The Cerebral Mum

Yes. The day is finally here. No, not Caspar’s birthday - that’s tomorrow. It’s Blog Action Day and if you’ve been paying attention you’ll know that today over 15,000 bloggers are writing about what we can do to take care of the environment.

So let’s talk about Food Miles.

Food Miles are a calculation of the distances travelled by our food before it reaches our plates and the harmful emissions caused by transporting it over those distances. They are one reason why more and more people are becoming Locavores; people who prioritise eating local foods, people who follow a 100 Mile Diet. But Food Miles have been getting a lot of criticism in the media lately. From New York to London, they are being discredited as a useful measure. Top New Zealand chef, Peter Gordon, went so far as saying, “if we’re talking about global warming it’s totally irrelevant”, and the Times dismissed it as, “the latest Western obsession” before all but saying this fad would cause starvation in Africa.

As with most media coverage, the whole debate has been sensationalised and mischaracterises Locavores, who are far more intelligent and environmentally aware than the media gives them credit for.

Obviously, transport is just one of the elements of our food chain which contributes to the carbon footprints we leave. Obviously, production, processing and packaging methods need to be taken into account to get a full picture. Obviously, there are some food items which cannot be supplied locally due to climatic and geographical limitations. But let’s give credit where credit is due.

Those calculating Food Miles are very aware of its limitations. Take for example CERES Community Park’s recent preliminary study of Food Miles in Australia

“Food miles is one important part of a larger complete life-cycle assessment required to compare the sustainability of individual items in food systems.

As at the time of this report, the authors know of no Australian-specific food miles research. This report seeks to contribute some preliminary research to encourage Australian dialogue on the growing issues of sustainability within our food systems.”

The dialogue has to start somewhere and without the impact of the Food Miles debate, the funding just beginning to become available for more complete life cycle analyses would not have appeared.

Food Miles dramatically highlight the huge redundancies in the supply chain. They reveal how often countries import massive quantities of the same items they are exporting. They reveal how much additional fuel is spent by the centralised, near-monopolies of the supermarket chains. They expose the industry practises which destroy the quality of our food.

So think about becoming a locavore. A locavore is not a one-eyed fanatic. They’ve got a handle on all the environmental, and social, and political ramifications of our food chain. Consider the reasons to prioritise local food sources. Consider not just the emissions impact, but the impact on global biodiversity. (Did you know that over 30,000 vegetable varieties have become extinct in the last century and another one disappears every six minutes?) And consider the diversity of your diets. Eating seasonal food is healthy.

These are some locavore guidelines for how to buy food with a your conscience as well as your appetite:

If not LOCALLY PRODUCED, then Organic. This is one of the most readily available alternatives in the market and making this choice protects the environment and your body from harsh chemicals and hormones.

If not ORGANIC, then Family farm. When faced with Kraft or Cabot cheeses, Cabot, a dairy co-op in Vermont, is the better choice. Supporting family farms helps to keep food processing decisions out of the hands of corporate conglomeration.

If not FAMILY FARM, then Local business. Basics like coffee and bread make buying local difficult. Try a local coffee shop or bakery to keep your food dollar close to home.

If not a LOCAL BUSINESS, then Terroir, which means ‘taste of the Earth’. Purchase foods famous for the region they are grown in and support the agriculture that produces your favorite non-local foods such as Brie cheese from Brie, France or parmesan cheese from Parma, Italy.

Hit the farmers’ market before the supermarket. Plan your meal around local ingredients you find at the market.

Branch out. Maybe your usual food repertoire could use some fresh ideas. The farmers’ market provides a perfect chance to try a new ingredient when it’s in season, and lets you talk to its grower to find out the best way to prepare your new food. Flirt with your food producer!

Feed the freezer. Can’t cook every night? Worried about your fresh produce going bad? It’s easy. Make lasagna with local tomatoes or a soup packed with fresh veggies and freeze it! You can also make personal size meals for a brown bag lunch.

Go out! Many… restaurants emphasize local foods in their dishes. Ask around, you might be surprised how many options you find that serve up local flavor. from Locavores

It’s worth thinking about. Do you know where your food has been?

RESOURCES AND ADDITIONAL READING

General

• The Ethicurean - A blog on food ethics: Chew the right thing!
• Eat Local Challenge - A group blog well worth reading, a good place to start if you want to do a test run on eating locally. Has area specific resources for the USA.
• Low Mileage Food- A blog of one couple’s journey toward eating locally, including their food costs.
• Book: The Omnivore’s Dilemma: A Natural History of Four Meals - Thanks to Urban Hennery for this recommendation. I’ll be trying to get my hands on a copy.

Australian

• Australian Farmers’ Markets Association - Find a farmer’s market near you.
• Seasonal Produce Diary 2008 - Buy this diary. Seriously. I have used it for years, and adore it. It has recipes and food/wine festival information as well as seasonal guides. And functions as a diary, of course.
• Going the extra mile… -Newspaper article on one family’s experience of the 100 Mile Diet in Melbourne. It’s a really good read.
• 100 Mile Cafe - The new Melbourne restaurant from Paul Mathis (who I used to work for) which sources produce within a 100 mile radius. Restaurant review from Epicure

There is a kind of woman I cannot respect. In fact, I loathe her like a cockroach. She is the kind of woman that takes one look at you then shuts down, clinging tightly to her man or muttering viciously in her friend’s ear.

I do not understand her.

I am not by nature a jealous person (although I have felt jealousy on occasion) and I am not a possessive person at all. Perhaps my lack of these characteristics limits my capacity for empathy, but the instant antipathies of some women toward other women and their active aggression based solely on looks are inexcusable. At least, I have never been able to find an excuse for it.

The Last Psychiatrist wrote an analysis recently of the research behind a Live Science article which has been getting some attention in the blogosphere, Eyes Can’t Resist Beautiful People. In it, he discusses these research results…

…women attributed good looking women’s success to luck, and less attractive women’s success to ability; but thought good looking men succeeded because of ability, not luck. Men did the exact same (respectively): good looking men succeeded through luck, good looking women through ability.

This is called the sexual attribution bias, and it’s negative, not positive- i.e. it is specifically about devaluing the good looking rival, not about making correct judgments about the less attractive. And it depends nearly entirely on what extent you think you are more or less attractive than the other person.

“Sexual attribution bias” might sound like jargon but it succinctly describes the reason these women I loathe call other women (and sometimes me) bitch and bimbo and slut and I will reiterate that most important point:

It depends nearly entirely on what extent you think you are more or less attractive than the other person.

What that means to me is that it depends entirely on your confidence in yourself.

Flying in the face of the contemporary wisdom from evolutionary psychology which gets so much coverage in the press these days, attractiveness is not universally quantifiable by measuring symmetry, or homogeneity or waist-to-hip ratio or menstrual cycles. It is not a limited resource handed out sparingly in our DNA. It is not immutable. Even the “plainest” woman can be stunning and even the most “beautiful” women in the world have ugly days; days when they slub around home in their pyjama pants with greasy hair and overgrown eyebrows.

Think about those women you consider most beautiful. Are they all “classical beauties”, or do some of them have “interesting” faces? Do you know what they look like when they are not dressed up, when they have no make-up on, when their hair hasn’t been done? Do they have dry skin on their elbows, shadows or lines under their eyes, breasts that hang a little lower than they used to, silvery stretch marks on their hips and thighs? Of course they do.

Think about your most beautiful girlfriend on her worst days, when what she sees in the mirror and what you see are completely different. Think about those conversations where she enumerates all her imperfections and you see them yet they do not detract from her attractiveness.

And think about that woman you know who has everything in all the right places but leaves you completely cold, that woman a man might fuck but wouldn’t bother giving a second thought to.

I have a friend who is a photographer. He told me a story about a gorgeous actress that he really wanted to shoot and how he had picked on another photographer who had worked with her several times because his photos were always flat. Why were the photos so bad when she was so beautiful? He met her while in California for Herb Ritts’ funeral and knew why within a couple of seconds: Because there was nothing there.

The quality of beauty is not dependent on the raw material you have been blessed with at birth. Consistently attractive women all have a certain sort of ease in the way they inhabit their skin: they do not all have the most even features or the most perfect proportions or the most flawless complexion. They have a magnetism which transcends their physicality, they have the ability to communicate their emotions powerfully and to make others feel recognised.

Even in photos, beauty is more about the content of our characters than some people realise. In real life, it is entirely dependent on it. Our perception of someone’s attractiveness changes as we interact with them.

In my experience the women who are hateful - the ones who talk nastily behind my back, or the ones who determinedly ignore me, or the strangers who say derogatory things over-loudly when I’m out, or the ones who literally slam doors in my face - are usually not physically uglier than me. Usually, their raw materials are on par.

Nonetheless, the woman who calls me a stuck up bitch or a whore before she has even met me is uglier than me and, unlike her, I have a real reason for my disrespect. The content of her character is not pretty.

I can understand insecurity, I really can. I had an eating disorder for many years. What I cannot understand is why some women project their insecurity onto others, why they invest their energy in resentment, why they relish cutting other women down. Even while my eating disorder was getting the best of me, I knew somewhere in the back of my mind that my focus on my appearance was a way of avoiding the real issues I needed to deal with. Even while I loathed myself, it was never in comparison to others. And I never took it out on others.

Again, perhaps my ability to empathise is limited by my character. I internalise, attribute blame or responsibility to myself. Some people externalise and attribute blame and responsibility to others. Both of these processes can be pathological but in the absence of human perfection, internalising problems hurts only you and when you conceptualise something as your responsibility, the concept of being able to do something about it comes along for the ride. Externalising, on the other hand, gives you permission to harm others while denying your own accountability.

It offends my moral compass.

It is also mind-boggling. Why do these women do this to themselves? It is so completely self-defeating. There is no explanation for taking pleasure in cutting others down to size, except to make yourself feel bigger but, like a dog raising its hackles, it is only a surface illusion. It begs the question, Why do they need to feel bigger? If a confident woman is a sexy woman, these women are way behind the 8 ball. Not only do they have no self-confidence, they lack the prerequisite for it: Self-awareness.

And self-awareness, in my opinion, is a moral imperative. I was taught that honesty is the most important, and the best, quality a person can have. Throughout my life I have come to learn that honesty is not about telling people the truth, it is about rigorously trying to know the truth. About yourself. It is only through that real humility and real pride that you can judge other people fairly.

I don’t expect everyone to like me - there are natural antipathies and I have as many failings as the next person - but women who hate me for my cleavage or my lipstick are cockroaches in my estimation. With my best understanding, I can judge them fairly as not worthy of my notice or my respect.

It has been a while since I have experienced this - I have been out of the loop socially - but when I move back into the city and see my friends again (including the ones whose girlfriend’s haven’t had a conversation with me in all the years they’ve been “the girlfriend”) I wonder if things will be different. I’m older now (34) and 10 kilos heavier, but I still take pleasure in playing dress-ups and I enjoy being comfortable in my skin (I’ve earned that!) so I don’t think things will have changed very much. I think I will still be on the receiving end of the sexual attribution bias every now and then.

But perhaps I am missing something. Perhaps the people who read this and the people who know me can offer an alternative explanation for why these women behave the way they do, one that excuses them. Perhaps I can yet be moved to empathise. Empathy is always preferable.

Tell me, who exactly is the bitch here?

I fumed for quite a while last night after hearing on a television news teaser that people were angry about children being used at the rally held in Melbourne yesterday protesting John Howard’s industrial relations law, WorkChoices.

Firstly, who the hell is angry? I’ve waited all day to see these supposedly outraged responses reported by reputable news outlets or discussed in the Australian blogosphere. I haven’t been surprised by the dead silence.

Why? Because no one of any consequence thinks the children were being used and the only person that’s angry is me.

I’m angry that news media are more interested in manufacturing false controversy than reportage. I’m angry that network producers think viewers are so empty-headed that all news has to be sexed-up in order for us to tune in. I’m angry that network producers are so empty-headed they don’t realise there are more important things - things already sexed-up and volatile - happening in the world and that, even if we did need to be teased into watching, they could just tell the truth.

Sure, “hundreds of children, many dressed in construction hats and anti-WorkChoices T-shirts, marched with their parents” but who in their right mind would have a problem with that? Parents include their children in their lives. They are supposed to. They are supposed to teach their children right from wrong, as they see it. They are supposed to teach them not to scratch or hit or bite, supposed to teach them patience and kindness and respect.

They are supposed to teach them to respect themselves, to know themselves, to be strong in themselves and to stand up for what they believe in. Anyone with two brain cells to rub together realises that seeing your parents do just that can only be a good example for a child.

Whether we agree with those parents or not.

Australia is an apathetic country politically. A good proportion of the population has no idea how the government works and doesn’t care much about it anyway. They’ve given up. Sam de Brito over at All Men Are Liars summed up the usual approach of an Australian to politics recently. His advice when confronted with a discussion about the Federal election? “Change the subject“.

I couldn’t disagree more. Parents should talk about politics and religion and whatever else is important in the societies they live in. Parents create those societies: They are part of them. And parents should talk about all of those things with their kids. Their kids live in those societies as well: They inherit those societies. Parents have a responsibility to do this.

Whether we agree with them or not.

Personally, I don’t have a lot of faith in this system we have called “democracy”. The idea that citizens have a voice which is responded to by the elected officials who supposedly serve them is obviously ludicrous. It just doesn’t work that way and Australians know it. That’s why politicians are always near the bottom of our list of the people we trust.

But that doesn’t mean Australian society doesn’t have democratic values and it doesn’t excuse “democratic” media when they abuse those values. That lie told on television last night is particularly egregious considering that people are dying in Burma right now for doing the same thing those children were able to do.

And I’m still fuming.

The rally might not have been a very sexy event - it wasn’t particularly large, nothing new was said, and there were no tight shots of half a dozen people in a scuffle to be had so it couldn’t be described as a violent protest - but I remember as a child watching a man stand in front of a tank.

News is important even when it’s not sexy. And politics is important even when it’s futile. The only people using those children yesterday was that commercial broadcaster, which seems to think news can be manipulated as though it were a reality TV show. That’s not news: It’s disinfotainment.

And that’s not good enough.

We ask ouselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be?… Your playing small doesn’t serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t be insecure around you. _{Marianne Williamson}

Bec left this quote for me today on my post, Imagine if… and it says far more succinctly and purposefully one of the things I was trying to say. It says something I have known for a long time and that knowledge has kept my head above water through some dark days.

But knowing it and living it are two different things.

There have been times in my life when I have lived it; when I’ve spoken with the courage of my convictions, when I’ve given my feelings and ideas the respect they’ve deserved, when I’ve revelled in my own existence. Memories of those times have been sustaining while living as a shadow of myself for the last few years but they have also been a temptation to regress.

You can’t go back to the girl you were because you are now so much more! Mourn her if you must, but don’t let her keep your eyes closed to a new world. _{Rob on Minutiae… or I am nobody…}

I started this blog as a lazy way to stay in touch with the diaspora of my family and in the process I remembered the power of writing. Not just the power of writing, but the power of my writing. I remembered my ability to write myself into existence. I remembered the fullness of words and faintly heard my forgotten voice.

I changed the subtitle of this blog to thinking my way back to myself… and took my first steps on that journey. Yesterday, when I wrote Imagine if.., those first steps became a stride.

Often in life it is when someone else’s needs are greater than your own that your potential becomes your reality. Often, when you can not care enough about yourself to be fully present in the world, you can find a reason to in others.

Yesterday’s post was difficult to write but not because it was deeply personal or painful. I have been at peace with the ugliness of my history for a long time. My childhood is a part of what made me who I am. I have learned many things, things that I am proud to have learned, not because of my experience, or in spite of my experience, but through my experience. I don’t wish anyone to have to learn those things the way I did, but I would not change my history if I could.

The reason yesterday’s post was difficult to write was because it would be confronting for those reading it. I had to overcome the hurdle of that social taboo that tells us we cannot talk about politics and religion at a dinner party, that tells us we cannot discuss subjects that cause controversy, that tells us we will make people uncomfortable.

I wrote about child sexual abuse and it is very common for victims to fear speaking up. In many cases they have been living with a “behind closed doors” and “keeping up appearances” mentality for a long time. The power of that taboo keeps them silent and they minimise their experiences in order to contain them, making them mistrust themselves.

But the reason I wrote what I wrote was not just to speak out against child sexual abuse, even though that issue is of enormous importance and needs to be written about over and over until it no longer exists. The issue is broader.

It is not just victims of CSA who live under the weight of this taboo. How many things do we stay silent about in this world? How many people learn to live, like myself, as shadows for fear of offending?

Self-censorship is a social disease.

I cannot attribute my own self-censorship to that specific part of my history. It may have been one of the paths which led me to it but I am an adult and I believe that I am free. Knowing that I made myself who I am, I am able to take credit for who I am. And when who I am falls short of my own aspirations or my own principles, knowing that I am free allows me to accept the imperfection of my humanity without ever seeing it as the final measurement of my self.

Yesterday, outside events moved me to overcome that taboo which I gave power to. I am proud that I did.

And I like talking about politics and religion at dinner parties.

And I choose controversy over Let’s agree to disagree…, which is a noble sentiment only when not used as a coward’s weapon to shame others into silence.

And I like it when I make people uncomfortable. Writing Imagine if… was an uncomfortable process for me and I am closer to my aspirations and my principles because of it.

I like being brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous. And I am grateful when other people are.

Those people light the way. And I can be one of them.

There is a new logo in my sidebar. Are you wondering what it’s about?On October 15th, one day before Caspar’s first birthday, bloggers all around the world are uniting to put a single issue on everyone’s mind.

This is the inaugural Blog Action Day and the 2007 issue is…

The Environment.

If you’re a blogger and you care, go and register your blog.

All you have to do to participate is publish a post about the issue on October 15th.

Your post can be about anything to do with the environment. So you could write a post which is offtopic for your blog OR relate the environment back to your topic in some way…

…you don’t need to suddenly change your voice, style or emphasis. Simply find an angle on your regular postings which relates to the environment.

Our aim is to get people thinking, discussing, questioning and talking about the environment, from every angle, niche, viewpoint and personality.

_{Get Involved}

If you can’t think of what to write about, there are some great resources to get your mind whirring.

3,986 bloggers, and counting…

I’m one of them.

^{UPDATE: I have removed the 2007 reference links, as they are now out of date. If you would like to read a wrap up of 2007, or sign up for next year, visit their home page: Blog Action Day}

On October 19, 2001, the overcrowded Indonesian fishing boat which came to be known as SIEV X (Suspected Illegal Entry Vessel, name unknown) capsized and sank off the coast of Java in a zone patrolled daily by Australia’s spy planes. An estimated 353 people died that day, asylum seekers from Iraq, Afghanistan, Palestine and Algeria. 65 men. 146 women. 142 children and infants. One of those infants was only 20 days old. One had only just been born; the umbilical cord was still attached.

Only 45 people were rescued.

Wherever you look you see the dead children like birds floating on the water, those who survived 22 hours in the water saw the dead bodies of women and children with cuts from nails on the boat and with scars from where the fish were biting at them in the water and saw blood. _{Ahmed Hussein}

Today, a temporary memorial was erected in Weston Park, Canberra, a white pole for each life lost. Less than half bear the names of the people they represent: The Australian Federal Police will not release the list.

The poles will remain for only 6 weeks. Those behind the project, including child psychologist and author, Steve Biddulph, are still working towards permission for a permanent memorial.

It is a sensitive issue politically, and I have my opinions but I will not air them now.

I write this post in memoriam. I write it for asylum seekers everywhere. I write it for those displaced by war and tyranny and prejudice and poverty, for those who wish their children to see a better future. I hope in that future people in need will find a better welcome on our shores.

_{For more information:
SIEV X National Memorial Project
SIEVX.com}

I’ve lived a relatively volatile life where friendships can be intense and intimacy is quick but often fleeting. Tonight that one friend who remains from my childhood is in a sad, sad place and it hurts. There is nothing I can do, and nothing she can do. Time will pass.

I believe that we are all responsible for the cards we are dealt in life, that we are free to play our hand however we choose. I am not deterministic. But biology sometimes is. Sometimes biology deals us an awful burden and the only choice we have is how we bear it. So time will pass, and she will bear it. She will bear it with integrity; aware and moving honestly through a pain that will not defeat her volition.

But, oh, how I wish she didn’t have to.

Friendship is rare.

Friendship is never determined by the length of time you have known one another, but time reveals it. And it reminds us how much we are able to be loved when there is nothing of our masks left but dust.

We are all clay vessels and we spend our lives painting that vessel, trying to tell the story of what is inside, trying to expose to the world that thing we no longer have a name for which Plato called essence. We paint ourselves with an artist’s bias. For good or bad we are the potter and the clay, the painter and the canvas, and we cannot seperate the representation from what is represented. We cannot escape the boundaries of these vessels we reside in. And our instinct is not to.

But in friendship there is no artistry. We no longer have to tell our story: It is seen even when we cannot see it ourselves. Naked, we learn our imperfection, we learn loyalty and, naked, we learn trust. Most of all, we learn of our own capacity to see that which cannot be drawn, to love that which cannot be held, and to be that which we have struggled to imagine.

So there is nothing I can do. Time will pass. But for her friendship I cannot express the depths of my gratitude and, oh, how I wish she didn’t have to go through this.