There have been a number of high profile stories in the news lately about what happens to unsold items at stores, especially chain stores. Like reports on clothing chains which slash clothing and dump it in bags on street corners, bookstores which strip covers and dumpster unsold books, and so forth.

Anyone who has ever worked in retail would hardly be surprised by these stories. Hell, I’ll confess to having done some cover stripping in my day.¹ The fact is that not everything you order sells, although you can try very hard to move as much product as possible and to order wisely to minimize wastage. And once it’s been sitting around in a store for a while, the distributor usually doesn’t want it back. This is especially true with things like clothing which are only deemed saleable in a limited time period, like a season.

Hence. Retailers are left with unsold product and they need to get rid of it. What’s interesting to look at, though, is the way in which they get rid of product. Small businesses generally tend to donate it, taking a tax writeoff for the donated items or working out some other sort of arrangement. I’m a big fan of this method of disposal, for a number of different reasons.

The first is that many small organizations are really in need of donations, and they can benefit in a major way from being given free stuff. These groups can hand out donations to their clients, providing them with access to things they might not otherwise be able to have, and sometimes they can resell those items at thrift stores they run and so forth. Giving back to the community by helping out charitable groups is pretty much a good thing, in my book.

The second is that it’s environmentally friendly. The alternatives are return, if it’s accepted, which involves expending energy to package and ship the products, or dumpstering, which is just sad. There’s no reason to throw perfectly usable goods away, especially since most people are doing that already. Keeping usable durable goods out of landfills is a pretty great thing, even if you have to modify the goods in some way to get credit from the distributor for unsold products.

Third and final, I think that it creates a positive relationship with the community. If it’s known that a business tries to find local recipients of unsold products, it reinforces the idea that the business cares about the community and wants to be involved in community programs and projects. It’s always good to build up some credentials in the community, because you never know when they might come in handy. Especially in small communities, reputation really will make or break a business.

Larger businesses, primarily chains, tend to destroy/dumpster products they don’t sell. This is because it’s company policy. There are a variety of reasons why it might be company policy. For example, they might have a deal worked out with a distributor which says they get full credit for unsold goods, as long as they destroy them, and this is more advantageous than a tax writeoff for donating unsold goods. Or they might be worried about  liability; if someone gets injured going through the free box, for example, they might sue, because, well, suing is what we do best here in the United States, it seems like.

Some of these companies really are interested in building good public relations. So it’s weird that they don’t use a clear opportunity for building relations because they’re worried about the bottom line and the bottom line says it’s better to shred winter jackets and dump them on a New York street corner than it is to donate those jackets to a homeless shelter.

So.

How can we fix this? Clearly, we need to promote donation of unsold goods by incentivizing it, and finding a way to make it a natural choice for companies, especially chains. Maybe this requires leaning on distributors and parent companies to encourage changes in company policy. After all, if the distributor doesn’t care what happens to the product, as represented by the requirement of proof of destruction, then why should the distributor mind if the products are donated? Perhaps distributors could be convinced to accept receipts of donation as proof of disposal, and give a full credit that way, with a measure in place to prevent the company from using that donation receipt to also claim a tax deduction.

And perhaps companies could be reminded of the importance of public relations. It seems very peculiar to me that some companies will donate funds to communities with one hand while shredding unsold products with the other. Why not connect the loop there? Why not make donation of unsold products, whether or not there are financial benefits, part of a company’s overall charitable donations program?

It’s a mind-boggling number, but the World Resources Institute claims that 80% of the Earth’s natural forests have been destroyed. Almost three quarters of the plant and animal life on Earth is found in forests, some of which are extremely fragile ecosystems. Not only that, but some are truly unique; there are patches of forest which are so special that the conditions there are not replicated anywhere else. These areas are dangerously vulnerable because they host plants and animals which have evolved to survive in a very unusual environment, and once that environment is gone, there’s nowhere else for them to go.

80% is a whole lot of trees. It’s a number I honestly can’t even begin to wrap my head around, because it’s just so very large. I can understand it on an intellectual level, I can even look at satellite photographs illustrating deforestation in action, showing what’s going on now and how much has vanished in the last decades, but it doesn’t quite sink in. It’s too vast for me to fully comprehend.

Deforestation is a problem which has been going on in human societies for thousands of years. In fact, research has suggested that several societies may have met their downfall as a result of over exploitation of forest resources. Much of Europe was deforested, multiple times, and replanted. Very few nations, Japan among them, placed a early priority on retaining and protecting trees and recognizing that forests have value. Today, these few rebels have some of the world’s last truly natural forests, and they are under increasing pressure as people demand timber products and clamor for the space currently occupied by forests.

Trees are important. We’ve been using them as years for fuel, shelter, decorative arts. But their value goes beyond this. Deforestation is a problem on multiple axes, and it’s the consistent devaluation of trees as a resource with inherent value which has led to this state of affairs. There’s an assumption that trees only have value when they can be used, and this simply isn’t the case. Trees have their own intrinsic value, just by nature of existing.

Not just because they act as carbon sinks, although that’s definitely a role they play. Not just because they generate oxygen (actually, most oxygen comes from microorganisms in the ocean). Not just because they provide shelter to countless unique species which rely on the forest for survival. Not just because they’re pretty. Not just because they create unique microclimates, hold the soil down, trap water.

Some of the world’s most vulnerable forest also happens to be some of the most overexploited; that’s the luck of the draw, I suppose. Tropical rainforests cover an estimated seven percent of the Earth’s available land, but it is estimated that they may contain 50% of the world’s life. The rainforest is a cradle of biodiversity. It’s a treasure. It’s a unique resource.

And it’s in an area of the world which has been exploited for centuries, and continues to be exploited. Trees are destroyed to make way for agriculture. Soil which has taken centuries to build up is exposed to harsh weather and it blows away, ending up in rivers and, eventually, the open ocean. Species are destroyed every day, including species which we never even knew existed before they vanished.

Millions of indigenous people are displaced, and have their lives upended. Many of these populations stewarded the tropical rainforest for thousands of years, and actively played a role in the shaping of the environment in the tropical rainforest. The West has managed to destroy in a few centuries what took millennia to build. We could pat ourselves on the back for our efficiency, I suppose, but, really, the whole thing is rather horrific.

Combating deforestation is a tricky issue. One of the mistakes the West makes is imposing its values and beliefs on others. Now that the West has recognized that deforestation is a problem, we want to fix it our way, with our organizations coming in to run things. It’s worth asking if perhaps we would be better off allowing people to fix it their way. People who actually live and work in the rainforest might have better ideas when it comes to restoration, including ideas which will actually work in their communities.

The Western instinct is to close off to “protect.” That’s not really what the rainforest needs. In fact, it could probably benefit from the same careful human stewardship which shaped it all along. Getting indigenous populations back into their homelands and providing them with the support to re-establish is probably more effective than creating “conservation zones” and insisting upon leaving the forest totally untouched.

There’s been some recognition of the fact that indigenous peoples should be involved in rainforest conservation. But it’s worth asking why we are approaching this from a perspective of “oh, they ought to be involved” when perhaps it should be the other way around. Maybe we should be “involved” and we should let people who actually know what they are doing take point on this one.

In addition to restoring the rainforest, which is the stated goal, after all, this could go a long way towards restoring autonomy.

My pal Ouyang Dan from FWD/Forward has written two great posts recently talking about the way the public devours celebrity, and specifically about the way in which the public frames female celebrity. “The Public Consumption of Britney” is up over at Bitch Magazine, and “On Speculation and Boundaries…” was published at FWD after the unexpected death of actress Brittany Murphy.

Both posts stuck with me, and left me with some lingering thoughts and ideas about female celebrities, mental illness, and the way the public thinks about celebrity. Ouyang Dan has a way of doing that to me. Her words are insidious. They incubate in my brainmeats for a while and then BAM something explodes.

The thing about female celebrities is that they are very much viewed as public property. Yes, the public is possessive and proprietary about male celebrities, but not quite in the same way it is about women. Women who are prominent public figures are constantly scrutinized and held to very high standards. Every change in their appearance is noted and discussed.

Every pound lost or gained. Every hair cut. Every outfit. Every word that exits their mouths. Every bite eaten, drink drunk, dance danced. Every moment, from strong to vulnerable, concert stage to hotel room, is considered fair game. And the public very much acts in a way which shows that people think that they are entitled to literally devour female celebrities. When challenged on this, people push back with the argument that if they didn’t want this, they shouldn’t have become famous.

Yes, evidently if you don’t want to be picked apart by buzzards, you should not try to build a career for yourself. If you are a woman and you are a good speaker, writer, actress, singer, musician, artist, you should keep it to yourself. Expressing yourself means that you automatically sign a contract which says that you belong to the public and that the public can do as it pleases with you. The public can make you, break you, and then discard you.

You are, literally, not in control of your own body when you are a female celebrity. Hollywood is sometimes called a fishbowl, especially for women, and it’s a very apt comparison. No place is safe. There is no escape. Private phone calls, emails, conversations, all can potentially be used against you and all of them are.

This cannot be an easy life to live. I’m sure that there are some talented women out there who have seen this and opted not to showcase their talents because they don’t want to deal with it. We are probably missing out on some supercool ladies because those ladies know that this public consumption is not something that they are prepared for or particularly want to deal with.

Nowhere is this more apparent than when women who lead very public lives behave “oddly” in the opinions of their voracious public. Any erratic behaviour cannot possibly be due to random factors, stress about public scrutiny, or any other influences.

No, it must be because of drugs. Or mental illness. But probably both. Especially if you are a female celebrity and you die, get ready for the public to start performing an autopsy within seconds, despite lacking access to training, experience, or facts.

Very few female celebrities have openly discussed psychiatric diagnoses. Yet, many members of the public believe that a number of celebrities are in fact mentally ill, and seem to think that they have detailed information about the nature of this mental illness. They speculate quite freely on what diagnoses celebrities may have, and use their behaviour as armchair psychiatrists to decide what’s “wrong” with female celebrities.

Make no mistake: If you are a female celebrity, there is something wrong with you. If you’re not mentally ill, you’re a catty uptight bitch. If you’re not either of those things, you are greedy and selfish, looking for your next big opportunity. You can’t be a woman and be value neutral, and just exist, in Hollywood. There’s got to be an angle somewhere, and the public will decide what that angle is.

This plays into a larger issue about women, which is that they are all assumed to be “crazy” and people think that they cannot actually endure high-stress situations like those experienced by celebrities. The assumption is that any woman would develop mental illness if she was a celebrity because women are prone to mental illness, only a paparazzi snap away from losing their shit and becoming certifiable. And, of course, when you are being consumed by the public, the public will pick over your supposed mental illness in exhaustive detail.

It’s not entirely improbable that some celebrities do have mental illness. And maybe if we lived in a society where mental illness was less stigmatized, we would know about it because these women would be open about their diagnoses. They would freely discuss their mental illness and talk about the ways in which it interacts with their careers. But the fact is that we live in a society where mental illness is regarded as a moral failing and where members of the public feel quite free saying that people with mental illness are bad people who probably need to be locked up for the safety of the general public.

In that kind of world, what woman is going to admit to  having mental illness? And what celebrity, even in a psychiatric crisis, is going to say “yes, I am mentally ill”?

The rampant speculation which swirls around female celebrities in general makes me deeply uncomfortable, because it speaks to a lot of problems in our society. But the speculation in particular about psychiatric issues and drug abuse (some people might argue that drug abuse can be considered a psychiatric issue) makes me really upset. The idea that public ownership of celebrity extends even to private medical records is something that I really think we need to address.

Part and parcel with that comes the fact that we need to break down the ableism which surrounds mental illness, and start to force people to reconsider the way they think about mental illness, particularly in women. Not every woman who behaves “erratically” is mentally ill. Not every female celebrity has a mental illness. And mental illness does not make you a bad person.

It’s been about two months since I acquired my new vacuum, so I thought I’d have a check in. The short version of the story is that, yes, I am still happy with my new vacuum! Hooray.

Talking with my father about this the other day, I mentioned how one really doesn’t know if a new purchase was good until it’s been a few months. That gives you some time to actually use it, to notice little annoying things, to get the hang of it, to see how it feels. Of course, by then, if you hate whatever it is, it’s too late to do anything about it.

Some of the biggest purchases we make in life are things that we interact with only briefly before buying. A car, for example. You can take it on a test drive, but you won’t really know until you’ve driven it for a few months if you like it or not. A house. You walk through a few times, you poke and prod around, but it’s only once you’ve signed the paperwork and been handed the keys that you think to wonder why there’s only one outlet in the bedroom. All of these huge, momentous purchases, things we will live with for years, over in an instant.

Now, a vacuum is obviously a smaller scale item. I do, however, hope to be living with this vacuum for at least five years, so it would be nice if we can be friends.

But. Some things I have noticed.

• The beater/brusher bar is quite robust. So robust, in fact, that it has gone a bit squirrely with the carpet a few times. If there’s a loose thread (thanks, cat), the beater bar will grab it and “brrrrrrt” there’s a weird gap in the carpet, or a tuft sticking out. Because the beater bar is not adjustable, I could see how this might be a problem for people who actually care about their carpets¹.
• I don’t really like the way the cord is set up. The little loops that it winds around are set up in such a way that to pull out the wand attachment, the cord has to be totally taken off the vacuum. I am not explaining this very well. Basically, sometimes I just want to unloop a few loops of cord so that I am not tripping all over the cord. I can’t do this when I want to take the wand attachment out, because the cord tethers the wand attachment to the vacuum. Thus, I have to take all of the cord off and then it flops around everywhere and makes a nuisance of itself. Does that make sense? Gee, maybe I should make a video or something.
• The filter, which is supposed to dry in 24 hours, does not. I washed the filter in January and it took over three days to dry. Needless to say, this was extremely annoying because my floors got monumentally disgusting in the meantime. I may buy a second filter so that this will not happen in the future.
• I’ve noticed that it has a hard time picking up little nubbly things, like pieces of cat litter (thanks, cat!) and cat food (thanks, cat!). It will push them forward, but not necessarily suck them up. This mainly happens when the nubbly thing is in the margins of an area the vacuum can’t go; if it’s in, say, the middle of the floor, the vacuum picks it right up. If it’s near the wall or a bookshelf, though, no dice. It is kind of annoying, because I have to either pick up the nubbly thing, or nab it with the wand attachment.

That said, the Dyson is still really fun to use. I know that it sounds weird to say that about a vacuum, but there it is. It really does sort of push itself along, and it is immensely satisfying to see it picking up all sorts of stuff. The stuff then whizzes around inside the canister and it is delightful to watch. (Yes, I am weird, why do you ask?)

And it’s still really good at what it does. Granted, losing suction after only two months would be pretty irritating, so it’s not like it’s some sort of amazing feat that the vacuum is still performing well. Dyson doesn’t deserve any special points for making a product which continues to function for two months. But I do use it every day (see “three cats”). While my house is small, it can be a hairy place.

Speaking of cats, the feline members of the household still review the vacuum highly unfavourably. I’m not sure if they are just upset because the sound is different, or if there is something about the quality of the sound which they are not ok with. Loki growls at the vacuum when I take it out or put it away or do anything with it, really. The other day he got “stuck” in the kitchen and proceeded to throw quite a tanty because he was too terrified to run past me to get out of the kitchen.

Mr. Bell sometimes gives the vacuum a woeful look, as though he wants to be vacuumed, but knows that he will be unhappy if I actually do it. Obviously, since I brought the new vacuum home, it is my fault that he can no longer engage in one of his favourite activities, so he makes sure to look up hopefully when I open the closet and then glare pointedly when he sees that the Dyson has not magically turned back into the Hoover.

Shadow, of course, looks like someone pissed in his Cheerios all the time. That cat really should work for the IRS or something. He’s quite the auditor. He just glares sourly at everyone and everything all the time.

With an economic downturn, of course, comes an uptick in creative ways to survive. As always, some of these creative ways include scamming, and I’ve noticed a definite increase in reporting on scams among the various sites I read. What’s amazing is that the mechanics of scamming honestly hasn’t changed all that much, and one of the tools most commonly used for scamming is the phone.

Take this conversation I had on the landline:

*ring ring*

Me: Hello?

Dude: Hello, may I have the last four digits of your Social Security Number?

Me: Excuse me?

Dude: I need to verify who I am talking to.

Me: Who are you?

Dude: I need to verify who I am talking to, can you give me the last four digits of your Social Security Number?

Me: No.

Dude: This is very important.

Me: I’m sure it is. Can you tell me who I am talking to, and what this is regarding?

Dude: I need to…

Me: *hangs up*

I’ve gotten a few variants on this call lately. They ask me for part of my social, or my full name, or my street address, or my mother’s maiden name. One of these pieces of information alone isn’t that dangerous to give out, but together, they can be explosive. And I see no reason to give any of this information out to people who randomly call me and don’t identify themselves or the companies they are calling for.

But I know people who do.

So, Gentle Readers, it’s time for a round of scam avoidance with meloukhia! Because while most of you are probably pretty up on scams, and how they present themselves, I bet you know someone who could use a gentle nudge about how to avoid some of the basic scamming tactics. And it’s good to remember that the phone can be an enemy.

The thing is that a lot of companies like to do business over the phone. Sometimes that business is legitimate. So, you need to determine whether or not a phone call is legit. Sometimes it’s obvious. If someone is trying to sell you something, it’s not legitimate. Even if they say your car warranty is about to expire or you need to retrofit your house or you could get a cheaper mortgage by refinancing with them. People who try to sell you things over the phone, as a general rule, are not to be trusted.

But what about calls from people claiming to be debt collectors, or claiming to represent financial institutions? Someone called my father the other day claiming to be from Chase, which is indeed his bank, and luckily he wised up before he gave out any sensitive information. You don’t want to hang up on those people, or be rude to them, because there might genuinely be something you need to deal with.

So. Here’s what you do. If you receive a phone call which you think is about something legitimate, ask the person who is calling you for ou name, and the name of the company ou is representing. You might also want to ask which department the person is calling from. Explain that you understand that this may be a matter which needs your attention, but that you want to verify that this call really is legitimate. If it is, the person on the phone will understand.

Now. Explain that you are going to hang up and call back.

Hang up. If the person claimed to be calling from somewhere like your bank, pull out the documentation for your bank. Look up the number on that documentation. Call it. Explain that you got a call  from “Whoever in whatever department” regarding your account and you just wanted to confirm that there really was an issue. Ask to be connected to that department. If there’s an issue, voila. If the bank says “nope, no problems that we know of,” congratulations, you just avoided a scam!

If the person is calling from a bank you don’t recognize, or a debt collection agency, and claims to be calling on an account you have with them, don’t panic. Banks do indeed sell debts, credit card accounts, and so forth. So it’s entirely possible that someone calling from Bank ABC about the mortgage you thought was with Bank XYZ is actually legitimate, and your bank is slacking on sending you the notification paperwork to alert you to the fact that your mortgage has been sold. Explain to the person that you just want to verify some facts and call back. Ask for the name of the company again, the name of the person you are talking to, and the department.

Call the bank you think that the account should be with. If they sold the account, they will tell you who they sold it to, and they will give you contact information. You can call that company, explain that you received a call from them about your account and were suspicious, but now you’ve verified it. If your bank says that your account wasn’t sold, congratulations, you’ve just avoided a scam.

If, like me, you’ve been getting random calls from debt collection companies for someone who doesn’t live at your house, don’t panic. Sometimes they have outdated records, sometimes people give out the wrong numbers (I’m looking at YOU, Mr. Contractor Who Keeps Giving My Phone Number to Creditors), and sometimes they’re just scammers hoping to terrify you into handing over money or information.

Get the name of the agency, call them, and explain that you are receiving calls for someone who does not live at your residence, and that you don’t want to receive those calls anymore. And hooray, no more annoying calls from debt collection agencies for people who do not live at your house. If they keep calling you anyway, they are at that point breaking the law, and you can report them to the phone company, the public utilities commission, and the attorney general.

And, of course, I cannot recommend highly enough taking a gander at your credit report at least once a year to look for signs of anything suspicious. If you’re in the US AnnualCreditReport.com provides you with the free credit reports you are entitled to by law. Pretty nifty, eh?

It is dusk when we arrive in the town.

A single cobblestone street wanders crookedly, with dirt offshoots leading here and there, tilted houses built sometime in the last ten centuries but definitely not less than 300 years ago. The air is warm, with a hint of something crisp, and a handful of people are scattered among the tables in front of the cafe. This is where we must go, because you do not expect to spend the night in a strange town without going to the cafe first.

There are paper lanterns outside, winding their way among the tables without being obtrusive about it, shedding a soft light. People rustle newspapers and talk and look up, one by one, as we enter. We are an unknown quantity which must be investigated and explored. This is not quite the right time of year for any of the people that we could be, which means that there is a mystery which must be resolved to everyone’s satisfaction before anyone can disperse into the night and wander home.

We choose a table which is not quite in the middle, because this is presumptuous, but not so far at the margins that we seem hostile. Drifting to the counter, I order hot chocolate and a pain au chocolat. I notice that the hem on my pants is coming undone again, and the mirror behind the counter shows that my hair has started to do that annoying thing where a tuft sticks up in the back, like a crest, even though it was washed and brushed and neatly braided this morning. I look, actually, sort of like a California quail, and it is a resemblance which favours the quail more than it does me.

The air is faintly dry and dusty and there’s a thick, slightly musty, slightly sweet scent which I cannot quite pin down. It is tantalizing, and I lift my head to sniff, and someone smiles, and says something I cannot quite catch. We sit and talk, and gradually people drift over. I point at Fort Bragg on a map and someone has been to San Francisco and did we come from Paris (the airline tags are still on our bags)? Where are we going? Have we seen this museum? Would we like to visit the horse farm tomorrow? How long will we be here (the town, the country)?

This is a conversation which is carried on in multiple languages, with gesticulations when language fails, and at one point we are introduced to the mayor, who beams and welcomes us and shakes our hands. He gives me a handful of brightly coloured pastilles and I give him my Dick Tracy lapel pin, because he is captivated by it, and he beams and pins it proudly to his coat. “I love Dick Tracy,” he says, and I say “I do too.”

There is no pensione in the town, we learn. Several people offer rooms in their homes, but it is such a beautiful night that we cannot bear the thought of being indoors. There is much discussion and consultation. It’s not a bother at all! Someone has a spare room because his son is away, we could sleep there and it would be no trouble. No no, we really do want to sleep outdoors, truly! It would be lovely, if we could.

The mayor has the solution; we can sleep in the vineyard.

It is warm enough that we do not even need to set up the tent, we can simply roll out our bedrolls on the ground, and we do that and lie down and look up at the stars. I cross my arms behind my head and I stretch my legs and toes out as far as they will go and my ankle makes that little popping sound that it makes sometimes, when it is planning something nefarious.

The thing about traveling, is that while I love it, sometimes I also hate it. I hate not being comfortable in the language or the dialect, I hate trying to communicate across multiple language and culture barriers, I hate the press of people even as I love them, I hate the constant disruption and disorder, because I am an orderly person and I need things to be squared away. Travel is the opposite of squared away. I must surrender myself to it. Travel is like falling.

And thus, I am happy, but also tired. And we murmur quietly with each other and we smell the heady loaminess of the earth and the grapes, which are getting big and ripe on the vines. This vineyard has probably been here for hundreds of years, the vines we can see in the dim light are wizened and twisted.

I like old things, paradoxically. Although I crave order and even lines and neatness, I do not like things which are new. I like olive trees which are ancient and still producing, I like old drafty buildings, I like weathered floors. I like the passage of time and the weight of history which these things carry with them. I love to be surrounded by old things on a warm fall night in a town that has no name.

Our voices drift off and our breathing synchronizes and we could be any people, anywhere, sitting in silence at any time in history.

I know that when we get up in the morning, we will probably eat a bunch of grapes, and they will be dewy and slightly cool and highly refreshing, and then I will go rinse my hands in the standpipe, and then we will go to the cafe, and we will find something to do to repay the mayor for letting us sleep in the vineyard, and then we will wander on. But, for the moment, I can lie perfectly still and forget all of that and just. Be.

Please assume that this post contains spoilers for all seasons of Battlestar Galactica and also for Caprica.

One of the themes in Battlestar Galactica which I was really struggling with, as a viewer, was the God stuff. Because, boy howdy, there was a lot of God stuff. There was the faith followed by the majority of the humans, one based on a polytheistic religion which was pretty closely linked with that of the Greeks, and then there was the monotheism espoused by the Cylons, and by Gaius Baltar, who eventually turns into a monotheist prophet with a pretty big following.

At various points while I was watching the series, I said “you know, all the God stuff is really making me uncomfortable.” And I couldn’t quite put my finger on why and then, one day, I realized that the show actually contained some pretty great embedded commentary on the clash between religions, and on the Crusades. Yes, the Crusades had to do with clashes between two monotheistic religions, but there sure are a lot of parallels, both on Galatica and Caprica, especially when you get into talking about how history repeats itself and the same patterns manifest over and over. And once I got into understanding why the God stuff was there, I got a lot more comfortable with it and was able to delve into a bit, rather than just feeling stiff and resistant because it riled me up.

On Caprica before the fall, we have a model of a human society which predominantly follows the Gods of Kobol. However, it’s tolerant of other religious faiths, to some extent, and according to official policy. In a way, I see some parallels with Spain under Muslim rule; most notably, the idea that society is tolerant while the actual expression in fact is somewhat different. In Spain, there was definitely suppression of non-dominant religious faiths, and there were pogroms, so it might better be termed a truce which was uneasy at times, rather than the all-inclusive paradise it is sometimes made out to be. Which is exactly how it was on Caprica; the Gods of Kobol were supreme, and people with other ideas about faith definitely had to do a bit of sneaking around.

We also see the beginning of aggressive splinter factions of monotheists, exemplified in the character of Zoe, who literally dies for her faith. Zoe, of course, is the root of the Cylons, which explains a lot about their approach to religion in Battlestar Galactica, and she’s mirrored by the character of Gaius Baltar; another person who is raised in a polytheistic faith, who finds “the one true God,” and who is stirred by it.

In the Crusades, we had a situation in which faiths were clashing and members of one faith were trying to impose their values and beliefs on another. On Battlestar Galactica, the occupation of New Caprica is a pretty clear parallel. The Cylons are occupying “for the good of humanity,” in an attempt to lead them back to the path of righteousness since they have strayed. The Cylons are chasing the remainders of humanity across the universe because they care. Much as the Christian Crusaders descended upon the Middle East in waves during the Crusades claimed to care. Clearly, in both cases, these ostensibly selfless actions, of bringing enlightenment to the fallen, were wrapped up with some other issues.

And, of course, parallels have been drawn between the Crusades and the occupation of Iraq and Afghanistan by United States forces. The same claims are repeated; that we are occupying for their own good, that we are rescuing them from the darkness they brought about themselves, that by imposing our values on them, we can help them. Clearly, the occupation of New Caprica was meant to be a commentary on the involvement of the United States in the Middle East, but it also referenced and played with an even more ancient theme from the same locale in the form of the Crusades.

Like a lot of good science fiction, Battlestar Galactica was not afraid to embed commentary about modern society. And once I got to the point where I unlocked what was going on with the God stuff, I started to appreciate it for what it was. We live in a society today where there are huge cultural clashes related to religion, ranging from minority sects which are persecuted and attacked while they are just trying to do their own thing to majority ones which are trying to make the whole world conform with their values.

Is this something that we are just fated to repeat, over and over? And will religion continue to be used as the scrim to conceal the real motivations behind our actions?

I’m kind of inclined to think that this is the case. Religion is such a personal issue while at the same time being such a contentious and complex one that it’s certainly not going to subside. And as long as at least some religions preach that their way is The Way and that people not of that faith are doomed, we are going to experience clashes. Clashes between these dominant religions and more tolerant ones, including more tolerant sects within larger ones. Clashes between atheists, agnostics, and members of these faiths.

People will continue to fight and die over religion, to justify occupation with religion (whether in the literal sense or the metaphoric one; the United States clearly thinks it’s “bringing religion” to the Middle East even though it won’t say it), to be driven to acts of extreme desperation by religion. To repeat history.

The ending of Battlestar Galactica seemed to reflect the status quo into which some societies fall, in which polytheism is driven out by monotheism. But this isn’t the case everywhere, and that’s actually one of the things which disappointed me about the ending; it kind of seemed to reinforce the idea that the Crusaders (and their allies) were right all along. And the idea that, ultimately, monotheism will come out on top.

So, I recently watched the premiere of Caprica, which I realize has been out and about for a while, but what can I say, sometimes it takes me a while to get with the program. I will say that I liked it, and I am interested to see where the show takes me. It is really neat to see the backstory of the events behind Battlestar Galactica, and I feel like I’m getting so much more context now which will probably change the way I view the show when I re-watch it.

But I don’t actually want to review Caprica today. What I’d like to talk about is something which struck me while watching the show, because it’s something which has been bothering me for a long time.

How come no one is allowed to be a teenager on television?

The character Zoe is clearly supposed to be in high school. The actress who plays her is 22. Take a gander through the cast list of any high school show and you’re going to find a bunch of people in their 20s, and sometimes in their 30s. Now, I hasten to note, many of these folks are fine actors and actresses and I have absolutely nothing against them. But I wish I could see them playing, you know, 20 and 30 year olds instead of teenagers, and that I could see teen actors and actresses portraying teenagers.

Like, remember at the beginning of the Harry Potter movies, when Harry, Ron, and Hermione were played by age-appropriate actors? It felt weird at first because they seemed so young, but then I got really into it, and I was sad when the production started going slower than the actors were aging, so now we have people in their 20s whom we are supposed to believe are 17. And it feels equally weird for me as a viewer.

I think that this intersects with feminism in a major way because it’s playing into a larger social issue, which is that people are expected to be “grown up” as early as possible. And I know that all sorts of people have railed about this from all sorts of angles, but it bothers me. Having actresses in their 20s play girls in high school troubles me because I think it sends some kind of uncomfortable messages about sexual maturity; I look at Zoe on Caprica, for example, and view her somewhat as a sex object (that’s clearly the intent), even though I would not be comfortable with sexualizing a 16 year old actress. Seeing people in their 20s play people even younger sends a message that people should be sexually available at, say, 14, and that idea does not sit well with me.

And it creates kind of artificial ideas about what being a teenager is supposed to be like. You have actors without acne, with fully developed bodies, playing high school kids, and I wonder how it feels to be a high school kid right now. Even my classmates who were widely hailed as “beautiful” when I was in high school had acne, were growing into their bodies, were maybe a little bit gawky. They had a slightly unfinished feel, and they sure as hell didn’t look 22. There were some folks who looked older developmentally who still didn’t look like they were in their 20s.

We talk about impossible beauty ideals in feminism a lot, like the widespread airbrushing of women in magazines and how harmful it is. And I feel like keeping teens out of teen roles on television sets up an impossible age ideal which is just as hard to live up to. And I’m talking here about bodies, not minds; this has everything to do with physical maturity and nothing to do with emotional maturity. In terms of emotional and intellectual development, I think that age isn’t nearly as important as some people think it is, but in terms of physical development? 12 year olds do not look like Daniel Radcliffe in Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets.

There’s another problem which happens here. When you’re used to seeing people in their 20s playing people in their teens, actual teenagers look impossibly young to you. And I think that feeds into ageism in a very major way. If your frame of reference primarily comes from film and television, when you meet, say, a normal 15 year old girl, she’s going to look 10 to you, and you’re probably going to treat her like she’s 10, to some extent.

So the age ideal pressures from both sides. Teens are expected to look like people in their 20s, and adults who have lost the frame of reference they had when they were teens think that teenagers look like people in their 20s. Which means that people who actually look like teenagers aren’t read as teenagers. As if they didn’t have enough to deal with already.

I took a gander through some old photographs recently. I’ve long maintained that I’ve looked pretty much the same, physically, since I was 15. And, you know? Not so much. I mean, I’m obviously the same person; someone looking at a picture of me when I was 15 would clearly recognize that the person in the picture and me now are the same person. But there are differences. The body of that person is different. The carriage is different. The face is different. Adult me playing 15 year old me would look…odd.

I was struck, actually, by how very young I looked.

I used to write about the cats a fair amount, and then I realized that it was probably kind of boring to hear about them all the time, so I haven’t written about them much lately. But, I have a fair number of new readers, so I feel justified in writing a fluff post about cats, because people have asked me about them.

So. The cats:

Clockwise from far left, Mr. Shadow, Mr. Bell, and Loki. Mr. Shadow pretty much always looks that woeful, it wasn’t anything particular going on that day.

Mr. Bell is the senior cat. I got him when I was fairly young. How young is actually a matter of debate, because my father and I cannot quite agree on what year we got him. But he is definitely in his late teens.

I still remember, vividly, the day we got Mr. Bell. We wandered through the Humane Society looking at all sorts of cats. But he was the one who kept reaching out the bars of his cage. He wasn’t as flashy as the orange tiger I liked, or as playful as the cute black and white kitten. But something about him struck me, and so he is the cat we took home.

As you can see in this picture, Mr. Bell has no external pinnae. This is because he had squamous cell carcinoma on his ears. SCC is actually a very common problem for white cats; so common, in fact, that white cats should really be kept indoors, or have sunscreen applied to their ears if they are going to go out. His pinnae were removed a few years ago, and his hearing is just fine. He’s also starting to show some signs of lesions on his nose, which worries me rather a lot.

Fun fact about Mr. Bell: He likes to be vacuumed.

Mr. Bell has a number of nicknames including: Little White Cat, Squeegophilus, Mr. Moto, and Mr. Bell E Period Button.

Mr. Shadow and Mr. Bell are often found together, which made it hard to get a standalone picture of Mr. Shadow for this post. Mr. Shadow is the middle cat; he is also getting on in years, but he is not as old and crochety as Mr. Bell. Yet. Mr. Bell and Mr. Shadow are also very gay (oh, nature, how I love you).

I ended up with Mr. S. because he was dumped outside our house, and I didn’t really want to surrender him to Animal Control or the Humane Society. Mr. Shadow is a pretty mellow, quiet cat. He tends to be the friendliest with guests, and really really really likes breasts. He will go to great lengths to squeeze himself into cleavage, the bigger, the better. He also greatly enjoys wedging himself into bags, and he will sit on coats if they are not hung up.

Fun fact about Mr. Shadow: When I was in high school, Mr. Shadow peed on three sequential copies of Sophie’s World, which is a pretty accurate review of that book, if you ask me.

Some of Mr. Shadow’s nicknames: Shadow, Shadbelly, Shadowberry, Shadowpants, Little Grey Cat.

Loki is the Young Turk of the bunch.

I got Loki in 2003, when I was working at the Humane Society to help them improve their protocols for animals being held in isolation (to prevent the spread of disease, our Humane Society isn’t some sort of byzantine organization where animals are punished in isolation rooms or something). Loki was being bullied by his littermates, so I started carrying him around in a sling at work, and then taking him home, and then…yeah. This is why people who work for animal welfare groups all have Too Many Animals.

Loki is also very aptly named. He is a right little shit sometimes. He is very good at looking innocent and cute, but do not let it fool you. He’s the most shy of the cats; he only really likes hanging out with me, and sometimes he goes into sensory overload mode when he is around other people and tries to eat them, or squeals and runs away. He makes funny little noises like “brrrt?” and “blat” and “mrp.”

Loki has the feline version of irritable bowel disease. He eats very expensive prescription cat food. And pumpkin.

Fun fact about Loki: Because of Loki, I have a “dangerous pet” warning on my UPS account. This is because Loki likes to hang out the window and growl when people come up the walk.

Loki’s nicknames include: Lokinator, Nater Potater, Lokipants, Little Fucker, Pants, Mr. Pants.

So. Them’s the cats. Any questions?

For some reason, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the Volvo.

My father acquired the Volvo when we moved back to the United States from Greece. If I recall correctly, he bought it at Litton Springs for $100, for use as a beater car which would fall apart in a few years and eventually be replaced. As it turns out, we had the Volvo for rather a long time, all things considered, although it gradually grew more eclectic over time, as beater cars tend to do.

I’ve noticed these days that fewer and fewer people seem to drive beaters, although there are definitely still a few around. The thing about old funky cars is that I started to associate them with their people; I would point to a car and say “oh look, so and so is here.” Sometimes people almost seemed to start to resemble their old cars, making it horribly jarring when they bought a replacement which no longer matched.

The Volvo was a sedan, and I want to say it was an early 1970s model, although that may be a trick of memory. I do remember that it was white, with brown upholstery. When we got it, I think it was in reasonably good shape, although it had obviously been driven hard in some rough terrain at various points during its lifetime. But the thing about cars on the Coast is that, over time, they become salt encrusted, and then they rust out, and this is when their true colours begin to show.

The first eccentricity the Volvo acquired was when the floor in the back rusted all the way through, so you could see the road while you were driving. I used to love sitting in the backseat with my feet curled up next to me, watching the road zip by beneath me. It was, of course, rather unpleasant in the winter, when water splashed back from every puddle and doused the seat. And once, we hit a skunk, and very unpleasant things happen indeed, which I won’t describe in detail here because I assume everyone knows what happens when you hit a skunk¹.

The missing floor in the back was probably quite hazardous, but it became sort of a running joke. The person least experienced in the Way of the Volvo would be seated in the front seat for their own personal safety, and sometimes my father would put planks down in the back if it seemed like there was going to be a full house and a legitimate concern about a foot slipping through the floor. Planks also came in handy when we wanted to stash things on the seat and we were worried that they might pitch forward and fall through the floor. On occasion, Mr Bell would slip up through the holes so that he could go to sleep on the backseat, and several times, we drove away with him still in the car and only noticed when he meowed strenuously.

The second Volvo eccentricity occurred one winter. Despite the fact that the car was pretty tightly sealed and we never noticed water inside, a gentle carpet of moss began to spread along the floor in the front, creeping its way into the back and periodically being beaten back again. For some reason, the moss never ended up on the seats, it just stuck to the floor, perhaps because the floor was darker and marginally warmer.

My school friends, of course, all though this was tremendous fun, and went home to suggest to their parents that they get a moss car. Their parents, for reasons I never really understood, were very opposed to the idea, and I seem to recall that someone got especially riled up after a young child attempted to transplant some moss from the Volvo to the family’s BMW.

The third eccentricity manifested on a warm day when my father and I were driving on the way to the City. My father went to roll down his window, and it fell into the door with a “CLONK” and didn’t come back up. Thus it was that we ended up on Vallejo Street taking the door apart to fish the window out. The housing for the window was pretty much totally destroyed, so my father ended up taping it in place during the winters, and attaching a strap in the summers so that he could haul it in and out of the door.

The ritual untaping of the Volvo window was actually a bit of a rite of spring for the household, and one which would be eagerly anticipated in the community; it didn’t really feel like spring until the window was untaped and the gaudily decorated rainbow strap was firmly cinched around the window.

The final eccentricity proved to be the Volvo’s undoing, and, oddly enough, it was a result of the fact that the car was simply too sturdy, even after all the abuse it had endured. A drunk driver side-swiped the car one night, bending in the front quarter panel. We borrowed a friend’s tractor to pull it back out, but the problem was that the metal from the quarter panel was still strong enough to dent the hood on impact, and the hood refused to sit right after that, periodically flying up at unexpected moments while driving. My father strapped it down and drove that way for a while, but one day I came home and the Volvo was gone, replaced with a beige Nissan stationwagon which never really had the same pizazz, even though it had a robotic voice which would inform my father of important news like “your door is ajar” and “your lights are on” and, of course, “your key is in the ignition.”