Bogwitch

memory ↘↖

On a somewhat serious note today because of a conversation the other day:

I am sure every girl can recall, at least once as a child, coming home and telling their parents, uncle, aunt or grandparent about a boy who had pulled her hair, hit her, teased her, pushed her or committed some other playground crime. I will bet money that most of those, if not all, will tell you that they were told “Oh, that just means he likes you”. I never really thought much about it before having a daughter of my own. I find it appalling that this line of bullshit is still being fed to young children. Look, if you want to tell your child that being verbally and/or physically abused is an acceptable sign of affection, i urge you to rethink your parenting strategy. If you try and feed MY daughter that crap, you better bring protective gear because I am going to shower you with the brand of “affection” you are endorsing.

When the fuck was it decided that we should start teaching our daughters to accept being belittled, disrespected and abused as endearing treatment? And we have the audacity to wonder why women stay in abusive relationships? How did society become so oblivious to the fact that we were conditioning our daughters to endure abusive treatment, much less view it as romantic overtures? Is this where the phrase “hitting on girls” comes from? Well, here is a tip: Save the “it’s so cute when he gets hateful/physical with her because it means he loves her” asshattery for your own kids, not mine. While you’re at it, keep them away from my kids until you decide to teach them respect and boundaries.

My daughter is `10 years old and has come home on more than one occasion recounting an incident at school in which she was teased or harassed by a male classmate. There has been several times when someone that she was retelling the story to responded with the old, “that just means he likes you” line. Wrong. I want my daughter to know that being disrespected is NEVER acceptable. I want my daughter to know that if someone likes her and respects her, much less LOVES her, they don’t hurt her and they don’t put her down. I want my daughter to know that the boy called her ugly or pushed her or pulled her hair didn’t do it because he admires her, it is because he is a little asshole and assholes are an occurrence of society that will have to be dealt with for the rest of her life. I want my daughter to know how to deal with assholes she will encounter throughout her life. For now, I want my daughter to know that if someone is verbally harassing her, she should tell the teacher and if the teacher does nothing, she should tell me. If someone physically touches her, tell the teacher then, if it continues, to yell, “STOP TOUCHING/PUNCHING/PUSHING ME” in the middle of class or the hallway, then tell me. Last year, one little boy stole her silly bandz from her. He just grabbed her and yanked a handful of them off of her wrist. When I went to the school to address the incident, the teacher smiled and explained it away to her, in front of me, “he probably has a crush on you”. Okay, the boy walked up to my daughter, grabbed and held her by the arm and forcibly removed her bracelets from her as she struggled and you want to convince her that she should be flattered? Fuck off. I am going to punch you in the face but I hope you realize it is just my way of thanking you for the great advice you gave my daughter. If these same advice givers’ sons came home crying because another male classmate was pushing them, pulling their hair, hitting them or calling them names, I would bet dollars to donuts they would tell him to defend themselves and kick the kid’s ass, if necessary. They sure as shit wouldn’t say, “he probably just wants a play date”.

I will teach my daughter to accept nothing less than respect. Anyone who hurts her physically or emotionally doesn’t deserve her respect, friendship or love. I will teach my boys the same thing as well as the fact that hitting on girls doesn’t involve hitting girls. I can’t teach my daughter to respect herself if I am teaching her that no one else has to respect her. I can’t raise sons that respect women, if I teach them that bullying is a valid expression of affection.

The next time that someone offers up that little “secret” to my daughter, I am going to slap the person across the face and yell, “I LOVE YOU”.

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You Didn’t Thank Me For Punching You in the Face « Views from the Couch (via golden-notebook)

When I was little & boys were mean to girls & I was told it was a sign of “like”, it never made sense to me.  I remember thinking, “That’s a bad way to show it.  If they’re really that dumb & don’t know any better, someone should tell them.”  I think I did a few times.  I know that one time in first grade I put one particularly rude boy who’d been at me all day into an arm-lock, after which he didn’t say boo to me for the rest of the year.

(via velocipedestrienne)

15 February 2012 • reblog: golden-notebook • culture women memory

The great mystery of memory is how it endures. The typical neural protein only lasts for a few weeks, the cortex in a constant state of reincarnation. How, then, do our memories persist? It’s as if our remembered past can outlast the brain itself.

But wait: the mystery gets even more mysterious. A neuronal memory cannot simply be strong: it must also be specific. While each neuron has only a single nucleus, it has a teeming mass of dendritic branches. These twigs wander off in every direction, connecting to other neurons at dendritic synapses (imagine two trees whose branches touch in a dense forest). It is at these tiny crossings that our memories are made: not in the trunk of the neuronal tree, but in its sprawling canopy.

This means that every memory – represented as an altered connection between cells – cannot simply endure. It must endure in an incredibly precise way, so that the wiring diagram remains intact even as the mind gets remade, those proteins continually recycled.

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The Persistence Of Memory | Wired Science | Wired.com (via ayjay)

Astounding.

2 February 2012 • reblog: ayjay • memory science

I used to have this up on my wall in college.  In my head I always thought of her as the Second Eve, but that wasn’t her real title.  I don’t remember the artist’s name, and I can’t find this picture anywhere online now.  But I was rummaging through my old things looking for stuff to put up in my library cubicle & there she was, still as kick-ass as ever. Edit: t-rexcellent found the artist! “Maiden”by Juha Harju (who also has a gallery here)

I used to have this up on my wall in college.  In my head I always thought of her as the Second Eve, but that wasn’t her real title.  I don’t remember the artist’s name, and I can’t find this picture anywhere online now.  But I was rummaging through my old things looking for stuff to put up in my library cubicle & there she was, still as kick-ass as ever.

Edit: t-rexcellent found the artist!

“Maiden”
by Juha Harju 
(who also has a gallery here)

10 January 2012 • Fifth North memory snake warrior women women

My junior year of high school Heather & I were co-editors of our yearbook, and we chose the theme of doors.  I’ve paid special attention to them ever since.  Now that you’ve been properly warned, don’t be surprised if you see more of them here.

My junior year of high school Heather & I were co-editors of our yearbook, and we chose the theme of doors.  I’ve paid special attention to them ever since.  Now that you’ve been properly warned, don’t be surprised if you see more of them here.

(via outdoorsanctuaries)

7 August 2011 • reblog: chasingthegreenfaerie • nature door photography memory friends

I wish I had a sill somewhere full of little bottles & vials

each holding the distilled essence of a significant moment in my life till now.  Because I wish I could return to them & taste them for all they really were, every nuance & color & feeling.  Faces & voices, the ambient sounds & scents.  Gestures, the specific density of the air, the varying intensities of light.  Everything that flashed by half-noticed at the time.  They were important moments, and I miss them.

22 July 2011 • journal memory

OH NO, I missed Canada Day!

Canadian flag sunset

Last year on Canada Day my friend Heather & I were in Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia & we had no idea that it was Canada Day until we decided to eat supper at a street restaurant owned by a guy from Nova Scotia who had poutine on the menu for just that one day, which we ordered, which was AMAZING, and we ended up talking to him for a while, and that’s how we found out that it was Canada Day (and also how I had poutine for the first time, oddly enough, in Mongolia).  Then we went back 3 days later on the Fourth of July & coaxed him into making poutine for us again, which may not have been the most patriotic thing for us to do, but whatever, close enough, and so delicious.

It’s no secret that I have a huge crush on Canada (based mostly on vague impressions, but nonetheless sincere).  Canada is awesome & rugged & kind of adorable.  It has great scenery & wildlife & cold weather & a good sense of humor, too.  And they put up with us (other) Americans pretty well, admit it.

In conclusion, I love you, Canada.  Hope I get to visit someday.
(Also, Mongolia, I miss you.  Hope I get to see you again.)

2 July 2011 • travel Canada Mongolia friends journal memory

Objects & Meaning

What gravity does a found object have that it draws meaning into its orbit, draws significance to its heart? Or is it the other was around? Say, in passing through a certain place at a certain time, the meaning attracts the object and fossilizes it in a way, imbuing it with enough of the essence of that irretrievable place-time convergence, enough weight to summon up a sigh from within its finder, to call forth a long gaze, a saline glance, a thumb’s-worth of pressure and recognition, the acknowledgment of fingertips that this object is, and also means. It was there, it witnessed, it was with us when… And somehow, the moment curled around it and sank into it, fading into its tangibility, becoming. It was imprinted as we were; but secretly, gently, as if in sympathy. So we keep it with us for a time, as the coinage of memory, a ransom for whatever burden was taken from or given to us at the place & time of its origin. As we learn to know the object, we may begin to recognize the significance in its various facets. Or we may forget. Or we may release it willingly, scattering it free again. Or we may make it into something new.

– from forever ago, out of one of my little notebooks

11 February 2011 • notebook 1 memory

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Plays: 34 • Download

 

“Sound & Vision” - David Bowie

“Blue, blue, ‘lectric blue
That’s the color of my room
Where I will live”

This one goes out to Xiamen, Fujian, China.  I’m here for the third time in my life.  This fantastical city was my introduction to China several years ago.  Culture shock back then was what first compelled me to hang out with David Bowie, and I do not regret that at all.

5 July 2010 • music David Bowie China memory colors

I wish I could leave you certain of the images in my mind, because they are so beautiful that I hate to think they will be extinguished when I am. Well, but again, this life has its own mortal loveliness. And memory is not strictly mortal in its nature, either. It is a strange thing, after all, to be able to return to a moment, when it can hardly be said to have any reality at all, even in its passing. A moment is such a slight thing, I mean, that its abiding is a most gracious reprieve.

— from Gilead
by Marilynne Robinson

14 June 2010 • Gilead Marilynne Robinson literature memory

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“Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini: Variation 18” - Sergei Rachmaninov

I love this unconditionally.  When I was little, I would listen to it over & over.  It still has the highest play count on my iPod (from falling asleep with it on repeat).

3 April 2010 • music memory