Chris Brown and Rihanna

This whole Chris Brown and Rihanna abuse incident is disturbing on several levels. Since the story broke, Oprah, Tyra and others have dedicated air time to discuss the serious issue of domestic violence. That is not what is disturbing me. From watching snipets of these shows, it seems the American public thinks that if the abuse is not physical, then it is not really abuse . . . or somehow it is not as bad.

Well, I posit that in general, the bruises, hurts and cuts we carry on the inside heal a lot slower and cause a lot more anguish than the buises, hurts and cuts we experience on the outside. I am by no means minimizing physical abuse, but rather trying to get others not to minimize abuse that is not physical.

Verbal, psychological, economic, emotional, sexual and financial abuse can be just as harmful as physical abuse. Many times an abuser will be abusive in more than one area. It is difficult to find physical abuse without verbal and emotional abuse accompanying it. Abuse is abuse and it should always be condemned, no matter what form it may take.

I think it was the Tyra Banks show that showed a clip of a teenaged couple (actors). The boyfriend called the girlfriend fat and said she was too stupid to stick to a simple diet; and in fact, he knew she was stupid when he met her. The women in the Tyra audience did not label that abuse: "What he said might have been mean, but at least he did not hit her or anything."

Aaaauuuuugggghhhh! That type of attitude makes me weep. He was breaking down her self-esteem, making her feel belittled and worthless. Less than. And he is supposed to be her boyfriend?

And people wonder why abused women do not simply leave their abuser!

Can you imagine being made to feel like you are worthless? That you are unable to accomplish anything on your own because you are too dumb and unskilled? In addition you may have (or at least felt like you have) burned all your relationship bridges, because abusers tend to isolate their partners so they must depend solely on the abuser and have no other avenue of support or escape. On top of that, you may have no money of your own. What would you do? Especially if you have children. If you leave, will you be able to take care of your kids, or will you be homeless? Will the State declare you unfit and take your kids away, or worse, give custody to the abuser? Not to mention that studies have shown the most dangerous time for a victim of abuse is after s/he leaves the relationship. That's when most of the deaths/physical harm occurs.

Another bothersome part to this story is that men (especially men in the music/rap industry) have not come out and boldly stated how that kind of behavior is unacceptable. I have heard comments like, "Well, we do not really know what went on between them" and "Even Rihanna's brother said she throws down hard." SO WHAT?

It does not matter if she was in his face or not. He had no right to beat her up. Until men start putting pressure on other men by stating (and believing and acting upon the fact that) abuse is uniquivocally unacceptable; there will be no real revolution in this area. It is not enough to not be an abuser. Men need to actively advocate for non-violence in relationships.

And if she is full of drama? Throwing things and hitting her man? Well, then she's the abuser and she is in the wrong and needs help. Or if she just loves pulling your strings, continually trying to evoke a reaction? Get out of that relationship! It's not an excuse to abuse.

Chris Brown needs help and support. He also needs to understand what he did was wrong and unacceptable and that ultimately the blame rests with him. The abusers in our community (male and female) need the same. If someone is supposed to love and support you, have your back, cherish you, then they should not systematically act in such a manner as to accomplish the exact opposite of all that. Whether it be a relationship between elder and caretaker, parent and child, husband and wife or any other combination.

Abuse is abuse, no matter in which form it may appear. And it is always wrong.

INFJ

Some friends and I were having a chat and the Myers-Briggs personality test came up. The real Myers-Briggs test is an extensive questionnaire, but there are shorter versions on the internet that you can take for free (http://www.humanmetrics.com/cgi-win/JTypes1.htm). I am not sure how accurate these tests are, but it’s fun to take them and read about one of my favorite subjects…me.

I do not think that I am alone in this. I mean, isn’t everyone interested in the inner workings of me? Yeah. Seriously though, everyone likes to read about themselves (except for famous people when they get bad press, and even in those cases, there are some from the no-press-is-bad-press school of thought, but I digress). I feel like I am pretty self-aware. I know myself well; and am committed to being honest with myself, even when it would be less painful or easier to believe a little white lie. Still, I enjoy taking these tests and seeing if I concur with the results.

The Myers-Briggs test measures you in 4 areas:
How you relate to others: (I)ntrovert vs. (E)xtrovert
How you take in information: I(N)tuitive vs. (S)ensing
How you make decisions: (T)hinking vs. (F)eeling
How you put your life in order: (J)udging vs. (P)erceiving

Taking a closer look at my score, I notice I am very close on the E/I line, which I think is accurate. It’s also accurate that I fall on the “I” side of that line, because I really do need to re-charge internally and not with a bunch of people. I get my energy from within and not from without. While my E/I score was close, I am definitely an “N.” I am way on the “N” side and very far from the “S.” My friend commented that I am the opposite of a lawyer’s profile. I guess that’s why I do not practice anymore, although there is still a small part of me that may want to practice again one day.

According to the on-line test, I register as an INFJ. Apparently, there are not too many of us INFJs around…only about 1% of the population. My immediate reaction? “A-ha! My Mom always said I was a unique and special child. This proves it!” Which was quickly followed by, “Geez, I hope that does not mean I have the propensity to be a serial killer or something awful like that.”

INFJs are labeled “Protectors” “Dreamers” “Mystics” “Healers” or “Idealists,” depending on which site you favor (http://www.geocities.com/lifexplore/infj.htm).

Of course, all the good stuff is right and all the bad stuff is rubbish! Ha! Seriously though, they mention something about desiring harmony above all, and that is something I have been working on…sacrificing a little bit of harmony to advocate or present another point of view. The cliché “a work in progress” is definitely apt!

Medusa's Got Nothing on Me

My hair is getting to the point where it is difficult to manage. It is almost to my waist and that is long enough. My cousin’s hair is to her knees! I cannot imagine having to take care of hair that long. I would constantly worry if my hair was going somewhere it should not…for example, in the toilet or in my food or hanging out in the next room and picking fights with lesser hair.

My hair is thick and has a little wave in it (thanks, Dad); therefore, when my hair gets long, it does not fall straight and silky down my back. Nope, it twists and turns whichever way it wants at the moment, not taking into consideration that some of its neighbors are going in a completely different direction. It looks quasi-bushy because of all the fly-aways (as if I were a repository for static electricity…not quite as bad as the Bride of Frankenstein, but you get the idea). And it does not matter how often I brush my hair, it looks the same…messy.

Once, a stylist flat-ironed my hair after cutting it. I am sure it was because she saw how unwieldy it was when it was long. While my newly perfectly straight hair felt great, (silky soft as I easily ran my fingers through it, as opposed to getting my fingers stuck in snarls every few inches); unfortunately, it was not a good look for me. I looked like Professor Snape from the Harry Potter movies. I remember the stylist asking the requisite question, “Well, how do you like it?” I believe I smiled and made all the right noises, then as I walked back to my car, I began frantically shaking my hair out…desperately trying to create some kind of body so my hair would not look like it was crazy glued to my scalp.

Anyway, I know it is time to cut my hair for three main reasons: it is getting noticeably heavy; I am frequently slamming it in the car door and other inconvenient places (like while capping my highlighter!); and it is becoming more difficult to sling my bag over my shoulder, because my hair gets awkwardly stuck. Plus (okay, four reasons), when it sheds (as it is wont to do) it seems like there is a huge amount of hair in the tub, on the carpet, etc., simply due to its length. Kinda yucky, even for someone with as high a tolerance for messiness as I possess.

Of course, when I actually cut my hair I will miss it. Not the messiness or the heaviness or the way it would get stuck in things and yank and hurt; but rather, the protection it gave (for blouses with food drips on them), the ease of putting it up in a twist (once it’s shoulder length it will be too short to put up with a chopstick), and the security it provided (like a blanket, but less obvious).

Mourning Days

The past few days I was in mourning. Kind of.

Let me explain. Earlier in the week, a friend sent me an e-mail asking how I was coping due to recent events. Confused much? Absolutely! I quickly shot back an e-mail with one word: “Huh?” He replied: “Didn’t know? Haven’t you seen the newspaper or read your tennis magazine? mc got married.”

“Wha-a-a-a?” Dah-duh-dum…and there it was. The death knell on nearly two decades of on-again-off-again crushing. Michael Chang is married. And it’s not to me.

I had to pause to let the reality sink in, then I googled it. Sure enough…married. To someone with Hawaii roots! Seriously?!

(For more of my past feelings for Michael Chang, see my post dated, July 29, 2008, infra.)

The next two days I wore predominantly black dress in keeping with my mourning…the death of what could have been. As I spoke with friends that weekend, it seems a great many people knew about the wedding and did not tell me. They either assumed I knew or did not want to be the bearer of bad news.

I read a few of the articles about Michael tying the knot and I discovered I never stood a chance. First of all, he (and his mother!) were looking exclusively for a Chinese girl. My response: diversify and strengthen the gene pool! Add some Japanese into the mix. It could only be good for the families. Could I convince him to abandon this “qualification” in a bride? I guess we’ll never know.

Also, the woman he married is quite young. About 9 years younger than him. I think maturity has a lot to recommend it. I am definitely more grounded, more insightful and a tiny bit more patient than I was when I was in my twenties.

I was bemoaning the unfairness of it all to a friend while we were in the movie theatre watching previews for upcoming television shows. One preview came on for a new show called “Castle” starring Nathan Fillion. He was great in the movie “Waitress” as well as the cumbersomely named sitcom “Two Guys a Girl and a Pizza Parlor.” But I loved him as Captain Malcolm Reynolds in “Firefly.” (See previous entry dated: June 29, 2007, infra.)

In mid-whine, I said, “Wow, he is still hot!”

My friend (quick to follow my tangent) commented, “It looks like he’s gained some weight. His face looks fuller.”

I replied, “Yeah, I like it!”

And thus, the mourning period was over.

So congratulations and best wishes to Michael Chang and his young Chinese bride. May you both have many years of happiness and prosperity.

And Nathan, if you’re reading this…I’m available.

40 Year Old Christmas Tree

I finally did it. I took my Christmas tree down to the curb.

Now, this is a major accomplishment. I convinced myself (rather easily) that keeping my Christmas tree up past Christmas was whimsical as well as practical. I mean, it still smelled good…why shouldn’t I enjoy it past December 25? But it became more and more difficult to convince myself that keeping the tree up past January 25 was more whimsical than pathetic and downright lazy. So, on January 23, in the dead of night (so my fellow apartment dwellers wouldn’t see), I unscrewed my tree from its stand, awkwardly wrapped it up in an old bed sheet and winded and wielded my way down the hall, down the elevator, through the lobby, across the parking structure, then out to the curb.

Despite my efforts, those dry needles were everywhere. They provided a trail (better than breadcrumbs) of my midnight antics...right to my front door. I used the sheet in the lobby to “sweep” out as many needles as possible; however, I couldn’t run my vacuum at midnight. That would get my neighbors even more upset. Unfortunately, I had to leave home early the next day and was busy all day, so proof of my laziness languished there, mocking me of my laziness for at least 24-hours. Finally, on the following day I hauled out my vacuum and vacuumed the hallway and waiting area in front of the elevators as best as I could. I had to call the elevator three times in order to get the one I had used that night to come to my floor (we have two elevators in my building), so I could take a couple swipes inside with my vacuum.

If one cared to look carefully, one would find needles here and there. A prickly cluster in the corner of my kitchen, a bent one in my front doorjamb, and along the building hallway some crispy brown needles stick out irreverently where the wall meets the carpet. A reminder of my strength of procrastination…er, whimsy.

Well, the New Year is well underway and I feel like time is beginning to fly. I mean, seriously, can it be February already? While the days and weeks seem to inch along, why is it when I look at the calendar, I am so surprised to see the month of January is already gone? Perhaps one reason is because I turn 40 this year. Yikes. It’s such a mile-stone type of year. Forty is supposed to mean stability and accomplishment and strength in sense of self. Well, at least that’s what Oprah said. Or was it Hallmark? I forget. In any case, there is meaning in attaining your 40th year.

When did I start to get old? Last week, someone wanted to pass me on the sidewalk and he said, “excuse me, ma’am.” Ugh. In the last few years I have noticed that the number of salespeople and wait staff have been calling me “ma’am” have steadily increased. I have caught myself using terms such as, “…kids nowadays…” and “back in the day…” My oh my. I am thinking old as well as getting physically older. Bleh.

This is difficult to wrap my mind around, because I have always been the youngest. I am the youngest sibling in my family, by far (the next sibling is 11 years older). When I would hang out with them or their friends, I was always the youngest. I am born in October, so even amongst my schoolmates; I was one of the younger ones. One of the last to get my driver’s license or go to a “real” bar. Even in work, (except for my previous job) I have always been one of the younger staff. Currently, I am the youngest in my office of 5 people).

It is even worse to think of it as mid-life. For some reason, “forty” sounds better than “mid-life,” probably because mid-life intimates that you are in the second half of your life. The sun is no longer rising in your life; it is setting.

Age may just be a number, but numbers do hold some significance. I do not like to think of myself as almost 40, because “almost 40” sounds old. I do not think of myself as old. If anything, I very much have a child-like spirit. My inner child gets free reign, probably too much of the time. I guess I face 40 with some trepidation because of social convention. I will act as I normally do and people will say, “oh my gosh, isn’t she 40?” which would be fine if they said it in an admiring, amazed way rather than in a scandalized, she’s-old-enough-to-know-better kind of way. Oh well, I guess time shall tell…

Christmas Song Rant

Well, Christmas has come and gone and it was pretty terrific.

As for shopping, I took one day to reconnaissance and get ideas and then 3 days of actual shopping and *poof* I was done! Well, not exactly, "poof," as my feet ached and my leg muscles tightened so I hobbled more than walked, but still, overall...good.

In the last post, I mentioned Christmas songs I wish they would play more frequently on the radio. This got me thinking of Christmas songs I wish they would take out of rotation...at least for a little while.

Feliz Navidad. No offense to my Spanish-speaking peeps, but ugh. What is it about this song that starts rubbing my nerves raw after the first chorus? The radio stations play this song way too much.

Do They Know It's Christmastime? Or whatever the title of this well-intentioned, but obnoxious song is. Something about the third or fourth time you hear it...it begins to sound self-indulgent and a tiny bit condescending...benevolent, but in a nauseating way. Ha! Sounds like a way to describe a wine. "It had an arrogant nose and no legs."

Santa, Baby. Call me old fashioned, but I do not think Christmas carols or any song about Santa should sound like or allude to sex. Don't get me wrong...in the right context it's fine (e.g., Fever...love that song). And I know she's not singing about the real Santa, as in the one who lives in the North Pole and has a penchant for cookies, but still...it kinda grosses me out.

That Christmas Shoes Song. They even made a tv movie out of it. Talk about emotional manipulation. "Please pull my strings, Puppetmaster!" Bleh. The fact that they use a little kid to sing part of it makes it even worse somehow. Adds to the manipulation factor, methinks. It's so blatant it should be funny; however, I just find it annoying (insert nose wrinkle here).

The Little Drummer Boy. This song is usually sung waaaayyyy too slow and something about the Pa-rup-a-pum-pum part makes my eyes start to roll to the back of my head. I can't control it. Weird, since this is one song in which I would do the "ding, ding" parts on the piano while my sister played the song (we didn't have a triangle). Somehow even the "ding, ding" has lost its luster.

One last general pet peeve...with all the remakes of Christmas classics, does every vocalist need to insert so many unnecessary runs in the song? Beyond the show-offy-ness of it all, it truly is an unwelcome distraction. Part of the joy and allure of Christmas Carols is that you can sing along. Who has fun singing along when the singer starts singing in different octives? Ugh.

Some may think I'd add the Chipmunk Song here, but I actually like it and still think it's cute. I also haven't reached my saturation point for "Merry Christmas, Darling" although some years the radio stations really push that one to the edge. Then, there are songs like "O Holy Night," "Ring Christmas Bells," "The Christmas Song" and "Do You Hear What I Hear?" that I can listen to repeatedly by different artists.

This started out as a nice post-Christmas post and ended up being a rant of sorts. Hmm...doesn't seem to bode well for the New Year!

Ready or Not...

After reading my previous entry, I am struck by how maudlin and self-indulgent it sounds. I felt somewhat embarrassed by it, but then I thought, where better to be maudlin and self-indulgent than in my own on-line journal? Better to write it down and get it “out of my system” than to subject friends, co-workers, family and others unlucky enough to be in my vicinity to all of that. The less-than-generous are piping up, saying “it’s too late!” Hmph.

Oh well…

I have not written in awhile because I have not felt compelled to do so. No impetus. No desire. But, one of the purposes of me doing an on-line journal was to force me write. There are actually a lot of things I would like to write about: my experiences working at a poll station for the primary and general elections, about some things I’ve been reading and watching about sustainability, about some of the awesome live performances I’ve attended lately…the list goes on.

So, why haven’t I written?

Lazy. Tired. Unmotivated. I feel a bit like I’m in neutral, just coasting along allowing gravity to work its will on me. And this is not a way I want to feel going into Christmas. This is supposed to be a magical time. Not magical as in abracadabra or mysticism, but magical as in having a sense of wonder and feeling a deep abiding joy and peace to celebrate the Savior’s earthly birth. Not the commercial hype of gift-buying, but the fun in gift-choosing and gift-giving.

I have begun with the outer trappings hoping it will trigger inner motivation. My Christmas tree is in its stand waiting to be decorated and smelling wonderful. I put a Christmas carol CD in my bedside clock radio. I have not gone to the mall to shop yet, but that might be counterproductive right now. Now, I would be grouchy looking for parking, impatient waiting in line, and getting outraged at other people’s rudeness, etc. I’m trying to get to the point where looking for parking is no big deal, because I can finish singing the Christmas carol on the radio as I drive around. When waiting in line gives me the opportunity to talk to others in line with me or contemplate how lucky I am that I can afford to purchase gifts. When I do not even notice that other people are being rude.

Yeah, I’m not there yet.

But I will be. Hope springs eternal, I guess.

I hope the beginning stirrings are occurring. I get teary eyed listening to some carols on the radio. Especially “Mary Did You Know?” I am totally digging that song right now. It speaks to me. There’s also a “Joy to the World” song that I love but have not heard yet this Christmas season. It’s a little boy singing and the chorus goes something like:

Joy to the World
Peace for every boy and girl.
Hope when life is hard
Light when everything seems dark...

Yeah…perhaps I may be able to go shopping this weekend after all…