Wifersize Wednesday: manly men, part 2

(click above image to read the ad)

Last week I posted about a turn I recently spotted in media: masculinity revived. Seems as if I wasn't the only one.

Heated debates here: The Inspiration Room, here: NY Daily News, here: WalletPop, to link but a few (including ones on websites called feministing.com, treehugger.com, and jezebel.com...natrually). Just type "dockers ad wear the pants sexism" into Google for more inspiration. You'll have your fill of "Does the Dockers ad campaign promote sexism? Click 'yes' or 'no' now!" banners.

Can't sexism go both ways? Haven't we been telling men to shut up long enough that they have forgotten how to speak up? Haven't we been telling them that they're stupid long enough that they've stopped giving their opinion? Haven't we been telling them that we're strong enough to do our job as well as theirs that they've let us?

(this can also apply to other "isms"...haven't we been telling our culture that youth prized above age so we are devoid of the wisdom that honouring the wise brings?)

When I read the Dockers print ad in the Metro on Monday, I was impressed. Impressed by its composition, impressed by its wording, impressed by its balls. I know this world would benefit from men who aren't afraid to be manly.

Just so we don't misunderstand each other: I'M ALL FOR EQUALITY. Equality does not mean sameness. I am equal to Andrew, but very (very) different. Andrew was the first to say that he didn't want to marry a pastor's wife, but a pastor. We are equally strong, ambitious, creative, educated, and opinionated. We plot together, plan together, produce together, and promote each other. But I love it when Andrew wears the pants.

Last night, for Tuesday Date Night, we caught "The Young Victoria" at the Revue Cinema. Emily Blunt and Rupert Friend do a tremenous job of portraying the young marriage between Queen Victoria and Prince Albert. It's not without its feuds over gender roles. Imagine, instead of who wears the pants it's who wears the crown! And yet their hope for a solid union - in marriage and reign - was in allowing Albert to be more than a first-class servant boy, and instead a man, a husband, and a father.

Foto Friday: nylons + dried lavendar = scented drawer sachet

Sachet. I wonder how many guys reading this blog just stopped reading. Join us next week for another Wifersize Wednesday, boys! I know you read it, because you're making notes about how women think. This is where to get the inside scoop.

OK, back to sachets. I came across this idea goodness-knows-when (it might have been from my mother originally...if so, THANKS MARM) and have always wanted to try it. Last Saturday I did, and discovered it to be a pleasant and easy experience.

Here's what you'll need:

1. A pair of nylons (I refuse to use the word pantyhose because it makes me involuntarily puke). I bought my nylons at the Dollarama. They don't have to be top quality. We're not competing for ice dance in them.
   
   
2. Dried lavendar. My husband planted a vegetable/herb garden in the backyard last summer and we had lots of lavender left over to dry. Other sweet or spicy dried herbs will work, but stay away from using anything too savory. No one wants their sweaters smelling like crushed chilies.
   
   
3. Scissors.
   
   
4. A bowl for the herbs. Things tend to get a little messy/dusty.

First, cut the pantyhose, or NYLONS, into segments about 4-5 inches in length. Depending on the bulk and amount of herbs you'll be using, you might want to give yourself more room. Remember, you'll be using part of that length to tie a knot or two.

Then dump the dried lavender into a bowl (it's surprising how much lavender crushed down into so little).

Jam as much lavender into a segment as you can, starting with the toe. For middle sections, tie a knot first to form a base for the sachet and then jam the lavender in. I found it useful to make a pocket like this:

Tie a(nother) knot to close the pocket and voila! a lavender-scented sachet to use with your clothes, lingerie, towels, winter storage, etc. Just don't bother giving one to your husband. I offered a few to my husband and he asked me if I thought he would enjoy smelling of lavender. He did a fairy-like high kick along with the question, so I assume it was rhetorical.

Finished products will look like this:


If the sachet looses its scent after a while, try crushing it in your hand to release more scent. Accompany with fairy-like high kick.


Oh, and dogs seem to like the smell of lavender, whereas cats do not.

Wifercize Wednesday: men, men, men, men, manly men, men, men...

Anyone have the theme song to "Three and a Half Men" in your head?

I noticed an odd trend while perusing Superbowl XLIV's ads (because we all know they make two teams wearing tights and shoulderpads to duke it out over a major holiday weekend just to satiate my advertising needs). It seems as if the new definition of manliness is to be slightly hen-pecked, but complain about it.

Men Without Pants, Dockers

Tagline: "Calling all men: it's time to wear the pants."

Injury Report, FLO TV

Tagline: "Change out of that skirt, Jason."

Man's Last Stand, Dodge

Tagline: "...and because I do this, I will drive the car I want to drive."

Journey to Comfort, Nivea

Tagline: "Now that you're comfortable with who you are, isn't it time for comfortable skin?"


Though laughing, I couldn't help but notice that there was something in each of these videos that made me feel unsettled. Men: are things really that bad, or do you jest? Women: do we really want our men to go bra shopping with us?

It reminds me of a great song by Alanis Morissette (SHE DOES HAVE SOME GOOD SONGS) called A Man, in which she sings out against (that's right: against) hostile feminism. Some of the lyrics are:

We don't fare well with endless reprimands
We don't do well with a life served as a sentence
This won't work well if you're hell bent on your offense
I am a man who understands your reticence

I am a man who still does what he can
To dispel our archaic reputation
I am a man who has heard all he can
'Cuz I don't fare well with endless punishment

I remember finding these lyrics during my own gender war, where I was trying to figure out if I was mad at men for being too manly or mad at men for not being manly enough. Not to mention trying to figure out what "manly" actually was. What I knew was that, as women, we had to take our influence seriously: for the most part, the men I knew were complying with our demands for equality, respect, and honour but also allowing the pendulum to swing so far in its compensation that they also felt maligned.

There are so many schools of thought on the issue, from Eldredge to Driscoll to Meyer to Cunningham to my own husband, Andrew. All of these are Christian references, however, and ones that I'm used to discussing in a church context. Interesting how the Superbowl, geared towards male camaraderie, inspired secular companies to humourously address the same issue.

Are our women too womanly? Are they too manly? Are men too manly? Are they too womanly?

Personally, from a ministerial perspective, and as a woman, I LOVE the Hillsong Men's Conference promo videos:

fruit of self-control

It started this morning when I read over someone's shoulder that 32-year old Adam Giambrone, city councillor, TTC chair, and mayoral hopeful, publicly admitted to engaging in multiple "intimate relationships" other than with his live-in girlfriend, Sarah McQuarrie. Bummer.

I've written on political sex scandals before, as well as how things should be done, but, to be honest, I'm tired of even hearing about it. Sex scandals have become ubiquitous.

My own opinion of Giambrone has been altered little (as a TTC patron I had hoped for improvements, not fare hikes), but still I'm saddened. I'm sad for my husband, who admired (perhaps vicariously) Giambrone's young ambition, I'm sad for the politicians who had supported his run for mayor, I'm sad for Sarah McQuarrie, I'm even sad for Kristen Lucas - the U of T student involved in one of the affairs. In my opinion, no one wins.

I'm sad for Giambrone. It seems that the self-control he lacks has plagued him for a while. Last year he was in the news for a "hastily-composed email" he sent to a fellow councillor:

“Stop messing in my ward or there will be problems. I generally ignore your actions, but I am going to start looking for ways to cause trouble for you and when I start you’re not going to appreciate it.”

I thought we outgrew this behaviour in grade school. Bummer.

Later this morning I came across news that legendary guitarist John Mayer had created a stir in the news after recently giving a candid, yet sordid, interview. He then tearfully apologized. But much like Giambrone, it was not his first brush with vulgarity. His interviews interviews and antics have become increasingly distasteful. He admits that he "fell into a wormhole of selfishness, greediness and arrogance".

A few months ago I wrote about etiquette and the lost art thereof. At the heart of etiquette, or common decency, is self-control. Andrew and I call it "the filter". Filtering out what shouldn't be said or done and allowing what should. It's not just a case of battling against your urges, appetites, and bad habits for the sake of piety, or points, or good karma. That's an exhausting, never-ending, and ultimately backfiring solution. I know: bummer.

The reason we make stupid decisions is because we're trying to fill a lack. We don't need to let off steam in emails, or let loose in office daliances, or let a "quest to be clever" dictate our vocabulary, or let ourselves run up on stage and grab the mic to voice our opinions... What we need is a dose of being told we're better than those things. That we'd be OK - we'd still be loved, admired, satisfied, understood - if we didn't do those things.

The lives we envy are lives governed by self-control. A happy marriage, a successful career, and a sensitive conscience are just by-products.

"Everything is permissible"—but not everything is beneficial. "Everything is permissible"—but not everything is constructive. Nobody should seek his own good, but the good of others.
(1 Corinthians 10:23-24, NIV)

"A bit in the mouth of a horse controls the whole horse. A small rudder on a huge ship in the hands of a skilled captain sets a course in the face of the strongest winds. A word out of your mouth may seem of no account, but it can accomplish nearly anything—or destroy it!"
(James 3:3-5, The Message)

Carter Duryea: "Dan, you seem to have the perfect marriage. How do you do it?"
Dan Foreman: "You just pick the right one to be in the foxhole with, and then when you're outside of the foxhole you keep your d**k in your pants."
Carter Duryea: "That's poetic."
("In Good Company")

wifersize wednesday: passive aggressive

In our upstairs bathroom there is a wastebasket. Well, there was. It's impossible to discern where the wastebasket once was since what once filled the wastebasket has now completely overcome and subdued it. It's a volcano of makeup pads, balled up Kleenex, empty toilet paper rolls, hair balls, and Q-tips.

No other garbage receptacle in our house is as mismanaged. It seems as if both Andrew and I are patiently, stubbornly waiting for the other one to break down and empty it.

Once, after I carefully balanced another object on the mountainous pile of waste (it's almost beautiful...like an art installation), I asked Andrew (who was in the bedroom):

"Question. Do you just keep using this wastebasket in hopes that I'll get fed up enough to take it out one day?"
"Uh, yeah."
"Oh. Me too."

In all honesty, Andrew (eventually) empties it about as many times as I (eventually) empty it (which, given the year that we've lived in the house, is approximately one time each), and we chuckled after learning of our bathroom-wastebasket-stalemate. But how often do we use passive aggressive behaviour to get someone to notice, affirm, pity, or perform for us?

There's a website dedicated to it, if you're interested, called passiveaggressivenotes.com. Browsing it today reminded me of the episode of The Office where Pam leaves a note on the office microwave that reads:

"The microwave is a SHARED kitchen appliance.

By not cleaning it up, you are basically telling whoever follows that their time is less valuable, as they will have to scrub out your disgusting splatter.

Sincerely,
Disappointed"

and of the email I sent out just this morning to our all-staff email address:

Could the salt & pepper-napper please return them, unharmed, to the communal kitchen where we can all use them? If you’re looking for a personal set, check here: http://www.custommadeart.com/HortonBeverlyShakers01.htm

Ta ta!
S.

which, ashamedly, is not the first (nor, I suspect, will be the last) passive aggressive email I have sent from reception. I mean, how difficult is it to load a dishwasher, people? How much easier could we possibly make the process? It already WASHES YOUR DISHES FOR YOU.

Probably the best example of palatable passive aggression is public transit. The bus arrives and after waiting over 20 minutes in the freezing cold, or spitting rain, or blistering heat, the doors whoosh open and five hundred irritated commuters shove towards it. But slowly. Almost...politely. As if to say, "So help me, 80-year old woman, I am going to get on this bus and I sure as heck think you're standing well enough out here that you won't need to steal a seat from me once I'm in there, but, BY ALL MEANS GO AHEAD OF ME. I INSIST."

The Wiki definition states that passive aggressive behaviour

"can manifest itself as learned helplessness, procrastination, stubbornness, resentment, sullenness, or deliberate/repeated failure to accomplish requested tasks for which one is (often explicitly) responsible. It is a defense mechanism, and usually only partly conscious"

which is only partly comforting, since it's only partly conscious. But the fact that it's recognized as a defense mechanism is much more helpful. If we spent as much time working out why we are in distress (a wise woman often reminds me: "The issue isn't the issue.") as we spent concocting passive aggressive language, habits, games, and notes we'd probably be better off. And our spouses would know exactly what they're dealing with...instead of having to guess.

I'm guilty of passive aggression on occasion (partly conscious, I assure you) but I've realized that straight forward conversation usually gets the job done faster, and with 87% less feigned smiling. When I get upset by something Andrew does or says (or doesn't do or say), the least I can do is honour him and the honesty of our marriage by telling him that I'm hurt. As an added bonus, I might work out what the issue is behind the issue.

If I'm feeling extra wiferly, I'll even empty the upstairs bathroom wastebasket.

stressbuster

Does anyone else find that the new year brings a new outlook on life? I find that January, much like June (my birthday) and September, is a sorting month. If life is like a desktop, the new year gives me a chance to pour myself a cup of tea, play some vintage jazz, set aside an hour or two, and work from one side of the desk to the other - until everything is organized in tidy piles, colour-coordinated Post Its, detailed To Do Lists, and an overflowing recycling bin.

I found a few interesting articles that talk about responsibilities in the new year, and how to slim your tasks down to a more manageable size. One of them, from the Harvard Business Review, outlines the fine art of saying "no" which I find is generally lost in modern society. Not "no" to the good things, the helpful things, the useful things, but "no" to the things that are incidental or motivated by guilt. Saying "no" has been as useful to me as saying "yes"(to the right things) in my quest to maintain a healthy, balanced schedule.

I also came across this mental state matrix which not only is fun to stare at (I have a thing for matrixes...matrixi?) but also can help with how and when to say "no", and how to understand your stress level based on the element of uncertainty and patience available:


Similarly, an article in the Globe & Mail reviewed a book by John Freeman called "The Tyranny of E-Mail". In it, Freeman quotes an anonymous commenter who warned President Theodore Roosevelt in 1905 that "the stenographer, the typewriter, and the printing press are invaluable agents of civilization, but they have their drawbacks. They have inundated us with a plague of words." And, I'd add, duties.

One of Freeman's tips is

Don't check your e-mail first thing in the morning or last thing at night. It just stirs up worries, and erodes boundaries between personal and work life.

As for me, I'll be taking Monday nights off, spending Tuesdays exclusively with Andrew on date night, and making myself get out of the house on Saturdays to see the city and meet with people for some quality face time. Without a time limit.

Don't be surprised if you can't reach me by phone or email. It's not personal. I'm just working on my Mental State Matrix.

30 before 30: 4 months and counting

I've been chronicling a list I came up with three years ago entitled "30 before 30": a list of 30 things I wanted to do before I turned 30. If you'd like to see its progression click here for the original, and here for the follow-up.

I turn 30 in 130 days.

Let's review, shall we?

1. Take dance lessons again.
   Since I now head up the dancercession team that dances with the Freshwind Band when they lead worship, I think I can check this one off. Us in action.
   
2. Get my driver's license.
   I applied for my G1. Again. But I still haven't done my driving test.
   
3. Perform in live theater again.
   Does preaching count?
   
4. Visit ESL teacher-friends in B.C.
   They came to visit me...but we didn't connect. There's still time, I suppose, in 130 days.
   
5. Watch the Nutcracker live.
   I should have reviewed this list prior to Christmas. I still haven't seen the Nutcracker.
   
6. Organize and attend a 10 year DTS reunion at Holmsted Manor.
   Hooray! My first real "check"! We just pulled this off last weekend.
   
7. Attend a Coldplay concert.
   Viva la Vida tour: check!
   
8. Visit my grandparents in Halifax, Nova Scotia.
   Last Thanksgiving weekend: check!
   
9. Take vocal lessons. Preferably jazz.
   Still a goal of mine but doesn't look like it'll happen in the near future.
   
10. Upgrade my B.A. to an honours.
    I researched this not once, not twice, but THREE TIMES and didn't follow through with any of them. In the end, I'm now researching taking creative writing courses instead. Since I like to creative write.
    
11. Promote 24/7 Prayer (preferably a Boiler Room) in Toronto.
    Ran 24/7 Prayer room in 2008: check! On 24/7's provincial team: check! Still technically on their national base team, but MAN! it's been a while since I've been to a meeting...
    
12. See my grade 6 teacher, Miss Huberts, again.
    An email counts, doesn't it? Check!
    
13. Visit the twins I used to babysit, Dylan and Taylor, when I was a teenager.
    Adding them as Facebook friends and messaging them counts, doesn't it? Check!
    
14. Find my pearl earrings.
    What a weird list. Didn't find them, but my amazing husband purchased me new ones.
    
15. Finish my tattoo.
    Ouch. Forget it.
    
16. Get into the habit of saving regularly.
    We're practicing "10/10": 10% for tithe, 10% towards savings, every paycheck. And we're saving $20 from every paycheck and putting it in a baby account for the future. Check!
    
17. Write and publish a book.
    Writing one: check! Published: uncheck. Stay tuned.
    
18. Host a proper, large-scale house party. At my own house.
    Oh so many to count... Check!
19. Do a wine tasting tour in Niagara.
    This was the first one to be checked off: Andrew surprised me with a tour for our 1 year anniversary only two months after I made this list. Check!
    
20. Get a credit card. Use it wisely.
    Three! Check!
    
21. Spend one weekend in seclusion and silence away from the city.
    I've done Encounter weekends, camping weekends, bachelorette weekends, and trips overseas which were all away from various metropoliseseses, but they weren't spent in seclusion. Perhaps I can pull this off before my birthday?
    
22. See Venice and Florence.
    Sob. Not yet.
    
23. Do a day at the spa.
    Andrew and I spent the day at the Elmwood Spa just last month. Delicious. Check!
    
24. Read The Brothers Karamazov by Dostoevsky.
    What th-? Why did I include this, of all novels? Uncheck. Uninspired.
    
25. Volunteer with a homeless ministry downtown.
    Over 20 hours of volunteering a week, but not with a homeless ministry downtown. More like a homefull ministry in North York and the Junction.
    
26. Do a Healing Week.
    As a premarital gift. Check!
    
27. Go on a trip with each of my brothers, specific to them.
    Hey. What a cool idea. Adding to my short-list for the next 130 days...
    
28. Scuba dive.
    Thought I would want to on honeymoon but, SURPRISE!, I ended up preferring lounging on the beach, sleeping, eating, and...other. Happily unchecked.
    
29. Promote and support local artists, musicians and performers.
    I suppose my good friend Nicole pulled this off better than I did. I'm going to check off it anyway. IT'S MY LIST. Check!
    
30. Get married.
    Checkity-check-check!
    

I'm at a 50% (generous) success rate but I'm happy with that. I've accomplished more than I thought I would (or could!) have by this age and I'm coasting into my 30s with a confidence, a joy, and a strength that I never had in my 20s. In the meantime, I think I'll try to knock off #2, #4, #21 and #27 before June 2, 2010. For fun.

Lists aren't simply for those who get a kick out of check marks (not that there's anything wrong with that...) but they're also a great way to gauge progress and the process that gets us there. If you feel inspired maybe you can write your own "30 before 30" list.

Just make sure Dostoevsky isn't on it.

"If you aim at nothing, you will hit it every time."
- Zig Zigler

“If you set your goals ridiculously high & it’s a failure,
you will fail above everyone else's success.”
- James Cameron, via @andrewgazaneo

"Much stronger and wiser now I'd like to mention."
- Nicole Evans, candy store clock