#First World Problems

My boyfriend hates raisin toast. He hates anything to do with sultanas or raisins or genetically modified super sultana-raisin hybrids (or whatever).

So, imagine me pulling a cafe style loaf of raisin toast from the shelf - spicy, and very thick. He pulled his 'Gah Face' at me, like I had agreed to house the Anti-Christ in our spare room.

"No! I want it!" Yeah, I reverted back to a five-year-old. You see, that's how far back my nostalgia for this humble loaf goes. Me and Mumma (and my siblings), waking up early for school, her making me a cup of tea and some raisin toast - before coaxing up the embers in the fireplace.

Later, it was just us in the middle of rural Queensland. I would wake up to an electronic alarm clock (yes, this was before children had mobile phones) and the "ERNH ERNH ERNH" would fill me with rage. However, my mother had been preparing classes since three in the morning, so I would hand her the sixth cup of tea and a slice of raisin toast meekly. My rage would be let out by watching cartoons - their violence sated me.

One day, though - and I remember this clearly, because I felt wholly betrayed - there were no cartoons. Every channel had the news. I was not happy.

"Mummy! My cartoons aren't on!"
"What's that?" she looked at the TV, "Oh."

Al Qaeda, I am to understand you killed hundreds (thousands?) of people, but I think you should answer to the trauma you caused millions of children. Because I have talked about this to many people my age, and they agree - you deprived them of their cartoons. You are monsters.

So anyway, I bought some raisin toast, and the decadently thick slices would not allow my toaster to turn on. I am twice traumatised.

Usurp the throne!

Oh historic day. Gillard glides into the role of Prime Minister so swiftly as to draw attention to the knife stuck between the ribs of her ailing predecessor. It's a fine line.

I think it's sad, and somewhat backward, that this is our first 'Female Prime Minister'. She clothes the ascent of a female to the democratic throne in the scent of Claudius.

The question remains: who is our Hamlet? And who exactly is our Fortinbras?

I don't need no babysitter

I, for one, am sick of my civil liberties being eaten away.

This proposed ‘child porn’ filter is a horrible idea. The deviants who are interested in such things are not stupid enough to use websites (http://) to share content. Anyone who knows anything about the internet other than just using Google knows this. So obviously, Conroy and Rudd have people telling them that it wont work. They know this filter isn’t to block child porn.

So why do they want it in place?

I’ll tell you what they’ll block initially: porn in all its forms (X-Rated porn is illegal in Australia), sites discussing euthanasia, games which are designed for those over sixteen, and other controversial material.

So you don’t like porn, you aren’t a fan of euthanasia, and you don’t play video games? That doesn’t mean the government should decide that no one should be able to access that material. And it certainly doesn’t mean they should make it illegal to view the blacklisted sites.

That’s the killer for me. It is in complete opposition of transparency. All citizens have a right to know what the fuck their government is doing with their country.

And today, I read this article. Now we are being fined for wanting privacy regarding our health. At fifteen, a minor can get their own Medicare card; which means they can see a doctor without their parents, retaining their privacy. I’m eighteen, and I don’t feel like being babied by my government.

'Feminine' shouldn't be a sexist slur

I don’t like to champion feminism. It’s a very one-sided view of things.

Regardless, I’m going to rage a little. I’m sick of ‘feminine’ being so static. I’m sick of womens’ femininity being treated in the same way the United Kingdom treated Eastern Asia about one hundred and fifty years ago – back when it was ‘The Orient’.

To be honest, I’m sick of people cementing gender divides (most of which are culturally constructed) in the name of feminism.

I’m supposed to be writing an essay on ‘care ethics’ – an idea which in and of itself is not bad – using an article by a female academic as a case study. She makes mention of this idea that ‘until recently’ the few female voices in moral philosophy conformed to the masculine ideas. Then calls ‘care ethics’ a feminine way of thinking about ethics.

Of course, there was the token ‘I know I’m generalising and this isn’t true for everyone’ line. It’s the academic ‘no offense, but…’

Let me explain ‘care ethics’ in layman’s terms. You know how there’s the cultural idea that if a kid wants something, they can ask the lenient parent – who knows the other parent wont let the child have it – instead of the strict one? The lenient parent is using ‘care ethics’. Lenient Parent knows the rules of the strict parent, and bends them to fit the situation.

This is apparently feminine.

Yeah, the only feminine moral theory acknowledged in the article is directly dependent on masculine moral theories to provide rules for the feminine theory to bend. Thank you Miss Academic, for setting us back fifty years.

This feminine way of thinking should be acknowledged as a cultural construct. It is a by-product of growing up in a society that favours the stay-at-home mother. And it still does, believe me. The Simpsons is arguably the most popular television show of the last two decades, and (surprise!) the main mother figure never went to college and is a stay-at-home mum.

From a very young age, we have been told what is expected of us. Girls like pink. Ladies don’t swear. Girls play with dolls. Mummy wears lipstick. You need to wear a dress and heels to a wedding. You’re my little princess. You can’t go out alone at night, you’re a girl. Girls have long hair. Girls are the gentler sex. And they go on, and on, and on.

If you step outside of these expectations, you’re daring the world to deny you your femininity.

You know, I don’t really give a shit if a guy tries to cement these constructs. It’s not that big a deal, you rise above it. But if an educated woman does it, without even a hint of irony, something is really wrong.

Woo update

About a year after I started this blog, I started another. I am going to revert back to this one.

Bam!