mattress joy
i had to hire a ute for the community cafe last night, so i took the opportunity to duck in to my parents’ and pick up my bed. it’s a lovely queen ensemble, non matching. it says it’s chiropractor approved, and i’d believe it. it’s firm but you sink into it, with a cozy, pillowy top layer. i’ve been pining for it
i first got this bed two and a half years ago, when kat was first in town. i was living in a lovely little house in epping and she in a cockroach infested dump in st peters, with all her fancy mini travel electrical equipment, but only a nasty old single mattress on the dubious floor. she wanted us to spend more time in her dump than in my palace, because of the location. we needed a bed.
one night in council cleanup season, we took the bug around the streets of ryde and bounced on all the mattresses available. there were quite a few – three in one particular street. we selected the base of one set, and the mattress of another, and had just gotten them secured to the roofracks when it started to rain. lightly at first, then pouring down – i remember sheltering the car in a closed servo for the worst of it, but we still had to air them for days after. when both pieces were suitably dry, we strung them back onto the car and headed citywards. it was a ridiculous sight, and a scary ride. the mattress was bent over the car, sticking out on all sides and engulfing the simple roofracks, which were having trouble gripping their flanges. on top was perched the base, seesawing with every change of speed, or any other excuse. we had to stop, just over the gladesville bridge, to hoist it all back into place and retie, and for much of the trip we each had an arm out the window, trying to hold on and stop it slipping down over the windows!
when kat left sydney nick inherited bed and room together, then took the bed all the way to his new place in clovelly. i picked it up when i got back from turkey, and lived with it for four months at breakfast point. when i left the country it got stored back at gladesville, and i slept on the mattress for a month, with it perched squishily on top of a double bed, before finally getting the move to newtown organised. as there was an acceptable spare bed already here, it took me ten months to organise transport for my largest possession not on wheels, but now it’s here and i’m off to enjoy it again!
lesbian sheep
my housemate has a beautiful analogy to suggest why a whole suburb full of queer women spend all their time eyeing eachother and running away.
apparently, it’s accepted fact that __% of male sheep are gay, and only mate with other male sheep. they assume the same is true for female sheep, but they can’t measure it, because a female sheep’s way of showing interest is to stand still.
tafe newspaper!
one of my projects was realised this week. sorta.
i’ve been wanting a student newspaper at ultimo tafe for a long long time. drooling over other tafes’ modest versions, sighing over the universities’ established media collectives, prolificness (Word spellcheck says it’s a word!) and independence.
we decreed it to happen at a board meeting a couple of months ago. we decided it would be monthly, a single A4 sheet to start with, folded to A5. we listed the content we wanted; mostly ads for the services we provide, a calendar of events and a callout for people to get involved. i didn’t care about the ads for the first edition, but i pushed hard for what i really wanted – a format, a schedule, a precedent. sam, a staff member, was to do the work and the board would authorise the final version before it was run off on the association photocopier in time for the first week of second semester.
i saw the first copy on tuesday. it looks like a leaflet, but competent and informative. at first i compared it to a well established broadsheet, but then i remembered it was pretty fantastic for a bureaucratic and stagnant tafe campus. bright yellow. there weren’t many copies, but they were working on it.
today there was a stall being set up to advertise legal aid and the like, and music and games on the grass. i ran up to the office to grab a handful of papers, and found eight. printing more was impossible without permission and allison had just left the office. lu didn’t have the file on her computer. what i brought back was slapped on the table, half underneath a bigger leaflet, with the entire title covered. to save it from the wind. she didn’t
it was also impossible for me to duck in and make up a poster, print it out and stick it up. the stall had nothing but a few unexplained stacks of leaflets, and there was certainly nothing to celebate the launch of our inaugural newspaper, but the answer came back, on all fronts, as ‘students aren’t allowed to use the computers’. students? i’m the president. how would me making a poster lead to a flood of students and viruses? apparently it would. next board meeting…
i flirted with the idea of braving the systems of the library computer room and printers, which i haven’t needed to use since ten years ago and may have changed a touch, but i probably would’ve had problems getting tape after that. i settled for taking a bunch of papers, which had by now materialised thanks to our overworked staff member who really shouldn’t insist on doing work i’m offering to do for free, and distributing them to the people loitering around the games.
it was fantastic! i’d forgotten how good it can be to get over that social barrier and approach people. i only gave out a dozen papers, but almost everyone i approached was friendly, interested, impressed, looking forward to seeing the next edition bigger and better. i got feedback, from ‘it’s got a calendar, i’ll keep hold of it’, ‘gym open day? i’ll be circling that’ and ‘do i have to be a member?’ to ‘what do you offer’, ‘what do you need’ and ‘how can i contact you?’
cyberumba
unbelievable! i’m learning to dance without getting out of bed. i’ve found videos of rumba steps on the internet, which load promptly even on my sleepy little computer. i can repeat exactly what i want to see again, as often as i like. i’ve also found descriptions of moves, laid out – literally – step by step, and also solved a little mystery.
i took a latin dance class when i was studying in istanbul. we did rumba, salsa, cha cha and merengue, and my favourite by far was the rumba. i didn’t retain much, since it was taught in turkish and i had to watch other people’s feet most of the semester, but i was still suprised how unfamiliar it felt when i joined a class here in sydney.
tonight i read all about international style and american style ballroom. in rumba they are two completely different dances. posture is different, the way you move and step are different, even the rhythm is different! the dance i learnt and loved in turkey was – why am i not suprised – american style; 1 – 3 4, 5 – 7 8, or slow quick quick slow quick quick. at my completely endearing gay and lesbian ballroom and latin class which i must find time to attend again, we dance a less dignified, more salsa-ish 2 3 4 – 6 7 8, or wait step step step wait step step step of the international style.
i’ve been practicing diligently, mostly in my head but also shuffling around the loungeroom in a spare moment. my housemates laugh at it, but hopefully i’ll be able to lead a real person soon, with more than a few box steps and a badly paced turn. it’s fairly likely, considering my ginger rogers is absolutely wonderful to lead – amongst other things. i’ll be seeing her tomorrow night at hellfire; i wonder if we can make any room within the loud fast music and swarming people for the dance of love?
aha!
i think i’ve found the solution to how to fit my twenty hour a week tafe course into my life. completely ignore the teachers when they’re mumbling and difficult to understand, and write those workshops i’ve been procrastinating on! i’ll have to do all the work at home before the exams anyway, so why pretend it’s worth doing twice?
autumn in july
the days are just starting to get longer again, and the leaves are falling. the ground is carpeted with them. all the trees are greeny yellow and every gust of wind brings down another shower of leaves. surely that’s not right?
raising my voice, dropping my voice
i was at the frontline management course today. it was very interesting. after class yesterday sylvia and i had mentioned to the teacher that we didn’t appreciate the sexism that was coming out. today, we had to sit boy – girl – boy – girl around a u-shape. this was justified by a story about army dinners with her army husband, with the men getting up and moving down two places like a barn dance, to keep the ladies entertained.
then she got someone to keep time for ten minutes, in which none of the men were to speak. they couldn’t do it, with people starting to speak and being hushed, whistles, noise, and someone making a sign, with lots of antics to try to make people read it. the women meanwhile, got the fairly basic work done with a minimum of fuss, and i enjoyed the quiet immensely. the noise level in the room had been loud and constant.
then we had to switch. the noise level went back up, though not quite as high as before, and they discussed everything at rambling length, with plenty of not-quite on topic comments, and heaps and heaps of commentary on what the women were doing. if we looked at eachother we were communicating. hand gestures was not allowed, and got heckled. sylvia came in for lots of hassling, when she couldn’t reply. the work talked about anti discrimination and stereotypes, and i was not happy to be unable to contribute. there were lots of dubious comments and laughter, and one particular comment from a certain person sitting directly opposite me, about male florists and female mechanics, and how if there was an all-female auto mechanic business, it wouldn’t go well because noone would trust them. or something. i sat bolt upright and glared at him.
the third ten minutes, only the five most noisy people were allowed to speak. this included sylvia and the main offenders from the previous set. it continued largely as before, but sylvia could argue. she was unsupported however, so she couldn’t fight everything.
the fourth round those five had to stay silent. it was a farce; the sign holder had decided he had something that was worth saying, and we tried to shush him many times, but he refused to follow the rules. the rules we had all been following, which meant i had spent twenty minutes already forced to listen to his blather with no recourse. the other barred boys got in on the shushing, which was even worse. in the end, i raised my voice to approximate the total noise level we’d been having in the room, and commenced speaking, trying to shut him down by taking up all the verbal space. i had to go on and on, talking about how i would have to keep this up until someone else who was allowed to speak joined in, as that appeared to be the only way to keep others from assuming all the space. it worked a little, shutting him down, but everyone else decided that they had comments to make about this display. eventually the woman who was moderating that bit came to the party and opened her mouth, and asked me to read a passage. i dropped my voice down as low as i could considering i was shaking with adrenaline, and read. and then people listened!
many years ago, when i attended even more meetings than i do now, i was in one that was as noisy as usual. when katrina, the vice chair, dropped her voice to speak rather than raising it to compete, everyone stopped talking, leaned in and listened. i was amazed! i have always kept that in mind, and tried it a couple of times, but this was the first time it had worked.
at lunch time, i wanted to tell mr female-mechanics-are-ok-in-a-male-business that i don’t like his constant sexism. he actually approached me first, and it ended up as the two of us with the teacher for quite a while. he said he was using examples of prejudice to make a point; he didn’t mean anything against female mechanics. i told him that i appreciated that, but it wasn’t just the comment, it was the constant sexualised environment he was creating. i also talked about how examples have subtexts, and are read differently by different people, and his were fuelling the general environment in a way that i and other women were uncomfortable, and being prevented from talking as much as others. i didn’t say that if i were a female mechanic i would be delighted to work in an all-female company, and i think it would go very well indeed because there wouldn’t be a man for customers to view as better, and anyway there should be enough people who have trouble with male mechanics for us not to need the chauvenists. much was said, and i was very impressed by how he took it on and affirmed a commitment to do better on these issues, instead of belligerently repeating how it was all humourous, as i have been subjected to by so many people i’ve tried to explain things to. he was very quiet through lunch and all afternoon; i hope it was just lots of thinking. it would be very good if he becomes better on this, he acts like he is in charge wherever he is, and often enough it’s true. what’s more, i think he knows more about how to make things work at tafe than anyone else, and i hope to learn more from him.
interestingly, the one example of defensiveness in that exchange actually came from the teacher. i was explaining that i was a little uncomfortable with the heterocentricity of the environment, with a touch too many examples and questions about husbands and wives and children, and not enough talk about tafe student associations. and too much talk about restaurants, thanks to one person – but we all knew that! she acted a touch offended, saying, many times, that she didn’t realise her examples were a problem, they were just from her life. she took it like an attack on her, not a comment on the whole classroom and something to be aware of. after lunch she apologised beforehand for every comment she made that was personal. maybe she took half the point, but at least half was missed.
eventually we joined the others for lunch. i was much happy birthdayed, and my lunch was payed for. several people also came up to me and asked if i was ok, if i was very upset. it was because i had raised my voice. it was unexpected, from me, and lots of people thought it meant i was very upset. i had been a little upset, but that wasn’t the point! they hadn’t listened to the content, just the volume. is this always the case? the sign writer seems to have been leaned on to apologise, as he did, gracelessly; demanding to know if he had upset me, then cutting me off with his ‘well sorry if i did’. twice.
the afternoon was more subdued, between silence in one corner and apologies from the front (for herself and her examples, while she was talking about assertive behaviour no less) but possibly productive.
i can breathe!!!!!
this is the first wednesday of the wonderful new anti smoking laws. after passing up offers to go out for a few weeks before – why deal with smoke when i soon wouldn’t have to – i was beginning to wonder if it was a horrible mistake and laws were only changing in england. that was all i could find media on.
so i was a little nervous of disappointment tonight, as most of the household trouped up to the sly fox. on walking past a huddle of smokers on the pavement, i felt a strange mix of revulsion and elation. it smelt so bad, but could only mean one thing: they’re real, the laws are real, they’re being taken seriously, the day has finally come!
inside, the place became packed. many people i knew were there. i got many complements on my good old favourite red dress, and lots of attention for the collar i was wearing, with a double layer, red press studs and short spikes. several people wanted to know if i sold them. the frisson of alter ego discussion continued. a few people i didn’t know said hello to me, apparently because i was wearing a red dress.
i stood in the front area, which is quieter but usually so smoky that i hold my breath most of the time. i took a deep breath. i filled my lungs with air as clean as it comes in sydney. without turning my head, surreptitiously searching for the best pocket of oxygen. without measuring my breaths. without covering my mouth. without analysing, and dodging, wafts of smoke.
i danced without coughing, and without half my brain and one eye logging the precise location, probable path and reach of each wildly swinging cigarette in view.
i went home without stinking of smoke. when i go to bed without a shower i’ll be able to sleep without stretching my neck unnaturally so as to keep my nose as far away from my body as possible. when i take my clothes off i don’t have to dump them over the bath rail in a futile attempt at airing; i can put them in the washing pile without it stinking out my room and needing to be washed twice. i’ll wake up with no more goop in my head than i already would’ve had, and when i get up and have to put on the same coat i wore last night, i can do so without asphyxiating myself for a week, and generally smelling disreputable.
i can breathe.
gender and schooling
this one is a short tut paper from gender and education, a third year ed course that i did in 2005.
“Gender and Schooling: Still making the Difference?” attempts to abridge to two pages the entire history of attention to gender in Australian schooling since 1975. Some interesting though disparate points are raised, such as noting the role that increased retention had to play in many education reforms which have implications for gender, and that cutbacks under economic rationalism have reduced the ability of state schools to provide many services which are used predominantly by boys. These however are only treated perfunctorily, by way of introduction to the meat of the argument, which is a sharp critique of the current ‘boys in education lobby’ and in particular its claims that boys are the new disadvantaged, and that they are a clear group with distinct, separate needs which must be met in the interests of equality.
The article breaks its analysis of the presented arguments into four equal points by way of numbered headings: 1. lack of attention to class and race/ethnicity, 2. the untheorised nature of the position, 3. internal contradictions, and 4. failure to recognise gender politics. Although each of these makes valid points, I would instead shuffle them to display two more methodical, comprehensive and illuminating problems with the boys’ lobby’s claims.
The first is that gender is seen as essential. This means that the binary opposition of male and female is seen not as artificial, constructed and changeable but as natural, fixed and all-encompassing. It also allows all girls to be understood as identical in certain ways, while boys must be identical to each other, and necessarily different to the girls. The differentiating effects of ethnicity and class are not taken into account, and though this article does not mention it, neither are those of differing ability, sexual preference, sexuality, experience, inclination or the perception of any of the above.
From such a problematic premise, many more conclusions are presented as perfectly natural. Of late people are anxious to deny overt sexism, but the current doctrine ‘different but equal’ isn’t far off in service to essentialism. The ‘fundamental platform of difference’ is countered with a symmetricality which, far from tempering it, obscures any opposing thought of the structural, historical and political disadvantage of girls, heavily theorised and evidenced by feminism and still being fought. This allows the playing field to be artificially set as equal, for a competition of victimhood fought on personal needs extrapolated to compulsory stereotypes, and conflated with failures which are only relative to each other. The lobby relies on this simplified view of the world to allow the subsuming of more complex feminist strategies as its own.
The second fundamental problem is with the remedies the lobby proposes. Notwithstanding the value of many of the initiatives for various students, each is an unconnected response to a symptom. In a ‘predictable hegemonic response to uphold traditional male advantage’, the underlying structures are not addressed; they promise to reveal disadvantage as a feature of almost any group but boys. And the solution to the problems of so many of those falling within the category ‘boys’? Not nearly so simple or so reassuring.
This article contains many important points on the structures and demands of contemporary arguments about the education of boys, though they are presented in haphazard connections. In doing so, it implies a way of considering the issues which may, more than just appraising the situation, help to remedy the problems which lie below the hype.
kate's adventure 