Cecilia Payne-Gaposchkin

On Sunday afternoon, I did two things that I haven't done in longer than I care to admit. I cleaned the kitchen with the latest two episodes of Galactic Suburbia (one-and-a-half episodes, if you insist on accuracy). I used to listen very, very regularly to the GS podcast while I still commuted to school, or walked around campus. Since I've been on a break, however, not so much.

Oh wait... I've gushed on about this podcast before.
My "Culture to Consume" list grows dramatically after I listen to the podcast. My SF/F news comes from there. But most of all, I love, love, love that they bring up things that are always thought-provoking - even for someone who isn't interested in genre.
In listening, I thought of at least two things that I wanted to blog about (re-blog, okay! okay.)

I had the lofty idea of saving these wonderful Galactic-Suburbia inspired posts for later.
But then, I just saw this from "I Fucking Love Science" on facebook. (Friend that page. Seriously. Friend it.) And the post that appears after the jump just had to be written.

"Since her death in 1979, the woman who discovered what the universe is made of has not so much as received a memorial plaque. Her newspaper obituaries do not mention her greatest discovery. […] Every high school student knows that Isaac Newton discovered gravity, that Charles Darwin discovered evolution, and that Albert Einstein discovered the relativity of time. But when it comes to the composition of our universe, the textbooks simply say that the most abundant atom in the universe is hydrogen. And no one ever wonders how we know."

~ Jeremy Knowles

Cecilia Payne-Gaposchkin, a truly extraordinary woman.



Oh come on. You did not know that.
Shamefully, neither did I.

The inequality of women in the workplace (to keep with the topic, in the Sciences) is not a new thing. Even when it does not seem like it exists. 

You're familiar with the stereotypes of women in science - the geeky, socially awkward, dorky and dowdy - think Amy Farrah Fowler from Big Bang Theory (played by the Neuroscience-Ph.D.-holding Mayim Bialik)*.

There are worse ones IRL.
For instance, I was talking to a friend (you know, the same one who got lectured by the doctor about her moral responsibility to stay home with her baby instead of choosing a career). She has a doctorate in Neurobiology. She is also pointedly not dowdy - her wardrobe is always (has always been) painstakingly put together. At a conference where she was presenting a paper, she got told, "Honey, you're too well dressed! Nobody is going to take you seriously!" She brushed it off, presented a fantabulous, well-received paper that eventually got published.

The same friend, while on an internship, also heard from her male supervisor. "Go home and change and come, your shirt is distracting me."
(And if you're thinking "maybe her shirt was too _________________", you need to go back and re-think the whole victim-blaming thing.)

The IFLS meme made me think of her. And of the politics of gender everywhere.

There is, apparently, no winning this without a penis.
I've been asking myself what the point is of talking about this - and I think the answer is that discussion is the first step to reform of any kind.

More along these lines, tomorrow.

*(With apologies - a footnote.) I know. This is a rooted in a specific culture. So help me here, what's the Indian stereotype of the Science Woman? Sibling? S.B.? Anyone else reading? )

Incomplete thoughts on Anger and fear from Gender and Being

Amidst the two big rape cases in the news (Delhi and ohio), I've been thinking about a conversation I had in the cafeteria last year, where I ended up, rather frustratedly asking the man with whom I was talking to fuck off. A year later, I stand by everything I said then - that we hide under the blanket of culture, that women are not taught to stand up for themselves and that men are not taught to treat women as their equals. That more middle class Indians need to acknowledge that patriarchy Dictates norm. That India needs to be having a conversation about the place of women as individuals (and this means legalizing marital rape).

This is a hard fight, especially in a country like India, because all things heteropatriarchal (normative, cisgender, heterosexual) are automatically granted sanctuary under the umbrella of tradition.

I (like countless other women) am quite tired of the "asking for it" argument and not the least because it presumes that the natural state of all men is Rapist. By extension, I'm tired of women being asked to cover their bodies (No, government of Pondicherry, overcoats do not prevent rape). And I'm fucking tired of arguments like this one - no you sick bastard, there's no reason for the girl to have held her attackers' hands and feet in the name of tradition .

I grew up much too conscious of my own body. All the modesty in the world didn't stop me or my peers from being grabbed, from having penises thrust into our back, and from facing catcalls or lewd remarks. This *is* the typical experience of my generation (and the ones before me). And that was bad enough. There is no justification (nor has there ever been) for letting this state of affairs continue.

Random Musings, More Star Trek and The Galactic Suburbs

Today's post is long and somewhat roughly stitched.
After the jump, you will find a delightful StarTrek poster, more gushing about galactic suburbia and some lamentation about the perennial feminism 101 discussions to which we circle back.

Okay, I'm not a big fan of nostalgia
(no, really! as difficult as it may seem to believe, I'm not)

But over the last couple of days, I feel like Janus - oscillating between mad memories of the past and whats to come.

I like new.
I like change.
I'm excited about the new stuff: the mini-projects that I'm working on (like the site) about other newses (ahem, it is a word, I insist) I'm awaiting, about the vacation I'm set to take later this week.

But I'm also sad about some of the impending changes: like the moving out of a dear friend.
And I feel as if life, somehow, will not be the same once I get back.

In this swing-swing, I feel distinctly as if I've grown older over this past weekend.
I notice new grays, new (imaginary) wrinkles, remark at how different I am now and reminisce about my mother's wise sayings.

As with all else, I'm sure that the moments will pass. But I suspect that this feeling of having aged, just a little bit more, will stay with me for a long while.

Pub Bharo

From the blog

Step 3: On Valentine's Day we do a Pub Bharo action. Go to a pub wherever you are. From Kabul to Chennai to Guwahati to Singapore to LA women have signed up. It does not matter if you are actually not a pub-goer or not even much of a drinker. Let us raise a toast (it can be juice) to Indian women. Take a photo or video. We will put it together (more on how later) and send this as well to the Sri Ram Sena.

Never mind that I don't enjoy the pubbing for the sake of pubbing as much as I do a drink with friends - I reserve the right to choose, as much as a man does.

I wonder though, what do you do with the women - the mothers, the sister and friends who believe that women in pubs are a desecration of Indian Culture?
I know they won't sign up, even if they're only to drink fruit juice in there.

On a very different note, the whole movement will certainly put a smile on the faces of pub-owners in the hometown, where, I hear they're beginning to see the effects of the downturn.

Yes I havent thought of Valentine's Day since I was 13 or so. But I simply have to endorse this:

http://thepinkchaddicampaign.blogspot.com/
from the Consortium of Loose and Forward Pub going women of whom I am willingly a part

and while I'm trying to avoid short bursts of posts here, also a shout out to:
The Blank Noise Project

K.to K.laugh or K.not to K.laugh

There's just so much wrong with it that I don't know where to laugh or cry.
I have mentioned the attack in passing before, but the more I hear of it, the more sorry I am for the state of affairs back home.

Here's what the upholders of our dignity and virtue have to say:

...to protect women from the evils of western culture is our right. It is the duty of every Indian citizen to stop such activities as pub culture is not ours,’ Muthalik asserted.

I'm sure he's never ever had a boner, leched at a Katrina Kaif poster or watched a Shakila movie or even been with a woman - its their honour and virtue at stake, eh?

oh sweet gods! I'd rather die than be protected by these assholes, really
What kind of protection are you talking about really? when you physically assault a woman?

and what the fuck for?

violating traditional Indian values, you say?
like not drinking, smoking, wearing jeans, cutting my long hair, talking to boys save husband, father and brother, kissing, having sex, going to a pub, dancing, hugging men, saying fuck-off, choot etc?

damn.
I have to now self-combust and die of shame for I desecrate all Indian values.
nahiin!

Addiction

Aight. It turns out that my latest obsession is NFS - Most Wanted - not books, not music, a game. *ahem*

There is much that I love about it - the mad rush of defeating Blacklist # so-and-so; the joy of being able to crash into anything without concerns of money and insurance; the gloat-value of winning, mwhaah; the small gamotine** marks on my fingers; the power to take over the word more mwhaha ... uh, well you get the idea.

Having a story behind the game-play is a great idea!
Being able to create multiple profiles on one game is another five star idea!
But no customization for a female player?
Really, now.

One basic premise of the game is that that the player (gamer?) is a guy. And will only ever be a guy - and this is a bugger. The interface, having a hot chick and a buddy type anonymous guy help you out on the side - are all designed with a guy in mind.

To their credit, EA has been ostensibly non-chauvinistic - there are kick ass women racers that the gamer comes up against. But the basic assumption is a total bummer for a female gamer.

The Mia chick is hot - and has a body to die for. But given that I am, um, of a female persuasion, all it does, is to serve as a not-so-subtle reminder that I should spend that time at the gym instead of vegetating at an xbox console.

The villian chappie* pops up once in a while to throw a line or two at you. Dialogs like "I'm gonna take your ride and your girl" almost completley ruin an otherwise top-notch user experience - oh, okay, female user experience.

Notice the almost - that's important because the rest of the game totally lives up to my newbie-gamer standards.
Well I remember liking Carbon better, but this one is also great fun.


* terms like these are dead giveaway that I'm a girl, woman, babe, chick, vixen, bitch, whatever.
** gamotine, like nicotine