All a man needs out of life is a place to sit ‘n’ spit in the fire.

Author: Jim (Page 14 of 51)

Father of 4, Engineer, Social Worker, longtime blogger, #linux user. Opining on the internet? What else is it for?

Men, I need to have a word with y’all

On Mother’s Day, the comments floating around the internet, at least the comments attached to actual identities on Facebook and social media, universally praise mothers. “Mom, I love you!” “Mom, you’re the greatest!” “Mom, you’ve done so much for us!”  And they post touching stories and pictures. It’s lovely.

Then there’s the dark anonymous internet where this gets passed around. Watch it. I’ll wait.

It’s okay to laugh. It’s funny. Misogynistic humor is the best humor.

So men say one thing when they think women are listening, and another when they are alone. I am a man, I know it happens. And this funny video, and it is funny, encapsulates every snide comment that men will make to each other when we don’t think women are listening. The fact that it is hilarious, and it’s Bill Burr, the philosopher poet of our generation, or perhaps any generation, validates our opinions, maybe even giving us the courage to repeat it out loud.

Men, I need to have a word with you all. Have a seat here, and let me explain something to you I feel you are not understanding.

This particular bit uses the comedic device of taboo and double entendre. Bashing motherhood as the hardest profession is taboo, of course. He also twists up the word difficult focusing solely on the physically demanding. In debate, I suppose one might call that a red herring, as it has no bearing on the argument. We are comparing two things linked only by the double meaning of the word “difficult.” Haha, I get it. That’s funny. Men, stop repeating it. You’re embarrassing yourselves.

Now look over here. Right here. I’m not going to explain this again. Motherhood is difficult, but not for the reasons that Bill Burr says, and not for the reasons you might think.

Motherhood is hard, because for so long, women didn’t have a choice about it, and still have only limited choices to this day. No matter a woman’s gifts, whether she posses the abilities and talents to be a math wiz, musical prodigy, skilled artist, brilliant linguist, promising scientist, skilled engineer, extraordinary doctor, principled lawyer, or honest public servant, she is tacitly corralled into being a mother. Our entire society is tipped toward that end. It may be inclined less than it was in previous decades, but don’t kid yourselves; women have fewer choices over their destinies than men do. They are bullied to think something is wrong with them if their life’s purpose does not include children, that if they pursue career over family, there is something wrong with them.

Men do not have this problem, do they?

Lots of smart fantastic motivated talented women are raising children instead of doing something else.  Or perhaps they are also doing something else, trying to have it all, but not advancing as well as their male peers, who are more “dedicated.” There’s nothing wrong with raising children, of course, but the problem is that women are coerced into giving up their ambitions and  having their identities subsumed by their precious talented children, so that they may as well be invisible and frequently are.

Here, mothers, I have a special present for you. Have a special day. We’ll called it Mother’s Day, and everybody will recognize you for your hard work. But the work isn’t hard physically, it’s hard because we make you give up yourself to do it. May as well call it happy womb day!

I could stop there. But why? I can’t identify a problem and not propose a solution. Most of the focus has been on women’s empowerment, helping women recognize their rights, their abilities. There’s the “Lean In” crowd.  It’s all good, but I want to tack in another direction, one that addresses the simple fact that it’s a man’s world.

Men, managers, decision makers in business and in the general workforce do the following:

  • Help women juggle the responsibilities of parenthood with your workplace expectations – provision some plan for dealing with single parents, whether it be day care, activity buses, maternity/paternity leave, flex time, whatever. Treat woman and men as equal care providers. If Bill’s wife is giving birth, find out what their situation is and propose that Bill take some paternity leave so that she can get back to work faster. It will benefit us all in the long run. Make sure Bill is not impacted negatively for his paternity leave.
  • When another man leans over to you and says, “Will you look at the tits on that one,” to describe a female colleague, call him on it. Set the tone of the culture in your workplace. Previously you might have remained uncomfortably silent, but now I say to you, step up, even if it’s your boss – especially if it’s your boss.  If it’s your boss, make an HR complaint about a hostile workplace culture. And it is hostile, maybe not to you directly, but don’t kid yourself, that toxicity will get you sooner or later.
  • If you are a father, take on as many traditionally mommy roles as you can. Balance your wife’s life so that she can achieve her dreams and not sell them to only be a mother.
  • Advocate for the equal participation of women.  If you are a manager, mentor a woman, advance her career, take chances on her. Don’t expect that the issues that affect women are theirs alone to bear. They are yours to bear as well. Take up arms against these barriers as if they affected you and take a bullet for one of your female fellows. The internet likes to call this “white knighting.”  I like that, do it. Be somebody’s hero and help them enrich the world.

If there’s anything I hope you take away from this little piece it’s this: She loves being a mother, but that’s not all she is.  When society (men) expect that women be mothers and only mothers, that’s what makes it the most difficult job.

Dogs and Man and Cosmos

Loving the new show Cosmos with Neil deGgrasse Tyson. Today, episode two came to life.

The second episode of the new Cosmos began by detailing the ancient relationship between humans and dogs, how we co-opted each other to mutual benefit. Tamer dogs would get closer to the humans and be rewarded with scraps. Those dogs reproduced and the traits that allowed them to coexist with humans caused them to diverge from gray wolves. In turn, humans began to incorporate these new friends into their tribes, using them for hunting, watching, herding, etc.  It has been a fruitful collaboration ever since.

In modern times, a good many dogs are little more than companions to their human benefactors. They are rarely called upon to fulfill their ancient duties. These little doggies, yearning for the times of old, bark furiously at the postal worker, dig for ground animals in flower beds, and scavenge trash for treats. Mostly though, they languish with only the faintest primal ember still burning in their dark eyes.

Today though, our dogs returned to the lives of their ancestors.  An iguana, a big male, perched upon our fence and dared the dogs to do something. They barked and leaped throwing themselves at the high fence in a desperate frenzy. “Look, master, another meatbag wandered into our yard. Ooooo, I want it so bad!” They seemed to say.

I, however, wanted the racket to stop, and I didn’t need the impudent creature impregnating another female, thereby increasing the devastation his invasive species brings to Puerto Rico. I reached up and grabbed him. With my hand firmly around his big tail, I hauled him down twisting and squirming in my grasp.  His thrashings were so violent, I couldn’t hang on. Wow, that had never happened before. He was vigorous and strong and raced free along the fence seeking escape, rising up on two hind legs for maximum speed. Without hesitation, Lucy took off after him, through my spinach, over my basil and peppers where she ran over him twisting her body and grabbing him in her big powerful jaws.

Her blood was excited and I must say, I felt the rush of the hunt as well. Here was a worthy strong opponent, with a razor sharp tail lashing, its strong legs carrying it faster than I could go. And Lucy, 25 lbs of mutt, a funny mix between a rottweiler and dachshund, let her ancestors’ ferocity bubble to the surface.

“Git ‘im! Git ‘im! Lucy!” I yelled. “Good dog! Good dog!” My praise redoubled her efforts as she tore into the shoulder and neck of the six foot reptile. In that moment, I wanted its blood, and Lucy, oh Lucy, she was living the dream, hunting with her master. And her master was happy, and she had blood in her mouth and prey at her feet.

I reached in and grabbed it by the tail once more. It was now far more docile, injured and resigned to its fate. With a quick blow to the machete, I severed its spine taking off most of its head. They have such tough thick skin. I spent the next thirty minutes wallowing in iguana blood butchering the thing as Lucy stood proudly by. I had to put her inside, though, as I think she thought my manner inefficient and sought to speed up the task. “Master, you are doing it wrong. You are wasting blood, and I very much want to eat it. I want to eat that bag of meat that came into my yard, because they are delicious, and I love to eat them.” <- read this in Dug’s voice from the Pixar movie UP.

It’s funny, but only a few days before, we went outside and Lucy came trotting up. “Daddy,” Jaimito said, “Lucy’s hurt.  She has blood.”

I took one look at her panting and trotting playfully. “Jaimito, that’s not her blood. Look around the yard for an iguana carcass.”

As for today, the hunt, the kill, the butchering – we shall dine well, doggies, iguana fricassee is so delicious. You will be rewarded in accord with your ancient assistance.

La Cosecha

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Javier picking a peck of unpickled peppers. He crawled all over and under these huge pepper plants, selecting red ripe sweet ones for sofrito. I love this photo, the contrast of his reddish hair with the green and the fruit.

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Dat calabaza! A big green Caribbean pumpkin squash. We use them in tons of things, from beans and rice, as a soup thickener, as a soup, and yes, in pie. Delicious. This one weighed 37.5 lbs (17 kg)

 

Functions as Designed

I passed another tangled iguana carcass on the road today. There he lay, twisted and bloated, flattened in places, tire tracks decorating his thick hide. It got me to thinking how in those moments before his death, that that poor iguana had functioned exactly as he was designed.

His design is among the oldest on our earth. His kind have survived because, although primitive, they are effective. Their design is tried and true. I tried to picture the confidence on his face at the last instant of his life. “I got this,” he thought, as he stared down the barrel of fate, sure that his ancestors throughout the millions of years evolution would protect him. “I have not just prepared for this instant all my life,” he thought, “but for all of existence.”

“Bring it,” he breathed.

And then BAM, it was all over, his spine twisted, the vegetation of his gut splattered this way and that.

What went wrong? He stood his ground. He can’t be chased, because he wasn’t running. That big thing will stop, give me a sniff and then I will whip him with my tail, make a menacing sound and he will leave.  Or perhaps I will climb a tree. But no, this time the big thing did not stop.  The big thing came barreling down with nary a thought of satisfying its belly. In fact, it seemed not to notice me at all.

What do we do when our preparation does not yield the desired results, when it becomes irrelevant, when we function as designed for an environment that no longer exists?

Dilemmas

Asier will be turning seven, and the common theme in the family is that we like him just the way he is.

“Asier, I forbid you to turn seven.  I don’t want you to get older. I think you are perfect just the way you are,” I said chuckling.

“But, Daddy, if I don’t get older then I will never get married and have a family.”

“You have a good point, Asier. I guess we’ll allow another birthday… this time.”

Why Can’t I Have a Dream Where I Wrestle a Bear or Something

I’ve been having back spasms, knots that have been causing me a fair bit of discomfort.  It could be age, sitting too much, I don’t know.  All I know is that I haven’t been sleeping particularly well. My brain, in its attempt to work the pain into the dream world has seen fit to do so in a novel way.

I’m nine months pregnant. Sigh, in the dream I am so ready to give birth, to get this baby out.  Ugghh, the last month is the worst.

This is the second time I have this dream.

How come I can’t be doing something extreme? Wrestle a bear, cliff dive, hunt a buffalo. If I’m going to have back pain in my dream, it should be manly, I think.  Just sayin’.

Coffee Tasting with Laura

Did a little coffee tasting with Laura this morning.  I compared three different roasts of varying darkness and one store bought one.

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It was a mixed bag.  The store bought roast, Café Mami en grano (whole bean) was actually pretty good.  One of my roasts was burned. The lighter roast was fruity, but thin bodied. The final, the most recent batch, was chocolaty with a hint of fruit with a nice round body. I preferred it, but Laura actually picked the Café Mami store bought roast. I don’t know if I was swayed because I knew which was which. I trust her palette. Back to the drawing board.

Each demitasse cup had a tablespoon of grounds, over which I poured the just off the boil water and let it sit until the coffee was barely warm. I find that you get a the best sense of the coffee after you let it sit to almost room temperature.

Basil Forest

I have been toiling in my garden, mostly struggling, that is planting things and watching them die. I got sick and tired of fighting the weeds, the fungus, the sun, and I made a decision. If I would have weeds, let them be weeds I can eat, so I took the flowers of my basil dried them, and then scattered the tiny little black dots where ever they would fall.

I had had enough; to hell with you, garden. I had given up and was willing to try anything. And like having women throw themselves at you when you are taken, the damn things decided to grow. It’s like the things you want to grow know you want them to grow and don’t, and when you don’t care they seem to beg for your affections. That’s it, I don’t care about you either, you tomatoes, you corn, you zucchini. I don’t care about any of you. Are you buying this? Damn, I just jinxed it.

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