Archive for June, 2006
selling with sex
Jun 29th
This is nothing new. People have been using sex or sex appeal to sell things since the dawn of advertising, I would guess. I think of bathing suit clad beauties perched on old muscle cars. Or the half naked dancing man in Kmart commercials.
It’s about sex, baby. And it sells.
One company, shai clothing (pronounced “shy”), decided to take it up a notch. They aren’t just using sex – they are using porn to sell their clothes. I’m not talking soft core porn where you only see breasts and hear noises. Oh, no…it’s porn. Vaginal and anal penetration, blowjobs, and more. They have sections for men with men, women with women and women with men.
To be fair, they also have an “under 18″ area for those who are not of legal age to still be able to buy their clothing and they do stress that their site has porn on it and that it is safeguarded by one of those parental nanny systems.
Shai is a European company. It is not regulated by the same laws that regulate those within the United States.
That being said, they are very proactive about taking personal responsibility for what is shown and seen on the internet. In their Copyright & Credits they state,
Rules for Kids (Minors, Under legal age)
If you are under legal age, you should not enter this website!SHAÃ believes that children using the Internet require special protection, and we urge parents or guardians to explain Internet safety to their children. Parents are urged to spend time online with their children to become familiar the Internet in general.
Control tools are available from online services and software manufacturers to help create a safer environment for children. This web-site automatically alerts Parental Control Systems regarding its X-rated content.
For more information, please visit: http://www.icra.org/
And that’s the crux of it, isn’t it? They have a feedback section where people are complaining about how blatant it is. People are complaining about how accessible it is.
But this is the thing…we are responsible for what happens on our computers. If our children are online, we are ultimately responsible for what they are doing, what they are seeing, and what they are accessing. We are. Not another company. Us.
When Willow comes over to visit, I am careful about what goes up on my screen. When I’m visiting flickr, I know that I may see some nudity and I use discretion in visiting the site.
We’ve tried, as a society, to completely remove ourselves from responsibility over our (and our childrens’) actions. We try to place blame everywhere else but where it ultimately resides: with us.
We are responsible for what happens on our machines. We have the power to disconnect. We have the power to lock them down. We have the power to disengage.
We should take these responsibilities seriously.
homecoming
Jun 25th
american life in poetry: column 065
by ted kooser, u.s. poet laureate, 2004-2006
Visiting a familiar and once dear place after a long absence can knock the words right out of us, and in this poem, Keith Althaus of Massachusetts observes this happening to someone else. I like the way he suggests, at the end, that it may take days before that silence heals over.
Homecoming
We drove through the gates
into a maze of little roads,
with speed bumps now,
that circled a pavilion,
field house, and ran past
the playing fields and wound
their way up to the cluster
of wood and stone buildings
of the school you went to once.
The green was returning to
the trees and lawn, the lake
was still half-lidded with ice
and blind in the middle.
There was nobody around
except a few cars in front
of the administration. It must
have been spring break.
We left without ever getting out
of the car. You were quiet
that night, the next day,
the way after heavy rain
that the earth cannot absorb,
the water lies in pools
in unexpected places for days
until it disappears.
Reprinted from “Ladder of Hours: Poems 1969-2005,” Ausable Press, Keene, N.Y., 2005, by permission of the author. Copyright (c) 2005 by Keith Althaus. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. This column does not accept unsolicited poetry.
fire
Jun 21st
The threat of fire is so pervasive that a siren sounds and we all cringe, wondering if it’s in our part of town.
Today one of my co-workers came into my office and told me she thought there was a fire in my part of town. I was worried. My dog was home alone and I was 40 minutes away. I called the fire department to verify. Luckily, there wasn’t a fire. However, the dispatcher said that we are welcome to call anytime because people are worried and if it helps, call.
There were 4 fires in town today – and the one in Sedona still burns.
This fire, behind my office, was started by a man who wanted to cook some lunch. He started his lunch fire and then threw the match into a trash can – which promptly burst into flames, creating 2 different fires.
Everything is kindling right now. And we have to watch what we’re doing or we could burn down the whole town.
‘net neutrality
Jun 21st
I’ve been thinking about this topic for a while. I’ve been thinking about the impact it will have on all of us – not least of all bloggers, especially those big bloggers that draw in a lot of traffic, who may have a message different from the one their service providers agree with, and who are willing to speak out about the injustices they see in the world.
I finally decided to write about it when I read the feministing interview with Joan Blades of MoveOn.org.
The time to take action is now. Congress is meeting tomorrow to discuss this issue. Read the feministing article. Then go to save the internet and send your representative a message.
We need to make sure that our representatives know that the Internet needs to be neutral. No one should be treated unfairly.
safety first
Jun 21st
This is something I don’t understand about people who are facing eminent danger in natural disasters. Why do they insist on staying in their homes?
I think about the people who refused to leave their homes in spite of hours of warnings before Mt. St. Helens blew. They ended up being crushed in the pyroclastic flows. It couldn’t have been something they really wanted – to die a horrible death. Why did they stay?
The people that were able to leave New Orleans but chose not to (I’m not talking about the poor and disenfranchised who had not alternatives to leave the city). Why did they stay? Did they really want to drown, deal with the lootings, etc., or be subjected to hours and hours of terror while the hurricane ripped through the city?
And now, in Oak Creek Canyon, some people have chosen to stay in their houses. Why?
Isn’t life MUCH more important than material goods? Wouldn’t you rather save yourself, your loved ones, and your pets rather than perish in a fire?
These are the issues:
What is worth so much that people are willing to risk their lives?
To me, it’s rather selfish. They risk not only their own lives and those of their families and pets – but the lives of those who will have to come to their rescue.
positives
Jun 19th
The positive thing about fires – they give us amazing, beautiful sunsets.
Okay, there are actually many things about fires that are positive but they are also very scary and overwhelming and intense.
I have so much respect for fire – especially now that my brother is a firefighter. I understand it better because he explains it in such great detail.
Did you know that fire grows at a rate of 7:1 per minute? It will reproduce itself seven times over in one minute. The typical Phoenix fire department response is 4 minutes. One small ashtray fire could turn into a very large house fire in 4 minutes.
That is incredible. And scary. And powerful.
The Brins Fire has forced the evacuation of hundreds of people in the Sedona area (a mere 25 miles from Flagstaff). Ash and smoke fills the air of Flagstaff and other surrounding communities.
There are fires on the north rim of the Grand Canyon, in eastern Arizona, and various other places around the state.
Even the smallest of fires are making news tonight (a 2 acre fire was quickly extinguished in an east Flagstaff neighborhood).
What really amazes me, though, is when I see people throw cigarettes out of their cars. Seriously. Okay, could you be MORE stupid? Why not just take a lighter or a match to some dry brush?
Morons. I mean, really. Just plain stupid.
We have professionals fighting our fires. They are good at what they do. Forest fires are hard to contain because it’s difficult to get ahead of them. They can turn in a second and go a direction that wasn’t planned on. But the firefighters that work the fires here in Arizona are awesome.
They really save the day – on more than one day.
moving
Jun 19th
Did your family move around a lot, or stay in the same place when you were growing up?
We moved a lot as we were growing up. I don’t even know all of the places we lived when I was young.
My dad was in the Navy and we were stationed up and down the southern coast when I was very young.
I was born in Idaho and we immediately moved east. In 1968, my brother was born in Florida. I know we lived in other places along the southern coast but I don’t know all of them.
We moved to San Diego in the early 1970s, where my other brother was born.
From there, we moved to Missoula, Montana, in the mid-1970s where my sister was born.
In 1980, we moved to Las Vegas, Nevada.
In 1984, we moved to Flagstaff, Arizona.
All of this impacted me. I have trouble staying in one place for too long. I get antsy and need to move.
I’ve tried supplementing it with travel and that seems to help. I’ve lived in the same home for 3 years and, for me, that is a long time.
defined
Jun 18th
My brother has joked about us being white trash for as long as I can remember.
What does that mean to him? What does it mean to me?
Does it mean the kids who wear mismatched clothes and have dirty faces all of the time? Does it mean that you're too poor to be able to buy food? Does it mean that you have a car on blocks in your front yard or that you have a junkyard dog guarding your property? Are white trash folks the ones that sit out on the front porch (if they are well-enough off to afford a front porch), chewing on tobacco, holding a shotgun to scare others off? Do we think of Deliverance when we think of white trash? Or do we think of Bastard out of Carolina? Is it books and movies that have defined what white trash is to us?
For us, it meant that we shopped at second hand stores (or places where we could get a pair of pants for under $5), we were struggling to find money for food, that we were the kids who were either homeless or had homes that were ridiculed by those we went to school with, and that we were, in general, teased relentlessly by other kids because we weren't able to afford the same things they could.
We were latchkey kids. We were kids who, while not living on the streets, did struggle. We had to be little grown-ups because our parents were rarely home because they were working to try to keep us all alive.
Making the joke to call us "white trash" has been something that has really offended our parents. I think it hurts them because they did struggle. They did want the best for us. They were kids themselves, though, and didn't really have the tools or skills to take care of all of us. They did the best they could.
We all do the best we can. If we can survive those struggles, then we become stronger and more resilient. The alternative isn't pretty.
thankful
Jun 18th
Sorry I haven’t responded to all of your well-wishes. I’ve been quite under the weather lately. I’ve been in bed for three days (and, frankly, tired of it).
The fire crews on the Woody Fire were amazing. Within 24 hours, the fire was contained. The fire, while within mere feet of homes, did not consume any structures nor take any lives. The crews did an amazing job. This fire could have been catastrophic but they saved the day. Really. I think we owe them so much.
While the fire was across town from me, we have had many fires, already, in my area of town. Some burned for days. Some were left to burn because structures weren’t threatened.
While other parts of the country contend with hurricanes, earthquakes, mudslides, and other natural disasters, for us, we know that it’s a yearly anguish to deal with forest fires, especially with this drought we’re going through.
We’re waiting for monsoon season to slow all of that down but we also know that a fire is always just around the corner.
–
I’d like to wish all of the fathers out there a very happy father’s day. Kiss and hug your children. Make sure they know they are loved and that you treasure and cherish them. You wouldn’t be a father without them…it’s a symbiotic relationship.
–
And because I’m in the mood…
In speaking with a friend, I realized that I may not be portraying myself in the best light that I could. Perhaps I come across as distant, withdrawn, or guarded.
So periodically I’m going to write on romance and love and anything else along that line.
To get this new path off, I’ve decided to share a W.H. Auden poem that asks questions about love.
O Tell Me the Truth About Love
W.H. AudenSome say love’s a little boy,
And some say it’s a bird,
Some say it makes the world go around,
Some say that’s absurd,
And when I asked the man next-door,
Who looked as if he knew,
His wife got very cross indeed,
And said it wouldn’t do.Does it look like a pair of pyjamas,
Or the ham in a temperance hotel?
Does its odour remind one of llamas,
Or has it a comforting smell?
Is it prickly to touch as a hedge is,
Or soft as eiderdown fluff?
Is it sharp or quite smooth at the edges?
O tell me the truth about love.Our history books refer to it
In cryptic little notes,
It’s quite a common topic on
The Transatlantic boats;
I’ve found the subject mentioned in
Accounts of suicides,
And even seen it scribbled on
The backs of railway guides.Does it howl like a hungry Alsatian,
Or boom like a military band?
Could one give a first-rate imitation
On a saw or a Steinway Grand?
Is its singing at parties a riot?
Does it only like Classical stuff?
Will it stop when one wants to be quiet?
O tell me the truth about love.I looked inside the summer-house;
It wasn’t over there;
I tried the Thames at Maidenhead,
And Brighton’s bracing air.
I don’t know what the blackbird sang,
Or what the tulip said;
But it wasn’t in the chicken-run,
Or underneath the bed.Can it pull extraordinary faces?
Is it usually sick on a swing?
Does it spend all its time at the races,
or fiddling with pieces of string?
Has it views of its own about money?
Does it think Patriotism enough?
Are its stories vulgar but funny?
O tell me the truth about love.When it comes, will it come without warning
Just as I’m picking my nose?
Will it knock on my door in the morning,
Or tread in the bus on my toes?
Will it come like a change in the weather?
Will its greeting be courteous or rough?
Will it alter my life altogether?
O tell me the truth about love.
grandmother speaks of the old country
Jun 18th
american life in poetry: column 064
by ted kooser, u.s. poet laureate, 2004-2006
Storytelling binds the past and present together, and is as essential to community life as are food and shelter. Many of our poets are masters at reshaping family stories as poetry. Here Lola Haskins retells a haunting tale, cast in the voice of an elder. Like the best stories, there are no inessential details. Every word counts toward the effect.
Grandmother Speaks of the Old Country
That year there were many deaths in the village.
Germs flew like angels from one house to the next
and every family gave up its own. Mothers
died at their mending. Children fell at school.
Of three hundred twenty, there were eleven left.
Then, quietly, the sun set on a day when no one
died. And the angels whispered among themselves.
And that evening, as he sat on the stone steps,
your grandfather felt a small wind on his neck
when all the trees were still. And he would tell us
always, how he had felt that night, on the skin
of his own neck, the angels, passing.
Reprinted from “Desire Lines: New and Selected Poems,” BOA Editions, 2004, by permission of the author and the publisher. Copyright (c) 2004 by Lola Haskins. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. This column does not accept unsolicited poetry.
