Read this disclaimer first!!
Tuesday, Mar. 18, 2003 - 9:05 a.m.
-

Surely this must be bullshit. Please. I'm going to email this to S now.

Google Hit of the Day: How to "not" hurt someone's feelings.

I don't know how I feel about that.

0 scrawls at the end of this hall

The look:
The feel:
The taste:
________________________
Monday, Mar. 17, 2003 - 9:55 a.m.
Portrayals

You know when there's an issue or point of view that people start relating to or believing in in droves, and then after a while someone takes a different look at it and people either start shifting to that way of thinking or there is deep polarization in the masses? Perhaps maybe that time has come for those who have discussed how mispresented women and their bodies have been in the media.

Personally, I agree with anyone who says that this misrepresentation does harm to women, and by extension everyone. But I have just come across another point of view on this matter here. An excerpt:

"I am so sick and tired of the Maxi staff putting stuff in the raw nerve section pertaining to looks and body shape! Every single time it's Jennifer Lopez's butt, or Jane's malnourished model, or the legs in the shoe ad, blah, blah, blah. Ya know what? We all KNOW that culture misrepresents women, it's a sad fact, but 99% of the population doesn't look like a model, and quite frankly has way more important things to worry about (like supporting a family, personal safety, etc.) than what Amber Valetta's ass looks like. Men are puzzled by women's preoccupation with bodies...and women continue to perpetuate it and demand that it take precedence over things that really matter! Bottom line, by bellyaching about bodies, we aren't really talking about anything of substance..."

I think I would have to agree with this. I wonder if the whole body image in the media is not something to worry about.

But then I recall the chapter of Michael Moore's Stupid White Men entitled "Kill Whitey". He talks about the demonization of black men through the media, and how that creates a myth that we are inherently more dangerous than anyone else. "That's what blacks do-kill and die. Ho-hum. Pass the butter."

It's absolutely true that news portrayals demonize blacks, particularly in the U.S. But are news portrayals, which people assume are true, really the same as entertainment portrayals? Some would argue that in effect, yes they are. I don't really think so, but that's for another entry that I don't have time for right now.

2 scrawls at the end of this hall

The look: comtemplative
The feel: all business
The taste: sweet and sugary, I just put too much sugar in my tea
________________________
Monday, Mar. 17, 2003 - 8:47 a.m.
E.R.

I should have invited Robin to Montreal for our famous St. Patrick's Day parade. Mental note to self: next year get her to Montreal. More on that later.

This morning I dreamt that I was taking the bus to work as usual. The major difference was that with me on the bus was the President, the VP of Technology and the Director of Professional Services of my company, chatting away as they normally do. But it being a dream, there was nothing abnormal about this. Keep in mind, in normal life they drive Jaguars and big SUV's.

The route to work wasn't normal, either. In fact, I was travelling down Parc Avenue towards my old place at Esplanade. I started crossing Fletchers Field. It was an ersatz Fletcher's Field dreamscape. It was bigger, or rather what I was seeing was dilated. The further things were from me, the even further they appeared. For example, if something was 200 metres away, it appeared 350 metres away. And a little blurry, too.

The day was just just today, cloudy and warm. Yet despite the cloudiness, there were people doing activities in the park, such as Tai Chi or playing catch. This would be around 7:30 a.m.

As I am crossing the park, I see a jogger dressed all in white: tight white T-shirt, shorts so short they almost qualify as hotpants, and, well, shoes. It was none other than Robin.

Robin was jogging by, and somehow I kept up to her, as though I were a cameraman on one of those camera dollies that move along tracks. There was an house in the middle-left of the field. behind the tennis courts. A stairway leading to the basment apartment led to an open door. Inside there was an injured man. He was about 23 years old, large-framed, black curly hair, Greek-looking, not particularly attractive. He looked as though he had slipped, fallen and hit his head, or perhaps he was bludgeoned. He was still alive, though.

Robin was very concerned and upset, but she kept calm. She ran off, and came back with a first aid kit and went to work on him. People were starting to gather, but they didn't registered as a small annoyance to Robin and her work. She had a life to save. It was as though she were in an emergency room.

I think I must have physically disappeared, and was some kind of disembodied recording spirit, because I don't remember feeling anything physically or otherwise after I saw Robin. How strange, this dream. In retrospect, I think the dream means that Robin looks damn cute in short shorts, and that I should check out her jogging.

I have to talk about yesterday, too. Amazing St. Patrick's Day.

0 scrawls at the end of this hall

The look: odd
The feel: grey
The taste: tasteless, that is, without taste, I mean...ahh forget it.
________________________