So in Calgary, apparently there's something called childfree housing. I was just wondering how others feel about this. For example, here's a condo for rent in Calgary that says Kids Allowed: No. When you go to do an advanced search, kids are a selectable feature, such as Kids Allowed (299), Negotiable (119), Not Allowed (202).

On the one hand, I think it's pretty neat. Because if seniors can have communities where it's against the rules to have children living with you, then it strikes me that it makes logical sense to allow adults in the prime of life the same tranquility as well.

But on the other hand, I think the Fair Housing Act was instituted for a reason in the United States. It seems like it's a slippery slope to start sanctioning housing in these kinds of terms. Although, I suppose some apartments allow cats, but not dogs. Or no pets at all. And isn't that horrible, etc. But we are talking about human beings. Mini human beings. I guess you could claim you're allergic to children. Heh. I know children make screeching noises, and some people literally have allergic reactions to the shrieks, breaking out in hives and rashes from the loud pitch. And some people have anxiety disorders.

So I'm not sure how I feel about it personally. I feel like it's nice for regularly aged adults (people from 18 to the age when you start getting discounts for movies and museums) to have this opportunity. But oftentimes, it's not the children who are the annoying neighbors anyway. It's the adults.

Labels: cfbc, childfree by choice, news, politics

( 3comments )

at September 26, 2006 4:31 PM  Anonymous said...

Whenever someone suggests the idea of adult-only housing (which, BTW, existed in this country within living memory), or restaurants, or what have you, the counterargument always seems to be the same: comparing the annoyances that adults visit upon us. Kid screeching at dinner bother you? Why aren't you complaining about the couple fighting at the other table?

I think this is a red herring. As an analogy: just because there are other annoying noises in the world doesn't mean I'm unreasonable for wanting my neighbor to fix his broken car alarm.

Children are not just short adults; they're qualitatively different from adults. Yes, there are annoying adults in the world, and there are non-annoying children. But when I'm thinking of minimizing my annoyances and I think "eliminate children," I'm playing some pretty long odds. For every problem adult at a restaurant, I've seen at least a dozen problem children. Also, for some reason the management doesn't seem to be quite as eager to ask the problem children to leave.

Nobody seriously questions my right to exclude children from my home; why can't I live in a neighborhood of like-minded people? Is it really because people with children will have trouble finding housing? (That's not a rhetorical question; I don't know how it would play out. Are they having problems in Canada?) If they would have trouble, why does that bother us, and the fact that my family--with two dogs--would have trouble finding housing is okay?

 

at October 8, 2006 1:19 PM  Lindsay Jo Beautiful said...

I currently live in Red Deer, however, I have lived in Calgary and Fort McMurray, as well as Saskatoon, Saskatchewan. All four of these cities offer childfree housing-- it's a norm here in Canada.

I agree a lot with what Anonymous had to say. In retrospect, this sort of housing segregation could have the potential to make it diffucult for people with children to find rental properties. But, from my experience, this isn't really the case. Most landlords seem warmer to rent to young families than a group of 20-somethings going to school or starting their careers. Not to mention, childfree housing tends to be a little pricier, which makes it less undesirable to families in the first place.

But there is a fine line.....

To answer Anonymous' question, this is why it would bother us if people with children had problems finding housing-- because children are important to our communities, whether we personally like them, or not, and in order for us to have a strong community, young parents need our support, at least to some degree.

But, as a Canadian, I can't say that people with kids have any more trouble than the rest of us when it comes to finding good rentals.

Around here, childfree housing is a non-issue.

 

at October 9, 2006 9:55 AM  Anonymous said...

Thanks for the Canadian perspective!

I wasn't asking why people with children having a problem finding housing was a problem in the abstract; I was just pointing out that some families (such as mine, with dogs) have more trouble than others finding housing. Some of those problems are protected under the law and some aren't, and it's not clear to me why some things fall on one side of the line and others on the other.

From the American side, it seems to me that restricting someone's right to decide who gets to live in their property is not something that ought to be done lightly. Given the history of discrimination against some groups, especially racial, I am comfortable with not allowing people to discriminate in housing based on race: The social benefit outweighs the loss of personal freedom.

It doesn't sound like this is the case with discrimination based on "familial status," or at least not in Canada. I've heard it said that familial status was being used as a proxy for race (i.e., certain groups tend to have larger families, ergo by limiting family size you tend to select against those races), but I'm not convinced that that argument is strong enough that it should have overcome the presumption that people are free to use their property as they please (so long as they don't infringe on the rights of others).

But, I don't get to make the rules, at least not directly, so here in America this is what we're stuck with for now.

 

B and I have been Netflixin' it since May, and I have to say it's the best thing since Coke Floats. Especially living in Downtown L.A. where there are no video rental stores!

Anyway... if anyone wants to try it free, Netflix sent me this coupon where I can invite friends and family to try Netflix for a month. The free trial usually lasts two weeks.

I think my favorite feature is the queue. B pronounces it: quay, rhymes with sway. I pronounce: q. Rhymes with the letter q ... You can browse movies and put them on this list, that way you don't forget that you wanted to watch a certain movie because it'll be on the list. That was one of the reasons I hated going to Blockbuster. The browsing of the movies looking for crap to watch so we could use up our free rental pass. It ate up so much time! Well, I hated that, and I hated the robberies that happened every other time we were in the store. It gets kinda funny the third or fourth time you see teenage boys grab an armful of DVDs and run like mad out of the store. Kinda like a game.

Labels: movies, real life

( 0comments )

So I've been struggling with my writing. Caught in a psychic wrestling match, ya might say. Or you might not say. But it's something my friend Bonnie does say. And Bonnie would say that because she knows me and she knows the writing I've been doing for the last year and a half. And I'd have to say that that's a pretty good assessment. A wrestling match.

I don't know why I agreed to the reading series. I hate the sound of my own voice. And I hate the sound of my own writing even more. Some days I don't know why I write. Or breathe. But I keep on breathing. So I might as well keep on writing, too.

I'm pretty sure one is dependent upon the other.

But I did agree to the reading series. Volunteered myself even. Ye olde rabbit to the slaughter, ya might say. Or you might not, but I definitely would because my writing is obsessed with my mother slaughtering rabbits of late.

And I read, and I didn't die. I was pretty sure I would. But I didn't.

I'm still breathing.

And I'll write again tomorrow.

Labels: writing

( 0comments )

The Loudest Voice: Poetry, Fiction, and Music Wednesday, September 20, 2006 8 o'clock p.m. at The Mountain Bar 473 Gin Ling Way Los Angeles, CA 90012 The USC Ph.D. in Literature and Creative Writing Program presents: The Loudest Voice, an evening of poetry, fiction, and music. Featuring readings by Amaranth Borsuk, Bryan Hurt, Saba Razvi, and me as well as an acoustic set by Andrew Allport. The Mountain Bar: 473 Gin Ling Way, Los Angeles, CA 90012 (Between Broadway and Hill Street). No cover, 21+. Street Parking. theloudestvoice.blogspot.com

Labels: real life

( 0comments )

Remember this annoying lady? Well, here's her response...

http://ocregister.com/ocregister/life/columns/article_1265759.php

Tuesday, September 5, 2006
Airline column creates some turbulence

JENNY SOKOL
Columnist
The Orange County Register
bjs92@adelphia.net
It's not unusual for one of my columns to strike a nerve with readers. It is unusual, however, for one to expose a nerve and rub it raw, compelling readers to flood my inbox with e-mails.

Such was the case of last week's column titled, "His Crime? Being only 3 years old," in which I poked fun at a grumpy airline passenger seated next to my youngster.

Readers were "mortified" and "appalled" by my words, convinced that I had taught my son that it's acceptable to infringe upon the rights of others, and then giggle and name call in the aftermath.

Point taken.

My column didn't address the fact that I came aboard with games, books and snacks for both of my children and ensured they were quiet and entertained during the flight. There was no yelling, crying or kicking of seatbacks.

I didn't clarify that I drank some of my son's water to help prevent him from spilling on 36D, that we practically whispered the entire flight so she could sleep and that I didn't switch seats with my son because I thought my children would be quieter separated.

Small children are not flawless, however, and evidently some of their parents aren't either.

The aim of most of my columns is to bring a bit of tongue-in-cheek levity to readers on a Wednesday morning, not to incite anger and discontent. Apparently, airline courtesy is not a subject to take lightly.

Readers scolded me for not appropriately disciplining my child. They shamed me for my lack of sensitivity towards the woman in 36D, who very well may have been ill or returning from a funeral.

These same readers who implored me to be more kind and understanding also wrote that they hated me and wanted to vomit on me. They called me a witch, wished they could dump ice water on my head and spill a variety of different beverages on me. One suggested I might as well ask my child to urinate on the passenger next to me. A few admitted they hated kids and parents like me, who can't control them.

It turns out terrorism isn't the only thing passengers should fret about before boarding a plane. As evidenced by the responses I received, there are some seriously hostile passengers onboard.

My suggestion to the airlines is that pre-flight, passengers join hands in a gigantic circle. (ALERT - this is the levity part that I mentioned earlier) Passengers could share flight expectations and anxieties. At that time, it would be appropriate to voice feelings of dread to families traveling with rambunctious children. Perhaps the meeting could adjourn with a song, moment of silence or prayer.

Next, we segregate into sections. Families with children in one area. Chatterboxes and those looking to make friends in another. Those who desire sleep or who do not want to speak or make eye contact with their seatmates in yet another. We happily board the plane by sections, the play group headed to the rear of the plane.

Alternatively, we take the advice of a reader and create entire "child-free" flights.

In all seriousness, my apologies to the kind teachers, parents and grandparents who seemed legitimately saddened by my lapse in parental judgment, as well as to the Wicca supporter who pointed out that witches aren't bad people.

And to those of you reading this in John Wayne airport pre-flight, I wish you the best of luck with your seating assignment.

CONTACT US: bjs92@adelphia.net

I know I shouldn't be surprised that the author has, yet again, missed the point; quite deliberately so, I might add. She took the classic stance of getting defensive and then blaming her critics. If she had wanted to perhaps lessen the amount of criticism she got for the original article, then she would have included the information that she had brought along games, books, etc. for her children. But she left that out because we're supposed to believe that the original piece was satire and this bit of practical information would have been irrelevant to what was supposed to be a humorous piece.

Sure.

She's relying on a false dichtomy trying to make it into a joke now in order to deflect criticism off herself and make her critics look like a bunch of humorless boobs who don't know satire and irony when they read it.

I'm almost tempted to write this woman a letter calling her out on the fact that she's not really sorry and that this un-apology is even worse than the original piece.

But I'd rather not give her the satisifaction of her knowing that she's riled up more readers. Because frankly, I never want to read another article from this mombie again.

Labels: cfbc, childfree by choice, news, parenthood, parents

( 4comments )

at September 16, 2006 8:20 PM  Lorie said...

I can see where the original piece can be taken as a sign of all that's wrong with permissive parents whose "angels" can do no wrong. But I also thought the original piece was told more for humor. Or maybe humor isn't quite the right word. But I felt like she was making a choice as a writer to play up the connection between telling her son that the lady might not like kids because she's a witch and "melting the witch" rather than truly presenting this story as an example of how to get back at someone who doesn't dote on your children. So that's why she wouldn't bring up the board games and other strategies to keep the children well-behaved. The whole thing was set up to end her story with a twist of sorts.

 

at September 16, 2006 8:46 PM  Samantha said...

I tend to think that a writer of columns in the Life section of a newspaper has a public responsibility to either not condone, or at very least not perpetuate, negative stereotypes. Or, if you're going to overly rely on stereotypes in order to set up a tone for an article, then the article should be working somehow to demonstrate how these stereotypes work in the world and how we can overcome them. The original article accomplished neither of these things.

However, regardless of what I might think an article in a newspaper should be working toward, I think the messages encoded in the article are still there and I think they are still despicable.

I'll agree that her son was a victim of being three years old. He was a hapless victim--but not a victim of the "wicked witch," but a victim of a passive-aggresive mother who used him to punish the woman in the next seat.

Honestly, in my opinion, it doesn't matter that she left out the tidbits about how she brought along books or games to keep her child(ren) occupied. She still 1) allowed her son to sit next to another adult and 2) allowed her spill-prone son to grasp a full cup of water on an airplane (which isn't stable anyway) knowing full well that he would most likely spill it on the person sitting next to him and 3) grinned at him proudly when he spilt the water on the woman, which not only reinforces her previous two self-righteous choices, but teaches her son not to respect others.

Oh yeah. But it's satire.

Haha.

Her son wasn't being loud or obnoxious, that wasn't the point of the article, so I understand why she chose not to include it originally. However, I still maintain that if she wanted to at least be viewed less like a Wicked Witch herself, then that information might have quelled the uproar. Somewhat. Maybe.

I imagine her working against a deadline at 3 o'clock in the morning, wracking her brains about what she could possibly write about. And suddenly this funny little anecdote comes to mind. And maybe her family really loves The Wizard of Oz, and she's even able to work that metaphor into the narrative. But I think, upon retro-reflection she was surprised at how much of herself and her prejudices leaked out through the article, and I think she was then surprised at how readers were able to pick up on that prejudice. Then I think she was surprised at the reaction to those harmless satirical prejudices being communicated. And I think that's why her apology isn't really an apology, because she still feels self-righteous about the spilt water on the sleeping woman.

And I'll continue to think that's pretty horrible.

 

at September 18, 2006 9:55 AM  Anonymous said...

Thanks for posting a follow-up on this story. I was so enraged at the original article that the only reason I didn't write to vent my spleen at this "columnist" is that the OC Register website is set up too poorly for me to figure out what email address to use for letters to the editor.

Now having seen this "apology," it occurs to me that there may be a completely different explanation for the problem from those that have been proposed. Not that I disagree with you or anyone else, but consider: perhaps the problem is not so much that she's a bad mother or a bad human being (both of which I'm sure are true), but that she's a bad writer.

 

at September 18, 2006 10:34 AM  Samantha said...

I like that interpretation better than thinking she's just a bad human being raising someone to be another bad human being.

 

That question got asked a lot on Monday. By the forums I frequent and in my fiction workshop. I just sat quiet as everyone else memorialized what they were doing.

But since Monday, I have been recounting what happened five years ago.
I had just transferred from a university in Michigan to NYU. I was there two weeks living on East 53rd street when the attacks happened.

I was in the Dramatic Writing Program at NYU, which is a very small department in the Tisch School of Arts. Out of 2600 applications, they accepted 40 incoming students, and I was one of them. It had been my dream to go to NYU. Live in New York City and write and go to NYU. It was the only dream I had ever had. I didn't dream of getting married like most of my other girlfriends. I didn't dream of being a mom. I dreamt of going to NYU. I felt like my future hinged on this goal.

Eight of us dropped out (aka "took a medical leave of absence") that semester. I left in November because I had a script to complete by December. It could have been about anything but it had to be set as a Western. I felt like I would never write again. I felt like anything I had to say was silly and petty. I had a website at the time, but I couldn't even update it anymore.

I heard the sonic boom of the planes flying into the towers even from my place on the Upper East side. And the ambulances. I remember wondering if this was typical New York City life. I had only been there for two weeks. I even sent that question to my husband (at the time he was my fiance) as an e-mail. I was on my way to class when it happened, waiting for a NYU tram and I suddenly saw the smoke billowing. I was going to class early, so I went back to my room to check the news. The streets then cleared of people. I called my fiance in DC and my family in California and my best friend also in Cali, letting them know I was okay. It was ironic because my best friend has been to NYC a year or two earlier and had recommended that the things I see in NYC was the World Trade Center and the Statue of Liberty (aside, of course, from the Seinfeld Reality Tour). I had planned to head down to WTC that day. It was Tuesday and I only had one class. I was going to head down to 14th street and walk the Financial District.

I officially withdrew from NYU in November, I left on a medical leave of absence for post-traumatic stress disorder which would hold my place until the following Spring. I couldn't sleep for more than 20 minutes at a time. I kept hearing planes. When I left, I went to live with my fiance in DC since there was no room for me at home. Or at least that is what I tell people. I actually didn't have a home and futhermore I wasn't welcome at the home my mom lived. My mom had sold the house the week I left for college in Michigan the year before, and went to live with my grandmother.

On my trip back to California to visit during the summer of 2001, my grandmother had locked my little brother out of the house to "teach him a lesson" about carrying his key. My little brother was left outside alone knocking on the door for two hours, crying. My mom was heartbroken that her mother could be so cruel. She didn't even know what to say. So all of us sat down at the table and tried talking it out. I tried to mediate the conversation but my grandmother is highly irrational. I didn't yell at my grandmother, but my grandmother certainly yelled at me. She also told me that she hated me and that I was never allowed to step foot in her house again. My mom called me when I flew back to DC and told me that I couldn't come visit at Christmas, and that the next time I'd be "allowed" to see them again would be at my wedding in June 2002--and that was only because my wedding was in Michigan and my mom and brothers were flying out for that.

I honestly didn't know what I was going to do. I felt like I had to stay enrolled at NYC just to have a place to live, but I couldn't write, which meant I was going to flunk out of school and be kicked out anyway--which would make it even harder to transfer anywhere else. I was staying with my fiance in DC right after 9/11 because I had absolutely no where to go.

Our plan had been to get married 2002 and continue to live apart until I was finished at NYU. We were both very comfortable about that idea. But after 9/11, we didn't want to separated from each other.
When I went to live with him, he was receiving $500 a month from his parents--I know, right? I grew up really poor, so that was like mind-numbing to find that out. But his parents are really old-fashioned and were extremely upset that I went to live with him, even though they knew my situation with my mom and grandmother, and ya know, living through September 11th.

His mom threatened that if I lived with him, they would cut him off. And that she was "Devastated. And embarassed." And what was she supposed to tell her friends? My husband stuck up for me, and asked why was it anyone's business? He said we're both adults and he wasn't asking for her permission and she didn't have to like the decision, but just to support it.

They cut him off.

He gave up $500 a month for me when he was 21, while his older sister continued to receive her $500 a month stipend until she was 28 years old--even going so far as to move in with her boyfriend and keep it a secret from their parents, just so she could still get the $500 a month. Because she knew how crazy her mom acted when B and I moved in together. Ha. I say "moved in" together like it was a decision we wanted to make. We had wanted to do everything in the "proper" order. Get engaged, get married, then move in together. But, ya know, life happens. And suddenly "proper" orders seem like bullshit.

Heck, we lived in DC and they lived in Michigan. They technically didn't even have to know we were living together. We were just being honest.

Whatever.

So September 11th really affected my life. I transferred to a university in Maryland and finished my BA in English. I started writing again in 2003. It took me nearly 2 years, though. And I'm still writing. Heck, I'm even getting my Ph.D. in Creative Writing. So I have recovered mostly from the shock and Post-Tramautic Stress Disorder.

But I have to admit that I didn't realize how irritated I still am about that whole situation with my mom and in-laws. I think the irritation continues to re-surface with the in-laws when B's sister tells me things like how their mom told everyone how she didn't think we would ever get married because we were so young. And how annoyed she was that DH was marrying someone with student loans. The complaints go on and on.

I lived through September 11th in NYC when I was 19 years old and was so thoroughly traumatized by it that I gave up my dream of going to NYU and writing and living New York. How does that not elicit some kind of empathy or acceptance as to my situation, especially since my mom told me that I couldn't go back to California?

It also hurts that my own mother didn't stand up for me so I could come back home--even though that wasn't really home. But it was where she and my brothers were living.

The only person who cared.... the only person who stood up for me was my husband, who wasn't even my husband at the time.

So yeah, September 11th affected me in some pretty horrible ways. I gave up on my dream and writing for a time. And I learned that the people you think you can count on to be the most caring and understanding really can't be counted on for anything. And I learned

that blood is not thicker than water.

But at least I learned the real definition of family. And that was through B.

Labels: horror, real life

( 3comments )

at September 15, 2006 7:41 PM  Emma said...

Hi. I found your blog through delighfulblogs.com, and I just wanted to let you know that I've really enjoyed reading it.

 

at September 19, 2006 8:55 PM  Lindsi Dawn said...

I couldn't help but cry when I read this... recalling everything that you were going through and the emotions I had because of you that day. I remember the Saturday before you told me you wanted to go see the WTC that week... and I will never forget how unbelievably scared I was that morning for you. I tried for hours to call Brad, his parents or your mom to find out if you were okay, since I knew it was pointless to try and call you. I don't think I've ever been so scared for someone’s life as I was that day. I can't even begin to describe the relief I felt when you were able to log online and tell me you were okay. If you hadn't I wouldn't have been able to go to work later that day.... actually, I don't think I would have been able to go back at all until I found out you were okay. Life wouldn't be the same with out you! I love you lots and I hope you think of me as family too… wait, I know you do, sista! Yeah, yeah, yeah, I don’t care if I didn’t marry your brother… we’ll always we sisters at heart.

 

at September 19, 2006 8:56 PM  Samantha said...

And then there are days when I'm glad I have a blog. Thank you, L. I love you, too.

 

Steve Irwin, the Crocodile Hunter, died today.

He took a stingray to the chest.

And all this time we thought he was invincible. The man laid in a komodo dragon nest, all the while his voice over of the documentary states, "If I had known the peril that I was in, I never would have attempted getting so close to these gorgeous animals." He was then promptly treed by the komodo dragons. The stunt was so crazy that we bought an actual Crocodile Hunter VHS with his komodo dragon romp on it. Heck, on my birthday we saw The Crocodile Hunter movie in the theater! I have actual Steve Irwin action figures that shout, "Crikey!" and "What a rippah!"

That must have been one huge stingray, because as my husband aptly pointed out, "The man didn't mess around with the small stuff." I didn't think stingrays could usually kill people.

I'm so sad. The man was nutty, but you just know that he loved what he did. That kind of enthusiasim is hard to come by. And whenever I watched him, he brought me a little bit of joy.

Rest in peace, Steve. We miss you already.

Labels: television

( 1comments )

at September 12, 2006 9:22 PM  Temmahkrik said...

It's not everyone who gets to die doing what they love. R.I.P. Steve Irwin.