so they say the third time is the charm.

this is the third time i’m entered to run the edinburgh marathon, taking place on 23rd may. twice previously, i became injured and had to withdraw – last year, just a few days before the race.

however with the help of some physiotherapy and my natural stubborn streak, i am running again, and determined to complete my fourth marathon.

and as i’m going through all the trouble, i thought i’d try to fundraise some money for an organisation very near and dear to my heart: the elephant nature foundation.

those who know me well, know just how strongly i feel about the work that the elephant nature foundation does. Lek and and her team work tirelessly to save the asian elephant, rescuing one ellie at a time. Lek is also a brave and outspoken advocate of eliminating traditional abusive training methods.

having seen first hand the dedication work of Lek and her team, and having experienced the beauty of an “elephant haven” where ellies can spend their days just being the gorgeous creatures they are, i cannot recommend this organisation highly enough.

lek and the elephant nature park have been recognised for their work by the humane society of the united states, national geographic, and time magazine.

but don’t just take my word for it – read more about Lek and her respected foundation in the news here. watch videos of the ellies they have rescued here.

a hundred years ago, there were 100,000 elephant in Thailand. today there are fewer than 4,000 Thai elephants left.

if you haven’t already read about our experience at the elephant nature park, you can do so here, and see more pics here.

they are magnificent, sentient beings, and lek’s commitment and drive are an inspiration to me. if she can dedicate her life to saving the ellies, in the face of incredible odds, then i can certainly try to run a few hours and raise a few bob to do my part.

a world without these amazing creatures is not a world i want to live in. please consider sponsoring me at my justgiving page.

thanks in advance.

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my biggest pet peeve these days? titles.

over here in the u.k., titles are *mandatory* for practically everything. every form you fill out, every account you open, every online purchase you make, you are required to choose a title.

stop! until you choose a title, you may not pass go! you may not buy that set of plastic mixing bowls for £9.99 until you answer the very important title question!

and while most of the time, it’s the standard mr./mrs./ms./miss choice, being that we live in the u.k., often the choices will include the more exotic honourifics lord/lady/sir/dame etc. etc. etc.

i’ve always been against titles on principle – there are very few instances where my gender and/or marital status are required knowledge for a retail exchange or provision of services to be carried out smoothly and successfully. it’s really wholly unnecessary in 99% of all instances. but in such places where it was required, i have always, always used ‘ms.’ as a title – partly as a nod to second wave feminism, but mostly because it’s none of their damn business whether or not i’m married and i like being cryptic.

over here though? even though i’ve always selected ‘ms.’ every bloody time they force me to use a title? they still put ‘miss’. without fail, on every item where jonno’s and my own differing surnames are included, i am ‘miss’. but even on my own bank account, my paycheque, my junk mail… all ‘miss’, every last one of them. for some reason, ‘ms.’ in the u.k. is not widely used… or, it would seem, acknowledged.

frankly, it pisses me off to no end. the insistence on a title where none is needed (does it *really* make any difference to my veg box order if i am baroness jen, or professor jen, or mrs. jen?) is idiotic enough, but in a country where arbitrary class designations are still so rife (as if by being born into a “noble” family, lord poshbottom of earlchestertonshire is somehow better than anyone else), and where the outmoded queen still sits on her throne pretending to be important in the world, i can kind of understand it.

but to force me to use a title and then not even honour my elected honourific? well that’s just galling. i may not think that titles are important, but to blatantly disregard what i choose to call myself is downright rude.

so lately i’ve been rebelling in my own childish, but amusing way – selecting titles at random. my grocery account is under ‘captain’ jen, my cable bill arrives for ‘mr.’ jen, and so on, and so forth. if they’re going to force me to play their little stupid, bullshit, classist game, then play it i will. it’s petty and small, i know, and entertains no one but myself.

but i can’t wait to use ‘marchioness’. or hell, maybe i’ll just start making some up.

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things that drive me crazy about jonno:

- he leaves empties everywhere. empty tubs of peanut butter, empty cartons of milk, empty bottles of shampoo. there’s nothing like going to use some clingfilm/margarine/coffee only to find a container full of air.

- he kicks me in his sleep. rhythmically. he’s got periodic limb movement disorder, which means that just as i’m ready to fall asleep… i get kneecapped. it does not make for restful nights.

- he smokes. i’ve been trying to get him to quit for years, but no dice. my favourite is when he has a cigarette right before climbing in bed.

- he’s immensely cheery when he’s hungover. no matter how rough the night before was, he springs out of bed in a sprightly, hypermaniacally happy manner. when i can barely open my eyes, it makes me want to strangle him.

things that drive me crazy about jonno:

- he makes me belly-laugh, every goddamn day. it’s a kooky, goofy side that he keeps private, but when we’re alone together, his offbeat sense of humour is infectious, and it makes my life immensely richer.

- he is loyal to a fault. family and friends always come first, and those priorities are crystal clear for him. moreover, not only does he put up with my crazy family, but he actually likes and values them – and the feeling is mutual. that makes all the difference.

- when he wakes up in the morning, with his sleepy eyes and tousled hair, i can see the little kid he used to be. and it makes my heart melt.

- he’s driven to achieve the things that are important to him. for nearly two years now, he’s been studying for an accountancy diploma via online coursework. at home, evenings and weekends, he’s been turning down social engagements, and studying his little brains out with a discipline i am in awe of. and he finally received his diploma, just the other day. i couldn’t be prouder.

- he is steady and calm and unfazed by all my insanity. he is kind and good to the core. he always does the right thing. he is a better cat parent than me. he has the most wonderful eyes.

i love the hell out of that guy.

happy anniversary to us! five years down, only 45 to go.

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i am endlessly fascinated by the soundtrack of my own life – it ebbs and flows, swallows up the new and spits out the old, wandering in this direction and that.  it is always morphing into something new that surprises me every time i turn around – kinda like the evolution of personal relationships, my relationship with music is ever-changing.  and one of the best parts of discovering new personal relationships is discovering new music.  it becomes the background theme to the times and places and people that you will forevermore associate with a particular song or album.  and it is this emotional panorama that makes music so intensely, acutely personal.

those sentimental attachments have been playing a lot on my mind, of late – and playing a lot in my mind.  a lot of memory lane has been on repeat in my brain.  so often music *is* our memory – a stand-in for emotion and nostalgia.  memories of our childhood, memories of events, memories of family, friends and lovers.

so often, long after the details are forgotten, the music remains.

if you could distill an era of your own down to a few songs, what would they represent?  with that in mind, i thought it would be interesting to do a series of playlists based on the decades of my own life…

… starting with the 90s.  i graduated high school in 1990, so the 90s were the decade when i went to university, the decade i lived in montreal and new york, the decade i got married.  the decade i was young and then grew up.

AC/DC -You Shook Me All Night Long – this song is my university drinking song, the song we used to blast before we went out, and the song we would drunkenly blast when we got home, much to the annoyance of everyone else in the dorm.  i was 17, underage even by canadian standards, and determined to break out of my “good girl” mould.  this song is all about freedom and rebellion, and it was the beginning of mine.  and lets face it,  is there a more rocking drinking song? i submit there is not.

The Smiths – Asleep – this was the song on endless repeat the months in university that i spent contemplating suicide.  after a fun few months as a freshman, i got dumped.  hard.  by the person who’d introduced me to the smiths.  combined with a lot of other crap going on, it was the beginning of a downward spiral.  and though i’m pretty sure this song is probably the most popular suicide song ever, when you’re fast in the grips of the blackest depression, it seems like it’s meant for just you. and when you’re looking at the snow six floors below your window, this song provides the words to the feeling that you could never put words to for yourself.

Beastie Boys – No Sleep Till Brooklyn – two years in, i dropped out of university and moved to brooklyn. this song was playing.  coincidence and fate are sometimes two sides of the same coin.

Notorious B.I.G. – Juicy – this was one of our rooftop songs.  the first years in brooklyn were the poorest, and yet richest of my life.  it felt like i was truly living for the first time, and i was in the best city in the world. and when you feel like that, you gotta go up on the rooftop.

Counting Crows – Rain King – i hate this song.  for a year in 1994-1995 in brooklyn, i lived with 7 other people in one apartment, and they played this all seemed to play this fucking album incessantly.  i was working full time, going to school full time, and i would come home, exhausted and needing to write a paper, only to find giant impromptu parties in my living room and the fucking, fucking, fucking counting crows playing.

Diana Ross – I’m Coming Out – the upside of living with 7 other people was that there was always a party in my living room.  we lived just above a liquor store, and with a russian who always had quality vodka in the freezer.  the girls would get wasted on gallon jugs of cheap white wine and do the bus stop while the guys smoked bongs and drank vodka.  it was hella fun.

Heatwave – Always And Forever – in the summer of 1997, i got married.  this was our song.  i know, i know!  but that’s the thing about couples’ songs – you don’t choose them, they choose you.  it was a ridiculously hot day, i was so late that our minister nearly had to leave, we got married in the park, i wore a white dress and purple sandals.  i don’t really remember too much else about it.  that’s the weird thing about weddings – you think you’ll remember every detail, but it all goes by in a giant blur.  but i remember this song.  funny – until i looked it up just now, i thought it was by ‘peaches and herb’.  just goes to show.

Len – Steal My Sunshine – in february 1999 we moved from brooklyn to the burbs of boston.  it turned out to be ill-advised for so very many reasons:  i took a job i came to loathe, and it was effectively the deathknell for my marriage.  but for one glorious summer, it all seemed fantastic.  we had a giant flat with a garden.  we had a dog.  we had a car.  i used to come home from work, crack open a beer, bring the radio and newspaper outside, turn on the sprinkler and let the dog loose.  it was my own little slice of suburban heaven, and this song captured it all.

turns out, i wouldn’t be that happy again for a long time.  but i didn’t know that at the time, and i did not yet know of all the changes the new millenium would bring for me…

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valentine’s day sucks. there, i said it.

it all starts out innocently enough. in early grade school i remember the required annual arts and crafts projects, where we’d all fashion giant envelopes out of stapled manila folders, sloppily glue on red construction paper hearts and glitter, add our names in big block letters, then hang them off the sides of our desks. in the weeks before the holiday, we’d have to have our parents take us to buy a box of cheap drugstore valentines – the pressure to select the “right” kind weighing heavily. the teacher would have already distributed a list of class names, and in an attempt at inclusion, we were supposed to write a card out to each and every child. some did, some didn’t, and those of us whose parents made us write one for everyone on the list would still allocate the “worst” of our cards to the kids we disliked. on valentine’s day, we shoved them all into a big box on the teacher’s desk at the front of the room, hoping desperately that at least a few in the pile had our names on them. finally, late in the afternoon, we’d have a party, eating cupcakes and crisps at our desk while the teacher distributed the cards into everyone’s named and decorated folders.

to see some kids’ folders bulging with cards, while some kids’ envelopes held just a few token, parent-enforced valentines … that’s where my dislike of the holiday began. it was a popularity contest, pure and simple. i was always somewhere in the middle, but i always feared being one of those kids whose thin folder told the world they were a loser.

in middle school and high school, it only got worse. the schools (in a brilliant stroke of fundraising) offered carnations (or for high-schoolers, roses) that you could purchase and have sent with a note to your “valentine”, for the whole school to see. as in grade school, there were always some girls who went home with their arms full of flowers, and many, like me, who felt hopelessly uncool because we had none. the pressure to be “in a relationship” on the day, just so someone would be obligated to send you a flower, was intense. if you weren’t “dating” someone, you were unsophisticated and inexperienced. and god help you if you happened to be gay – the social isolation already experienced by those kids was only brought into sharper focus by a holiday which emphasised just how different they were. they weren’t just shy and inexperienced – they were outcast non-participants.

as an adult, all the gut-instinctive things i hated about the holiday as a kid have only been reified. the obligation to spend money, the perpetuation of heteronormative stereotyping, the portrayal of women as wanting/needing to be showered with prescribed gifts of diamonds/chocolates/roses/childish teddybears, the pressure to publicly display affection, the cheapening of genuine sentiment by demanding it be expressed on a given day, and the social exclusion of people who are either not in a typical monogamous romantic relationship, or (horrors!) not in a relationship at all… it all adds up to a big giant yuk.

so i’m boycotting valentine’s day. we don’t need more flowers, cards or chocolates in this world …we need more real love, understanding, and acceptance.

and what i want to know is, where’s the holiday for *that*?!

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i pass this poster every day, twice a day. plenty of people see this and think it’s a sensible advert.

i see it every day and it makes me irate.

it reminds me of this wonderful advert that the police put out at holiday time:

it is not my job to make sure unlicensed mini-cab drivers don’t rape me. that is the job of the *fucking police*.

funny, i don’t see any drinking or mini-cab adverts aimed at warning men. and if there’s an expectation that men should be safe drinking, and taking cabs, and can do so free from assault, then shouldn’t we hold the same expectations of safety for women?

we don’t make people or society safer by telling women they shouldn’t do what men do. you know, drink. and take cabs.

in a nutshell, this is the problem with ads like this: you *cannot* make women reponsible for “protecting themselves” without also implying that the corollary is then also true – namely, that if you *don’t* “protect yourself”, then you are somehow responsible if something happens.

it does not make sense on any logical planet to say, “we’re not victim blaming… but just in case, you should avoid becoming a victim”.

even worse, trying to scare women into never taking cabs or never drinking *does not make us safer*. it does not put rapists behind bars, and it does not innoculate us from harm.

i’m sick of seeing horrible, sad depictions of women who “should’ve known better”, crying with regret and shame because they didn’t heed the warnings, and now have been raped. (after all, don’t they know if they’d just been more cautious, they would’ve been safe ? but they were too brazen! and now look – they’ve been violated instead! look at them scream!)

vomit.

no. what i want to see is rape conviction rates that make it into the goddamn double digits. what i want to see is women who are unafraid to do the same things men do – walk the streets at night, drink (sometimes too much, even), take cabs alone. what i want to see is a society that no longer tells women they need to protect themselves from potential rapists, but that demands laws and policing that truly protect *everybody*.

take every last penny put into “sensible” victim-blaming adverts like these, and put that money towards stopping rape.

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sure, everyone has nicknames for their pets… but i like to think we put a little imagination into it.

zeke
ezekiel
zekey
zizi
zekelino
bubba
buddy
pipsqueak
dingleberry
fuzzbucket
twinkletoes
prancer
frog-stomper
teh kitteh
furry feline friend
peeping tom

…and on sunday mornings at 5:30am, an especially heartfelt “for-the-love-of-all-that-is-holy-and-good-shuddup-already!!!”

lucky for him he’s pretty cute.

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one of the things i have come to truly appreciate about the u.k. is that it is, by and large, a pretty secular country. that’s not to say that people here do not practice religion – but that even without the benefit of any constitutional provision about separation of church and state, religion plays a infintesimally small (if any) role in politics, policy-making, and the public conversation at large.

and that’s just the way brits like it.

even so, i’ve been utterly surprised at the size of the furore over the pope’s recent comments in advance of his imminent visit to the u.k. the pope strongly criticised the u.k. equality laws which are designed to prevent discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation or gender… even in the employ of the catholic church.

The pope said: “The effect of some of the legislation designed to achieve this goal [of equality] has been to impose unjust limitations on the freedom of religious communities to act in accordance with their beliefs. In some respects it actually violates the natural law upon which the equality of all human beings is grounded and by which it is guaranteed.”

turns out, the british public very much dislike being told what to do by a figurehead of another country, much less a roman catholic one. see, britain’s official church is the church of england – they did away with the pope a while ago when he and king henry had a falling out over the granting of his divorce, and haven’t had much use for him since. between a quarter to one half of the country consider themselves to be of “no religion”, depending on which poll you believe.

additionally, given the perceived influence of the catholic church on the recent u.s. healthcare reform palaver, and the general distaste for the role religion plays in so much of u.s. policy (stuff like “don’t ask, don’t tell”, the abortion wars, and fundamentalist congressional evangelism just do not happen here), and the pope’s comments have made him almost instantaneously persona non grata.

the backlash and condemnation has been swift and loud.

and immensely, immensely gratifying.

as an atheist who grew up in a tradition of church and belief, i understand how and why people want and need religion in their lives. i may not want or need a religion, but i would never begrudge others theirs. i understand how people feel divine guidance is important in their daily existence. while i haven’t believed in a god for many years now, i understand what it feels like to do so.

what i do not, and have never understood, however, is a belief in any higher power who views some individuals as lesser humans because of who they are. what i do not, and have never understood, is the need to try to dictate others legal rights based on a very personal spirituality (or lack thereof). what i do not, and have never understood, is the sheer hubris of those who believe that *their answers* to the greatest of life’s mysteries are *the* answers to the greatest of life’s mysteries. what i do not, and have never understood, is the audacity of those in positions of power who would use their belief systems to reinforce their power by stripping others of theirs.

so i have no love for the pope, who seems to feel threatened because our laws take away his right to discriminate against gays, women, and people of non-catholic persuasion. i have no love for the pope who uses his bully pulpit to tell our government how to run our country. i have no love for the pope who as the leader of billions of believers, still espouses a hurtful message of exclusion.

and for once, i am surrounded by compatriots who feel the same.

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