of this can be quite grueling, without opportunity to sit down for long stretches of time and involving uncomfortably cold or hot temperatures.

But I can work with all that!! Because, frankly, the life of an NYC freelance writer / language translator is no less intense than the show biz — but with none of the ego dividends! My schedule can be erratic, gigs come in spurts and, when they do, I go on deadline-driven writing / researching binges for days and nights non-stop. During those peaks, I can get pretty underslept and malnourished, while the rest of the time is filled with mounting anxiety about what’s next. These are the occupational hazards of what I do.

In comparison, ten-plus hours on the movie set is not so bad! Being a background extra is all about physicality, energy, attitude and doing what one is told. I get to use my attention span for following instructions and getting into the spirit of the scene, not generating knowledge or catching subtle errors. This kind of work allows my overactive brain to rest and I gratefully welcome the relief.

But, you guys, I just can’t with the fucking high heels!

I realize it’s cinema and it’s all about things appearing exactly right. But is it fair to expect people (ahem women) to wreck their orthopedic health for an illusion? We shouldn’t risk it for anything, ideally, but definitely not for the sake of being a visually pleasing blur in the background of a 1-second shot. At near-minimum wage. With no benefits.

The last movie shoot I did involved a very high-energy dance scene that took several hours to wrap up. It required a prior fitting during which I was assigned a pair of 4.5 inch high heel boots that could have only been concocted by Satan himself on a day he was in a particularly foul mood.

But actually, those torture devices posing as shoes were made by a certain well-known New York fashion designer who shall not be named for purely comedic purposes. Instead, he will be referred to by an alias created from scrambling his first and last name: Space Zon.

And so, I wonder if Space Zon ever tried on his own creations. Mr. Zon is a fashionable man, known around town for wearing heeled footwear himself  — just nothing like the towering beartraps he crafts for women.

Mind you, 4.5 inch heels might not even be the end of the world, if they are remotely designed for human functionality. But these puppies were super unbalanced in the heel and if that weren’t barbaric enough, the toes were pointed up.

I invite everyone reading this right now to take a moment to do a mock recreation of this scenario with your own foot:

—  First, stand on your tiptoes where the foot is at about an 80-degree angle upwards from the toes.

— Now, try to stretch those all-your-weight-bearing toes UPWARDS.

A physical near-impossibility, no? But women wear crazy footwear like this all the time! Yet, I guarantee you, we wouldn’t do this to ourselves without social pressures or financial incentives. Even sexual masochists might want to keep away from shoes like these. Knee surgery is not sexy and neither are the bills.

Anyway, at the fitting, after trying on the abominable Space Zon boots, I asked the wardrobe people to please give me something more humane. But because the outfits had already been lined up and photographed, they were not keen to switch out the boots and assured me that I would be fine. “You look absolutely killer in them,” they said, as if that helped. Hearing the word “killer”, I actually imagined myself tumbling dramatically down the movie set stairs to my death, Space Zon smarmily smiling and waving buh-bye at me from the top of the staircase…

I’ve never had any beef with this particular designer but now that I’ve had the personal displeasure of wearing one of your creations, you’re on my radar, Space Zon. Consider yourself my **arch** nemesis…

I went home after that fitting session with major anxiety welling up. I knew for a fact that agony was coming my way on the day of the shoot — and that there would be hell to pay afterwards. I spent the next week buying up knee and ankle support sleeves and rubbing crazy amounts of castor oil into my joints.

Each day leading up to the shoot, the nervousness got worse. And the anger started creeping in too. How the hell is it even legal to expect people to sacrifice their bodies for this bullshit??

And this is where the gender inequality is apparent: male extras do not have to decide between working and injuring themselves or not working at all — but it’s a choice women in the same position have to make on the daily.

You be the judge. There are both men and women on the set of a movie shoot, alternating between acting and standing around for hours waiting to be called in. But one group is doing it in loafers and athletic flats, while most members of the other group are teetering on stilt-like foot contraptions. For at least ten hours straight. Can it really be said that the two groups are working the same job? Seems like one of them is laboring harder and, more importantly, in a hazardous environment.

They say American women make only 79 cents on a man’s dollar (well, that’s a statistic about white women, while African American, Native American and Latina women make even less than that…) But it’s not just the salary: it’s health compromises that figure into the wage gap equation too. In this particular job as a non-unionized background extra in the film / TV industry, while both men and women get paid the same [pittance], the women are doing lasting damage to their bodies that will, in no uncertain terms, cost them more money down the road!

Back to the movie set. My worry was completely confirmed on the day of the shoot: the boots did not get any more wearable since I tried them on during fitting. Everyone was directed to act wildly enthusiastic. The whole time I was hobble-hopping around that dance floor with an ecstatic smile plastered across my face, my mind was going:

…OH SHIT OH SHIT OH SHIT OH SHIT OH SHIT OH SHIT OH SHIT

OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD

JUST PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

DON’T LET ME FALL

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

OH SHIT OH SHIT OH SHIT OH SHIT OH SHIT OH SHIT OH SHIT…

It wasn’t even about the pain, which was considerable but, like most women, I’m used to grinning and dissociating myself from whatever is going on “down yonder in the foot regions”. It was about the very real possibility of wiping out on that dance floor because either one or both of my ankles would eventually snap to the side and bring me down. Or I could very easily slip or be pushed by another dancer — and these leather foot binds were NOT made for regaining one’s balance, were they, Mr. Space Zon? Gravity is fake news and equilibrium is overrated anyway.

Could I have spoken up some more? Yes. And risk being branded a problematic presence on the set. The pressure to do what one is told on a mega-budget movie set cannot be overstated. It crackles through the air like electricity. If superstar leading actors like Uma Thurman can be bullied into doing a stunt she knew would get her injured, what chance is there for the rest of us?

Extras are really there to be animated furniture. Talking on or off the set is not in the job description. Complaining gums up the rapid-fire works of the filming dynamics. It is pretty understood that you just suck it up and do what you gotta do. It’s true: the crew has a lot to pay attention to and babysitting extras isn’t part of the plan (and most of the time they are quite gracious about it.)

And I am very down with cooperating and staying the hell out of everyone’s way. But the bottom line is that it was dangerous for me to spend hours dancing in the cruel Space Zon hellboots and though, by some miracle, I didn’t take a spill that night, I added more damage to my joints.

Since that time, I only sign up for the dowdier background roles, where I am allowed to bring my own shoes that are not high heels. As you can imagine, this cuts down my options significantly.

But, like I said, I just can’t with the high heels, not anymore. I spent over a decade of my physical prime running around in skyscraper pumps that would put RuPaul’s drag queen brigade to shame. I was that chick on the dance floor doing pirouettes in breakneck platforms. Because catering to the male gaze was the default behavior at the time and I was classically too immature to not be flattered by the attention and too shortsighted to care about future health fallout.

And then there is the fact that, until recent years, flats were not an available retail option for young women: ladies’ footwear almost always had some sort of unnatural elevation, it was just a question of degree of discomfort.

But now, we have sophisticated foams, gels and goos to cushion our overworked extremities!! And kick-ass athletic footwear. And I’m sure attractive “feminine” shoes could also be designed with better materials and health priorities in mind (are you listening, Space Zon & Co.?) No one should subject themselves to torture by bad footwear when memory foam technology exists. I love it so much, I even have a marketing slogan for them:

“It’s Memory Foam — or Go Hoam!”

Memory Foam, if you’re reading this, it’s my humble gift to you for enhancing my mobility.

For what it’s worth, even pampered celebrities are giving up high heels because the self-abuse is too much. Of all people, Victoria Beckham, the poster child for strappy stilettos, has tossed the pumps for flats and seems pretty unashamed about it. Is this the Apocalypse?? Or is it that, once women mature out of needing to please everyone, they can take a critical look at all the unhealthy, self-destructive vanity practices they engage in to impress men and “society at large” and decide that they are over it?

Well, that’s one part of it. The other, sadder, factor is that after many years of mistreatment our limbs just give out and refuse to function under stressful, unnatural conditions, leaving us no choice but to start wearing “comfort shoes”…

And so, it’s pretty much good-bye to being a film extra for me. Being that I am not even an actor, this is mercifully not a big deal, though I’m pretty bummed to have to give up work over sexist double-standards.

One upside: not having to suffer through any more bone-bending squeezewear by the likes of Space Zon and his sadistic fashionati colleagues.

If there is a Hell, I hope they spend an eternity there walking around on 4.5 inch iron spikes nailed directly into the bottoms of their feet and wearing sausage casing from actual sausages that is several sizes too small to breathe or move in… I mean, that’s actually still not as painful as what their models have to endure on the runway, but let’s be generous with our hell-wishing.

Russian Elections 2018 Viral Video Analysis: Putin Is Never Named But All Other Candidates Are Clearly “the Wrong One”

My previous post was about a recent controversial Russian election video that went viral and caused quite a stir within the Russian-speaking Internet. The satirical clip implores every citizen to vote, by threatening an alternative future, in which symbols of Western liberalism and Soviet conservatism are collided into the “worst case scenario” that will surely happen if Russians abstain from voting and let the wrong candidate take the presidency. Here is the video again:

After a more thorough re-watching of the video and reading up on the election candidates, the symbols of the “doomed future” are beginning to make more sense to me.

The verdict: it is a pro-Putin video after all. How can I tell?

For one, all I have to do is read comments under my own YouTube posting of this video: whether people love it or hate it, they assume it’s pro-Putin — which is consistent with the trend I’ve seen around the internet. And Putin supporters and sympathizers definitely claim this propaganda video as their own. Well, them plus every kind of international troll, to be more accurate. Just a moment ago I received another notification from YouTube: “Uncle Adolf commented: ‘I’ve watched this 6 times today and counting. It’s just too good!'” Now, I would likely succumb to soul-crushing cognitive dissonance, if it turned out that YouTube member “Uncle Adolf” uses anything other than a photo of Hitler or a swastika as his avatar, but — *whew* — of course it’s a photo of Hitler with a swastika on his arm…

Another giveaway is that the video’s main cast includes well-known faces. To use the classical joke formula — in [Soviet] Russia, the role plays the actor. Translation: if you want to have a job as an entertainer, be pro-establishment. Mainstream actors would not have likely agreed to participate in this video if it had been put out by the incumbent dictator’s opposition — it’s too risky to their careers and reputations.

But mainly, I believe that this video is meant to endorse Putin because all other candidates are, one way or another, referenced in the worst case scenario presented in the video. Basically, in addition to Vladimir Putin, who is amusingly categorized as an “independent” candidate, you have seven electoral candidates that represent several other positions — namely: communist, liberal and, well, the inane political stylings of Vladimir Zhirinovskiy — the batshit bonkers leader of the ultranationalistic LDPR party who belongs in an ideological league of his own.

And so, here is the break-down of the video clip imagery:

The “imbecilic” school uniform of the son, so eerily reminiscent of Soviet-era “young pioneer” uniform — that’s the sign and consequence of electing one of the Communist candidates: Pavel Grudinin or Maxim Suraykin. There is also the bathroom scene where the protagonist tries to hide from all the people in his house and hears the PA announcement that toilet visits are limited. This, too, is an intentional flashback to the infamous socialist “communal apartments”, with multiple families crammed into the same living quarters, forced to share the kitchen and the bathroom with dozens of apartment-mates with no hope of privacy (and no end of drunken conflicts.) It was, indeed, a nightmare and it makes sense that it would be used as a scare tactic to prevent senior citizens from letting their USSR nostalgia guide their vote.

The arrogant “foster gay” obscenely eating a banana in the lead character’s kitchen — that’s your “horrifying” future if you cast your ballot for the liberals — presumably represented by Ksenia Sobchak (but really — it’s aimed at the phantom of the one candidate that would likely be fighting for the LGBTQ rights of the nation, but who was barred from the elections: Alexei Navalny). The dark-skinned soldier inserted elsewhere in the video is another subtle implication that the USA and western Europe are advancing on Russia with their ridiculous ideas of “diversity”. Better vote for the “right” candidate before you, too, are forced into tolerating humans that don’t look or live like you, pal.

One of the things that shocks the video’s protagonist during his “worst case scenario of not voting” dream is his son’s request for a huge amount of money to pay for private security at school. I take this as a stab at the entrepreneurs among the candidates: sure, Russia is a thriving capitalist paradise, but you don’t want it to get out of control — tsk-tsk, hint-hint, nudge-nudge, Boris Titov, candidate representing the Growth Party…

Finally, the cartoonishly absurd General who alternates between dabbing and enforcing the military draft until the age of 60 — that’s what you get if you vote for Vladimir Zhirinovsky. Which is oddly on point. The threat seems extra exaggerated, until you read up on this gentleman’s plans to “improve” the Motherland in the twenty first century — such as reconstituting the Soviet Union, circa 1985. It is the only part of this obnoxious video I have to agree with: this belligerent fossil Zhirinovsky is off his everloving rocker! (I mean, they all are, but this guy… ufffff…)

In fact, allow me to leave you with an election video Maestro Zhirinovsky put out himself back in 2012 (he’s runs in every election) — to give you an idea of the messages he sends. I have translated and subtitled the video into English — but the visuals are pretty powerful on their own…

(warning — cruelty to animals)

Happy voting, everybody.

P.S. For more information, check out the full list and descriptions of Russian Elections 2018 candidates and their platforms.

Russian Election 2018 Propaganda Video Goes Viral, Threatens Citizens with a “Doomed” Future Where Gays and Blacks Exist in the Open

 

Russian Elections 2018 Video Viral Propaganda

Around February 16th, 2018, a three-minute video of unspecified origins began coursing through the Russian Internet, advocating the importance of voting on Russia’s upcoming March 18th presidential election. (Russian source)

The video relies on satire to playfully frighten its audience into voting on election day by showing them the “worst case scenario” of not voting. In this instance, the “terrifying” alternative reality dreamed up by the (particularly unpleasant) protagonist is one in which a dabbing Russian general shows up at his doorstep accompanied by a black solider, ready to draft his middle-aged ass into the army; his son, wearing a dumb uniform, is asking for an astronomical sum of money to hire a private security outfit to keep him safe at school; the kitchen is occupied by the “foster gay” who, according to the laws under the new president, is now this family’s responsibility since he was abandoned by his lover; the final straw of doom comes when an omniscient automated voice announces that bathroom visits are not unlimited.

In the end, the leading man wakes up in cold sweat, fiercely ready to sacrifice his Sunday morning to voting in the presidential election — “Before it’s too late!!”

The internet consensus seems to be leaning toward assuming this is a pro-Putin, anti-liberal-opposition propaganda piece and the satirical “dystopian nightmare” presented is how Putin’s guard imagines the unraveling of the moral fiber of their society if anyone other than their fearless, shirtless leader takes the throne bearing his immortal, 15-year-old butt-print.  Certainly,  the video is packed with all things conservative Putinists hate most: sexual and racial minorities, sweet American dance moves, having to pay for stuff, serving one’s country… The bogus threat of having the Russian military draft age raised to 60 kind of smacks of Obamacare-era “death panel” rumors, similarly intended to scare the bejesus out of the American senior citizens (which worked…)

Then again, who is likely to keep around a mandatory military draft in the first place? My bet is on the totalitarian dictator “candidate”. And that “imbecilic” school uniform that bothers the main character? — it’s very reminiscent of the Soviet-time Young Pioneer uniform — that’s Comrade Putin’s territory too… So, there’s a part of me that thinks that this video is a little too on the nose, you know? It’s the optimist in me, but I’m keeping my fingers crossed for good old non-partisan trolling.

But — hey, hey, hey — check out the video — which has been translated and subtitled into English for your convenience by yours truly — and decide for yourself!

Enjoy. Share. Discuss.

Sociologically Speaking about Eating and Drinking in the Information Age

Keeping with the rubric of finding sociology in different professions, I have recently had a conversation with a restaurant expert, who shared some insight with me about the hospitality world that I thought reflected larger societal patterns worth noting.

Santiago Peláez is a longtime food and beverage specialist both in the States and in Mexico, having served as an F&B director at numerous huge hotel/resort chains. I travel and eat out all the time, and I’ve been making a mental note to myself that things are changing “out there”. For one, there is a lot more automation. Also, eating in public no longer has to be a social experience. You can just bury your nose in your phone and have a completely private-feeling meal, surrounded by a ton of people doing the same, in the middle of, say, a super-busy airport. So, when I met Santiago and had a chance to pick his brain, my main question was: have technology and social media brought dramatic changes to the food service industry? I mean, of course they have — but in what ways, specifically?

Our conversation confirmed much of what I have been noticing and thinking: the future of meal consumption is all about on-demand access to a wide choice of quality options while maintaining private identity and physical autonomy.

Let’s unpack a couple of trends. Over the last couple of years, the “to go” meals jumped from the classic 5-6% to an unprecedented 17-20% of all food business made. That’s because, according to Santiago, fewer and fewer of us want to go out to eat. Instead of leaving the house for a bite, people who don’t want to cook would rather log on to online delivery services, where, as Santiago puts it, “you pay for your food and a guy goes out, picks it up and brings it to you.”

I think it has a lot to do with the fact that, with the advent of Internet capabilities, our “entertainment” in general has become really home-centric: we all have on-demand high-definition media streaming now, so we want on-demand high-quality food to go with it. Before, you went out for a movie and a dinner, now you stay in for a movie and a dinner.

It seems like information technology, specifically social media, play a part in whether a restaurant survives or fails these days. Santiago says that customers have grown less forthcoming with complaints in person but don’t hesitate to post harsh negative reviews on the internet.

Not too long ago, he recalls, if you didn’t like your pasta, you could say something to the waiter or the floor manager — and the restaurant would have a chance to remedy the situation and still create a great dining experience for the initially dissatisfied customer. But as of recent, the customer will tell the waiter that the meal was “fine” but then get on their phone and give the restaurant a negative rating online. And the business doesn’t get to find out exactly what went wrong or to make it up to the customer. In the meanwhile, the bad rating does damage to the establishment indefinitely.

This fashion of acting like everything is satisfactory in person but going and bashing the restaurant online anonymously rings familiar to how people tend to handle conflict in all realms of social life lately. More and more, we are easily intimidated by social confrontation, even the mild stuff that’s easily resolvable if you just talk about it for a minute. But we don’t think twice before posting brutal criticisms and damning accusations online about individuals or businesses or whole nations. It makes sense that the hospitality industry is hit hard by this: I bet people have extra strong emotions when it comes to food as well as service.

To sum up the current state of things: we, the consumers, want high-quality food, we want it fast and done right, but we also don’t necessarily want to move and we definitely don’t want to talk to anyone for more than 30 seconds. I both resent and resemble this trend.

It’s not all our fault: we’ve been “trained” as a society for a while now to socially withdraw, little by little. Ever tried to speak to a real-live human at your financial institution, or to “dial the operator” at your cell phone provider? It will be an hour of  manually entering your information and screaming “YES!!”, “NO!!” and “OPERATOR!!!” into the glitchy void of voice recognition prompts before someone with a heartbeat picks up (which is not guaranteed). For years, we’ve been forced to interact with machines and screens instead of people. And now, we’re so used to bots and automatons serving us that we increasingly can’t handle the pressure of a live human voice or eye contact.

Nonetheless, Santiago tells me that, though he believes in progressing with the times, he also hopes to retain and preserve the traditional real-time, in-person, on-site restaurant experience, where you interact with human waiters who make personalized recommendations. He insists that everyone should make time for socializing over breakfast, lunch or dinner “because it’s one of life’s great pleasures”.

Who can argue with that? Some of my fondest memories in life do come from exchanging ideas, telling stories and sharing laughs with good people over prolonged eating and drinking occasions. I agree that it is one of life’s necessities to sit down for a long overdue catch-up session or a good old heart-to-heart over some wine and éclairs in a nice setting. And every time your glass or plate is empty, someone shows up with another drink, pastry or suggestion for drink / pastry? Yes please!

Why Louis C.K.’s Apology Is Not the Worst Thing Ever and Is Beside the Point Anyway

Louis C.K. Apology

A public debate has emerged about whether or not Louis C.K.’s owning of his sexual improprieties constitutes a “real” apology. Now, I’m a semantic nit-picker to a fault and I am aware of the issues with his statement — but in all fairness I must ask — what, precisely, would constitute a “proper” apology here?

I suspect the answer is: nothing really. Because no apology is good or sincere enough at this juncture of history — especially in a world where everyone has a speech writer on call. Let’s face it: we would not even be reading one from Louis C.K., had it not been forced out of him by brute public exposure. Only post-apology actions will show if this person is true or false — and we are not there yet.

The way today’s social and public information channels operate, personal events and pubic trends tend to become conflated into one obnoxious media stream of finger-pointing. We are outraged all the time (which makes sense, because a lot of things are, in fact, outrageous) — and we keep waiting to be handed a tangible relief from all this infuriation. And that means that sometimes we expect too much from a public apology, forgetting that it does not undo damage or redeem motive — and it is in no way guaranteed to make us feel better.

This is what’s happening with Louis C.K.’s admission of culpability in inappropriate sexual behavior: the public statement he released failed to put many people’s minds at peace and, in many cases, made them even angrier.

It is understandable: he done royally f-ed up, there is no denying that. Though I would never put him in same company as sleazebag Weinstein, it is true that Louis C.K.’s case is part of the same trend of powerful men subjecting their colleagues and underlings to unwanted sexual advances that are harmful and long-lasting in ways these gentlemen lack the maturity and intelligence to contemplate.

Some people fault C.K. for not explicitly saying “sorry” but in my understanding, he still communicated strong remorse (perhaps not as humbly as some would have preferred.) But since when is saying “I’m sorry” the golden standard for sincerity? On the contrary, those words have served many a lazy apologizer as the perfect cop-out from putting any active thought into the sentiment.

Then, C.K.’s critics take issue with his lamenting how heavy it is to live with the knowledge that he hurt so many people: he should not be making it about himself, they claim, he should focus on the victims.

But wait a minute — aren’t shame and angst exactly what we want to see from a truly repentant individual?? When someone has hurt us, don’t we want to witness them suffer pangs of guilt and crumble under the realization of how awful they had been? Is that not, basically, the only gratification we can hope for from an apology, considering that the past is irreversible?

I am by no means suggesting we should stop scrutinizing the language of our public figures and villains-du-jour but, in this particular instance, it occurs to me that there is probably not much Louis C.K. could have written that would be received as a redeeming apology.

In part, this is because many of us have considered this person specifically to be an ally to women and have held him up to a high standard of self-awareness. So we feel extra betrayed and duped.

It is doubtful that anyone has ever looked at Harvey Weinstein and said: “What?? That guy is a sexual predator?? You’d never know it, why, with that lovable face and innocent posture!” Nor does it sound like anybody with a body has ever felt particularly “safe” around Weinstein. But Louis C.K. was Our Guy, dammit, our Patron Saint of “He Gets It”. It is unsettling to find out that someone you thought was “secure to be around” is a dud. For many people, instances of sexual misconduct were with those whom they trusted most — and this whole Louis C.K. revelation is a painful confirmation of the harsh lessons learned from those traumatic experiences: a.) “good people” are capable of “bad things” and b.) no matter how friendly, kind, enlightened and gentle some people seem, it does not make them safe-safe when no one else is watching.

But another reason why we are hating on Louis C.K.’s apology is not about him per se: it has to do with the projections of our accumulated need for a scapegoat for all the degrading sexism and abuses of power so many of us experience in our personal lives. His happens to be the only decent guilt-owning statement to come out of Hollywood since the scandals broke — but if we are holding him responsible for the entire Hollywood sex abuse ring of rich scrotumheads, plus every predatory schmuck we had to individually fend off — then, in that context, the apology is, indeed, quite  insufficient

Louis C.K. has some ‘splaining to do to the people in his life that he has hurt. But let us quit picking apart his statement, as if there was more to be done on that front and acknowledge the sadder truth, fellow involuntary members of the #metoo club: no apology from a disgraced celebrity is enough to right the wrongs we’ve suffered, nor to quell the rage we feel for the ways we have been mistreated and dismissed, individually and collectively, for lifetimes and generations on end.

Simply put, there is no such thing as a satisfactory apology for historically systematic human abuses such as slavery or sexual assault because:

— it’s too bloody late for just an apology

— the apology in no way ensures that the abuse will stop

I reckon, they can all keep their soggy sorry’s (though it serves no one to reject sincere attempts at expressing remorse.) It would be encouraging to see a radical reprogramming in attitude, an earnest investment into empathy and a proactive civic involvement, which entails never abusing power via violating sexual boundaries again and having a zero tolerance  toward others doing the same.

Come on, brahs, you are so good at inciting each other into atrocity — let’s see if you can pressure one another into decency.

American Citizens Traveling to Cuba: Updated Information for 2017

Old Havana Plaza Church Travel US Citizen

So many US citizens have been dreaming of visiting Cuba — and now, it is easier than ever! The travel restrictions have been loosened and Americans can finally legally and openly get to know this amazing country with its wonderful people. Read on and see for yourself how un-intimidating and simple getting to Cuba was for us.

When, back in November 2016, we came across a “Newark – Havana” flight for under $250 round trip, my husband and I pounced on the “pirate fare” for the much-overdue week-and-a-half get-away in early January of 2017.

Given decades of the travel ban, it felt strange to be booking a direct flight from New Jersey’s Newark Liberty International Airport straight to Havana’s José Martí International Airport  with a major US-based airline like United. When things are iffy or unclear, the “paranoid Ex-Soviet” in me awakens and doubles down on research, to make sure I’m not missing any pertinent details or caveats.

United Airlines provides an informative breakdown of travel requirements on their website, but let’s elaborate on how it works in real life.

REASON FOR VISIT

Before you can purchase your ticket, you will be asked to certify your reason for visiting Cuba by choosing from the following “general licenses”:

  1. Family visits
  2. Official government business
  3. Journalistic activity
  4. Professional research or meetings
  5. Educational activities or people-to-people exchanges
  6. Religious activities
  7. Sports and public events
  8. Support for the Cuban people
  9. Humanitarian projects
  10. Research
  11. Informational materials
  12. Authorized export activities
  13. Non-immigrant Cuban National

Unfortunately, “Cultural fascination” and “Lifelong dream” are not among acceptable reasons to visit Cuba. Also, it seems that most of the items on that list would require documentation.

However — there are a couple of options that are vague enough to allow for a variety of interpretations, without requiring any official paperwork! We checked off “Support for the Cuban people” and proceeded to book our tickets. It was the right, hassle-free way to go. The exact legal wording for the clause can be found in the Code of Federal Regulations here.

Going through the customs, it seems like a good idea to make the officers’ jobs easier by getting one’s story straight. Jokes, ad-libs and small talk might set off more alarms than chuckles with the border agents. It’s best to have all documents in hand, look ’em straight in the eye and answer the questions to the point and without wavering.

When they ask: “What is your reason for visiting Cuba?”  — avoid coming back with: “I hear the rum is pretty good!” It deviates from the script. Because “booze tourism” — or any kind of tourism — is not on the bloody list of 13 permit-able causes for entry for US citizens!! It is wiser to answer: “Support for the Cuban people” (or whichever one you picked when you booked your ticket) and move along when prompted. Save the “adventure” for after you successfully cross the border, wise guy 🙂

The Paranoid Ex-Soviet Sez: As an added measure of security, I brought back-up materials, in the off-chance we would be asked to explain what, precisely, we mean by “support for the Cuban people”.

It so happens that my husband works in library science and visits libraries wherever he goes, always on the look-out for potential collaboration. I printed out a list of libraries across Cuba to point to, if questioned by customs. Our story was: the husband is visiting libraries for establishing contact / I am a sociologist and serving in the capacity of Spanish translator to my husband. This narrative demonstrates how it’s not tourism, and establishes the potential benefit to the Cuban people in the form of intellectual exchange and professional networking. It helps that ours was true.

Mark Twain quote truth remember anything

HEALTH INSURANCE

It is mandatory for U.S. citizens entering Cuba to have health insurance recognized by Cuba which, apparently, excludes most, if not all, US-based health plans. Thankfully, United Airlines built a temporary health insurance from ESICUBA into the cost of their ticket, covering the passenger for the first 30 days. I imagine other airlines flying into Cuba do the same — but I would check with them to make sure.

The Paranoid Ex-Soviet Sez: I just couldn’t take United Airlines’ website’s “word” for this and contacted their representative to clarify. The operator confessed that the route and rules were brand new and they did not have all the answers ready. Eventually, she confirmed that a $25 portion of the United ticket, indeed, accounts for 30-day health coverage.

Later, at the airport, upon my request, the check-out representative printed a separate receipt and circled the $25 charge for health insurance on it for me. It’s listed in fine print as OOCU25, which could stand for absolutely anything. But I felt safer having the print-out to point to, if need be. Gratefully, it was never disputed.

Can you spot the Health Insurance tariff?

If anyone is wondering why the “paranoid Ex-Soviet” me is so obsessed with print-outs — it’s because she knows that in socialist regimes, when the shizzle hits the proverbial fan, a piece of paper can be mightier than the proverbial sword. Nothing greases the wheels of a bureaucracy better than a nice, crisp sheet of papyrus with some text, official-looking stamps and, preferably, a signature or two. Conversely — to loosely paraphrase a Soviet Russian saying — “Without paper, you are vapor.”

AND THAT’S WHY                                                             YOU ALWAYS BRING A PIECE OF PAPER

CUBAN ENTRY PERMIT

At the Newark Liberty International Airport, the United Airlines check-in line for the Havana flight was sectioned off in a separate corner of the terminal. In addition to charging $50 for the “entry permit”, the Cuban Travel Service collected a service fee of $25 each, which comes to a total of $75 a person for visa expenses.

MONEY: WHAT TO KNOW IN ADVANCE

It used to be that US Americans were not supposed to spend a single penny on anything in Cuba, evidenced by complete lack of “stuff” or receipts brought back stateside. This is no longer the case: Americans can spend liberally and bring back all kinds of goodies (most seem to opt for cigars and rum which are now legal to bring back to the USA, allegedly, in unlimited quantities, as of recent.)

In a complete 180-degree turn-around from the preceding rule, US Americans are now expected to hold on to all their receipts from Cuba for one year. I had full intention to do that until I set foot in Cuba and saw that almost nobody was willing to issue a receipt for anything, like, ever…

In fact, shopping itself in Havana, seemed neither easy nor fun. Shopaholics will be shocked disoriented underwhelmed by socialist marketplace offerings — Cuba is no retail paradise.

But who goes to Cuba for shopping — other than buying pieces from local artists? Go for the beautiful people, the vibrant culture, the gorgeous nature, the unbroken spirit, the awe-inspiring history, the  musical language, the voices in the streets, the whispers in the night and, yes, even the ears in the walls — and you’ll have the time of your life!

Credit Cards

The use of credit is not terribly widespread in Cuba, especially away from the couple of touristy spots in the country, so we did not even bother trying to use ours, as we did not purchase any high-ticket goods or services.

Also, we have heard multiple rumors that U.S. bank cards are not likely to be accepted by Cuban ATMs and did not want to chance it. We brought the amount of cash we conservatively estimated to carry us through the vacation without getting nervous about it.

The Paranoid Ex-Soviet Sez: Make sure to alert your bank / credit card company about going to Cuba — or they will cut you off after just one charge having anything to do with “those commies”. Back in Newark airport, my husband paid for entry permits and Cuban government service fees with separate credit cards and, in a matter of minutes, both bank companies shut off all access and texted him a suspicious activity alert. By then, we were rushing to get on the plane and had to leave it unresolved until our return stateside.

…Methinks charging a Cuban visa on a Visa credit card must have raised some red flags in America…

Cash

So, the Internet will tell you: don’t bring US dollars to Cuba — bring Euros or British Pounds! With USD, you will get slayed on the extra fee they tack on to punish the United States for the trade embargo. The official currency exchange services pay out just 87 cents on the dollar and it hurts.

OK, I hear that! And if you’re coming from Europe or you’ve got a big stash of Euros / Pounds lying around, by all means, do bring them to Cuba!

But I’ve done the calculations and it does not make sense to convert USD to Euros or Pounds and then exchange them into the Cuban currency — you’ll pay conversion fees TWICE! That will leave you with even less than 87 on the dollar.

The verdict: bring US dollars. Suck up the crappy government exchange rate — OR — engage with local people for a better deal. Obviously, don’t fall for the fast-talking street con artists — but there are plenty of decent, enterprising Cubans who will have an honest and mutually beneficial transaction with you.

Your best bet will be your “casa particular” hosts, who will likely oblige with a rate between 90 and 94 cents on the dollar. Or they’ll find someone else who will. The key is to be super tactful and indirect when broaching the topic with a new person: instead of “Do YOU exchange money?”, a less threatening phrasing is: “I am looking to exchange money — can you recommend where I can do that?”

Currency: CUC vs. CUP

Yep, Cuba has the frustrating double-currency system: the Cuban Peso (CUP) used by Cuban citizens and the Cuban Convertible Peso (CUC) for foreigners. The two sets of bills are similar looking but have dramatically different value and buying power. At the time of writing this, 1 CUC is worth 26.5 CUP.

[The Paranoid Ex-Soviet has some very strong feelings on how insulting and hypocritical the Cuban double currency system is to its own citizens, but she will have to save it for another post…]

As a foreigner, you will be using Convertibles (CUC). Exchanging dollars for Cuban Convertibles is easy math because it corresponds one-for-one with the US Dollar. Say your exchange rate is 90 centavos on the dollar. If you give $100, you get back 90 CUC; if you trade in $200, your return is 90 x 2 = 180 CUC, etc.

Cuban Convertible Peso Travel US Citizen

Cuban Convertible Peso: the currency for foreigners

It is my impression that, in Cuban cities and tourist resorts, local pesos are not something you will ever need, unless you are absolutely set on paying the lowest price for the lowest-cost items, such as spending the bottom penny on a single loose cigarette, sold by an elderly lady in the street.

If paying 50 cents for a 20-cent item absolutely kills you, pocket-change CUP used by locals won’t be hard to obtain: go to a non-tourist tobacco / water / sweets stand, store or   window and buy something trivial with a Convertible bill. The vendor is likely to give you change in local pesos.

Cuban Peso Travel Che

The Cuban Peso: the currency of the Cuban citizens.

Obviously, there is a ton more to know about Cuba but at least now, you can go ahead with the ticket booking process without anxiety 🙂 More Cuba posts coming soon — in the meanwhile, check out our podcast detailing the entire trip.

Happy Trails! Enjoy the wondrous country that is Cuba and please be a kind, respectful and generous representative of the ole U.S. of A. 🙂

“Sociologically Speaking” with Fashion Designer Shwetambari Mody

Fashion Forecasting Board, Fall, Shwetambari Mody

Fashion Forecasting Board, Fall 09/10 © Shwetambari Mody

I have been looking to start writing little sociological features on things and people outside of the immediate realm of the social sciences — to see how our worlds correspond. Fashion has been on my mind lately. And, as luck would have it, I just recently came upon a young international textile designer, who also turned out to be a lovely person, who fits the bill perfectly.

I first saw Shwetambari Mody in an online interview with ITV. She was talking about her work and, just for a moment, flashed images of these gorgeous neck-scarves she created. Those scarves made an impression on me with their colorful pastels and breezy stylishness.

Having just recently moved back to NYC, I was reconnecting with old friends and professional contacts, some in the fashion industry — and lo and behold, was introduced to Shwetambari Mody! She agreed to answer a few questions and even let me see some of her work.

As it turned out, those scarves I liked so much were special. Shwetambari and her sisters conceptualized three scarves as a gift to their mother for her 60th birthday. They came up with three phrases that would capture the different sides of their mother’s personality and Shwetambari then sketched and Photoshopped out the rest and brought them to life in light boxes.

Light Box Scarves Shwetambari Mody

Light Box Scarves © Shwetambari Mody

Now that I got a closer look at these scarves, I can explain their appeal to me better. First of all, they were made with love and you can feel it, somehow. I see a classic look with deeply personal details. As a human, I am drawn to the emotion behind them. As a semiotician, I think of it as intimate content, wrapped in luxury form, which is an attractive and, dare I say, seductive combination.

As a person who has watched multiple seasons of Project Runway, another comment that comes to mind is “it looks expensive”, which is another way of saying “high-fashion”, I think. Accessories tend to serve more than one purpose: they are a form of artistic expression and are supposed to compliment your look, but also, they are a calling card of sorts, announcing your socio-economic standing to the world. Some people consider it frivolous to think or talk about such things, but we take for granted how much social identity management most of us do on a regular basis.

There are very few among us who do not, to some degree, consciously or not, care about the status and class they are projecting, in addition to just looking nice. Getting teeth straightened or whitened is not typically a medical necessity. We invest into “looking healthy” because good health, hygiene, neatness and time to work on one’s appearance are a sign of economic prosperity and, implicitly, social trustworthiness. Getting nails polished? It’s a message you are sending that you don’t do manual labor.

Now that I have met Shwetambari, I am additionally impressed with her level headedness and ability to combine the artistic with the pragmatic, which is a struggle for many creative types. I asked her why and how she went for both, the design degree and an MBA in branding. She said it was because she is an artistic personality from an entrepreneurial family and was always encouraged to pursue her own ideas and interests, as long as she worked very hard at it and kept in mind the business side of things. 

Shwetambari sees too many designers in the industry, who think only in terms of artistic pursuits, but have no understanding of the structural, economic and logistical workings of the industry. As a result, they run into snags when their plans crash and burn against the financial realities of the fashion business.

This problem is actually endemic to many professions that forcefully combine the creative and the pragmatic. This is certainly true of academia: some professors exist in their own intellectual and ideological bubbles, unaware of how their salaries get paid, how academic enrollment works or what the student lives are like. Academic administrators can be equally out of touch with the faculty’s intellectual orientation and the students’ best  educational interests.

Creative freelancers can be lightening-fast at their craft but incredibly slow — and I would go as far as to say psychologically paralyzed — to promote themselves and to set reasonable, sustainable, consistent prices for their services. It is quite understandable: not all are raised and socialized to think in business terms, not everybody has the acumen for it and not everyone cares. But for most creative types, some business courses, books, internships, apprenticeships — any way to get an idea of how things run and what things cost, will spare one of having to reinvent the wheel on a daily basis, if / when one chooses to become self-employed.

I would like to thank Shwetambari Mody for showing me her beautiful work, sharing a bit of her story, explaining to me new things about the fashion industry and indulging my sociological rants. Maybe she will let me follow up, when she releases her collection of Indian Luxury accessories in the future.

ELECTION 2016 H A N G O V E R: I’VE HAD WORSE

So… Maybe it’s because I anticipated this outcome for months and had time to freak out and, eventually, make some sort of peace with it — but I just don’t feel so crushed by Trump winning. Like so many others following the election countdown, I felt my brain overheat, couldn’t stop cursing and had the dissociative sensation of being transported into the Bizarro World. But it was not due to surprise that Trump was winning — it was more of a weary “groundhog day” effect of watching your gloomy predictions play out, as you idly stand by saying “yup”. Maybe if I scream “I told you so” at my TV a few more times…

The surprising part is that, a day later, things don’t feel as bad as I thought they would. For one, there is just the sense of relief that [this particular part of] the circus is finally over, for better or worse. *Exhale*

Then, the embittered cynic in me is kind of amused by all the shocked arm-wringing in my own “camp”. I get that people are traumatized. I am too. But none of what happened was unforeseeable or unpreventable. So, people who feel that Trump’s victory came out of nowhere, this is a wake-up call, and not to martyrdom but to ignorance. “We had no idea! Guess we live in our own world here in the North East / West Coast,” is being said a lot. Shouldn’t this revelation be more humbling? Elitist obliviousness is nothing to shrug off as no big deal. It played the key part in the outcome of this election.

Instead, social media is blowing up with  “OMG, I feel so disillusioned and betrayed that half of my compatriots are INHUMANE MORONS!” We are the 47-ish percent of the voting population that imagined themselves to be a shoo-in majority, and we’re calling them — the winning side — stupid?? Then again, they are a pushy majority who believe themselves to be the persecuted minority. Up is down, left is right. I won’t lie, the irony of it all has its own perverse beauty.

they're so stupid that i didn't see them coming

They’re SO stupid that I didn’t see them coming!

There is also a part of me that is kind of curious to see what happens next. We know all the terrible predictions — but what if there’s something positive there too? I mean, we are familiar with good progressive intentions leading to bad unintended consequences. Maybe in the Bizarro World, the narrow-minded, self-serving motivations of our leader will accidentally backfire with spectacular goodwill and prosperity for all?

Finally, I don’t know about you, but I’m just happy we didn’t get bombed. Concerns of explosions and active shooters have become a routine part of public commuting and space-sharing these days — and the election day was extra tense. Granted, the heightened anxiety does not stop New Yorkers from crawling all over the city like ants day and night, but I, for one, could do without the apocalyptic dread and the nagging anticipation that something is about to blow up beneath me. Talk about irony? As a child in the Soviet Union, I grew up expecting those damn Americans to drop the nukes on us any day. Lifetimes later, here I am, an American, waiting for those sneaky Russians to go off the deep end on us. And ISIS. And psycho locals. Great time to be alive, people.

Nonetheless, this fatalist is optimistic 🙂 There is room for unprecedented social unity and solidarity to grow from all this — though, perhaps not as a flower blossoming in a richly manicured garden, but as a wild mushroom materializing from the decomposing matter in cow dung. It might be random and kinda gnarly but also organic and maybe even magic.

ROCK 'N TROLL

GIRLY DRINKS DON’T MAKE YOU A WIMP — BUT CODDLING YOUR MASCULINITY DOES

manlydrinkerpussy

Consider this scene from an NYC bar, witnessed just a few days ago:

Man: Hey, I’m getting a drink — you want one?

Woman: Yeah, an energy drink please.

M: An energy drink?????? Ugh… I don’t want to order that, it’s fucking embarrassing!

W: Why? That’s what I want.

M: It’s emasculating.

W: Emasculation is a myth.

M: Then get it yourself.

W: Alrighty then, I will.

M: Can you order my drink, while you’re at it?

Honestly, I thought that people have caught on to the ridiculousness of claiming emasculation. Don’t they get that the concept itself is wrought with internal contradiction? If you’re such a strong, independent, in-control dude, no one has the power to strip you of those things by definition. If holding a non-alcoholic drink in your hand for 30 seconds or coming in contact with something pink renders you completely demoralized, I hate to break it to you, but you are a weak, weak individual.

I cannot fathom being asked a mundane favor (especially after I explicitly offered to be of service) — and then, being like, “Nah, what you want / need is too lame and doing this for you will make me look too uncool to complete strangers surrounding us. So, uh, no.”

What’s happening here is not a degradation of a man’s dignity. A “man’s dignity”, after all, is just human dignity, applicable to everyone, not just men.

What’s happening is taken-for-granted privilege (is there any other kind?). Men have been socialized to feel entitled to say yes or no to others at whim. Having not been taught to doubt himself or invest into a bit of introspection (e.g.: why do I feel threatened by the color pink?), this pseudo-masculine type is not spiritually equipped to confront the roots of his uneasiness. All he knows is that he is uncomfortable and that it is someone else’s fault. Things he does not like or understand are simply “unbecoming” of him.

To bring this back to the opening example: refusing a woman a drink because it’s too “foofy” and then, in the same breath, asking her to get him one. If “hypocrite” is a type of masculinity, then you’ve got it up the wazoo, buddy. Just drop the pretense that women are anything more than a social accessory to you. Here’s the simple formula favored by such “gentlemen”, which, sadly applies to a much wider range of real-life scenarios than just drink-fetching and purse-holding:

  1. Pretends to be courteous by offering to do something for a woman;
  2. When she indicates a choice he does not understand or approve of, feels free to deny her request, judgmentally putting her down along the way;
  3. Thinks nothing of asking the woman to do the exact thing for him that he just refused to do for her;
  4. Gets furious if the woman does not comply.

What you are, dear cis men who use the “emasculation” excuse, are insecure and lazy. You rely on your delusion of grandeur for getting out of cleaning or serving others. You hide behind it to justify being a half-assed parent. You reach for it to cover up your ignorance of the female anatomy and unwillingness to learn to be a giving lover. You punish women for your own feelings of meekness and smallness next to other pseudo-manly-men, fooled by their empty, shallow fronting. The notion that desired masculinity is predicated on “not being like a woman” is a crock of shit you are still joyfully feeding from, while the rest of us have to put up with the stench.