Freitag, 10. Januar 2014

Ihr Familienbild kotzt mich an

Disclaimer: Dies ist eine Hetenmeinung.
Ich will damit überhaupt nicht so tun, als würde die aktuelle Diskussion um #idpet mich im gleichen Maße betreffen wie die LGBTQ community. Deshalb schreibe ich auch nicht über deren Part, sondern über das, was wir Heteros an dieser Stelle meiner Meinung nach mal laut und deutlich den PolitikerInnen sagen sollten:
Ihr Familienbild kotzt mich an!
Nun lebe ich in etwa in dem, was von der katholischen Kirche bis zur FDP als "ideale Familie" bezeichnet: hetero, verheiratet, zwei Kinder. Fehlen nur noch Eigenheim und Hund um als vollwertige Menschen anerkannt zu werden und es lässt meinen Blutdruck gewaltig steigen, wenn dann Politiker, Polemiker und andere Arschlöcher auf uns und unseresgleichen zeigen als "Argument" warum es OK ist andere zu diskriminieren.
Meine Familie ist NICHT ihr Spielball, Herr Rülke.
Wir müssen NICHT vor "homosexueller Indoktination" geschützt werden, Herr Nägle.
Sie sprechen NICHT für uns.
Zu meiner Familie, zu den wichtigsten Menschen in meinem Leben gehören auch nicht-heterosexuelle Menschen. Jeder Angriff auf sie ist ein Angriff auf meine Familie. Sie ist auch ein Angriff auf meine Lebenswirklichkeit, auch wenn ich an der Oberfläche so schön in ihr Bild passe.
Ich habe keine Ahnung welche sexuelle Orientierung meine Kinder haben. Ich bin nicht so blöde anzunehmen sie wären hetero nur weil ich das bin oder weil das am wahrscheinlichsten ist.
Ich bin ja auch nicht davon ausgegangen dass sie Rechtshänder sind als sie noch nicht koordiniert greifen konnten.
Deshalb möchte ich, dass meine Kinder in einem tatsächlich geschützten Raum aufwachsen in dem sie ganz selbstverständlich lieben dürfen wen sie lieben, in dem sie sich nicht fürchten müssen, dass etwas nicht mit ihnen stimmt weil sie anders sind, in dem sie erfahren dass sie nicht alleine sind.
Und je mehr Kommentare man sich von Eltern bei der #idpet Petition durchliest, desdo offensichtlicher wird es, dass Schule eben dieser Raum sein MUSS, denn leider haben auch homophobe Arschlöcher LGBTQ Kinder und nicht nur tolerante Bäumeknutscher wie ich.

So, und wenn ihr das jetzt lest und nickt, dann TUT was. Dann sagt ganz klar: Nicht im Namen meiner Familie!
Dies ist kein Konflikt zwischen Hetero-Familien und LGBTQ-Menschen. Dies ist ein Konflikt zwischen uns und den homophoben Arschöchern.

Montag, 30. Dezember 2013

Gender Bender Shmender Lavender

Or: I simply don't understand it.
I admit, i grew up during a time when clothes were made for children. So, upon having them myself I still don't understand the girl-boy rules. Not really.
As you probably know, I do machine embroidery and happily make shirts not only for my kids, but also for my friend's three boys.
So, this is this year's christmas collection:
For the youngest one, age 4
And I admit I happily made one with purple kitties for the gender non-conforming middle child. That kid rocks. He doesn't give a shit about what other people say. He is a sparkling princess for carnival and loves Hello Kitty:
Isn't it cute?
Now, the oldest one is more "traditionally boyish", if by "traditional" you mean fashion that didn't exist 20 years ago. And I chose a combination of designs and colours that simply rocks:
Roaaaaar
I fell in love with it. Sometimes what you plan in your head doesn't quite turn out the way you thought it would. And sometimes it's better than you ever imagined. This one is the latter case. I was like "I want this soooo much. I would so much love to make it for my children, but probably they wouldn't wear it anyway and then those hours would be wasted".
There's nothing cute about this. It's fierce and bold. 
But I thought it would be worth asking.
Well, if the shirt wasn't blue. And with purple. And pink...
My daughter didn't even allow me to wash out the chalk and the hoop burn.
New favourite shirt. And baby rabbit.
 I still don't understand the rules, but I'm glad she has a new favourite shirt!

Samstag, 23. November 2013

Froebelsterne, for rq

OK, let's get started without me trying to find a nice intro.

1. You need 4 paper strips
They need to be fairly long: 30cm for 1 cm width, 50-60 cm for 2 cm width. Look for quilling of paper ball supplies. They turn out nicest when both sides are coloured, but for the tutorial I used paper with different sides.

2. Fold in half

 3. Cut a point at the end for easier insertion later

4. Hold one strip in your hand, the closed side to the left, "hang" another one over it
.

5. Turn counter-clockwise, hang the next strip over it.

6. Now with your last strip, go over the right strip and in between the left.

7. Pull tight and flip around so the side that was previously on the bottom is on top now. The strip pointing upward should be on the right.

8. Fold the upper strip down.

9. Fold the other strips clockwise.

10. For the last one you need to insert it in the little "pocket" formed by the first strip and pull tight.

11. Now start with the left hand strip on the top. Fold 90°. Make sure you fold in the right direction.

12. Fold downward, but make sure to leave a little gap.

13. Fold inward to make a point.

14. Now you need to insert the strip under the loop again. This works best if you fold the point backwards a bit.

15. It should look like this now. Turn 90° counterclockwise, rinse and repeat. By turning ityou can always work in the same pattern.

16. Once you folded all 4 sides, flip over again and repeat on this side.

17. When you're done it should look like this.

18. Take the lower strip thats pointing to the right and fold it to the left. This is just to get it out of the way.

19. Take the right strip pointing upward and fold down. Now fold 90° BUT don't make a sharp edge, just pinch it at the centre.

20. Now make a loop and insert the strip under the strip you folded out of the way. You can see which side needs to face upward by the pattern

21. Pull tight, but not too tight so a point forms.

22. Turn clockwise, rinse and repeat. You can see that the strip actually leaves through the point.

23. Once you're done with one side, flip around. You can also leave it like this and stick on a parcel or card. If you go on you need to work in your hand.

24. Done! Almost. Cut away the remaining paper. Traditionally you cut close to the point, but I think it's nicer when working with 2 colours to leave a small margin.

25. You can also make a shooting star. If you've made it flat you can use it as a name tag or place card and write the name on the longer strips.

26. And if you go over the top like me you can make a nice decoration.


Dienstag, 11. Juni 2013

Nice, white, colourblind people

Yesterday in written expression we had to describe a photo.
As detailled as possible. Including the colour of the windowframe the woman was standing in front of.
Something nobody* thought worth mentioning: a white woman.
Because duh, if I** say "woman", of course that means "white woman", right?
If she'd had the audacity to be black I'd surely have mentioned, right?
Because I'm colourblind. I don't see white....

*well, except me.
**Not actually me

Donnerstag, 16. Mai 2013

No, the important things about women ain't their looks....

Don't know how informed you are about German news, but you might have heard that we had a trio of murdering fascists roaming the country for more than 10 years who killed people of Turkish and Greek origin.
The trail against the one surviving member, Beate Zschäpe and some of their accomplices started last week after it had been postponed. Postponing was necessary because there is, of course, a big interest in the media about the trial and not enough space for all the journalists to sit. After all, this is said to be the most important trial in Germany in recent history.
So, what did the media tell us about that first day of trial?

Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung:
Beate Zschäpe, die mit dem Rücken zu den Fotografen steht, ihren Kopf in den Nacken wirft und ihre langen rot-schwarzen Haare schüttelt und schüttelt, als wäre sie auf einer Strandpromenade und nicht in einem Gerichtssaal.
Beate Zschäpe, who has her back turned towards the fotographers, who throws her head back and who shakes and shakes her red-black hair as if she were o a beach promenande and not in a courtroom.

Süddeutsche Zeitung:
  Sie trägt einen schwarzen Hosenanzug und eine helle Bluse. Ihr Aussehen sorgt für Aufsehen. "Mit Ohrringen und Stöckelschuhen ist sie gekommen", schreibt die türkische Zeitung Hürriyet.
She's wearing a black suit and a light blouse. Her look draws attention: "She came with earrings and in high heels" writes the Turkish newspaper Hürriyet

And so on, and so on.
Rejoice ladies. Even when you're a murderous fascist terrorist still nothing will be as important as your looks...

Freitag, 8. März 2013

Oh the sweet victim blaming

Trigger warning, obviously
So, the local radio station pointed me towards Kate Miller-Heidke and her song Sarah. A beautiful, talented voice, a song that chills the bones, well-sung, expressive and oh, so wrong.
The song tells the story of a friend of hers who is the first person narrator of the song. It is the story of two young girls who went to a music festival, deemed to be "safe as safe can be". The age of the girls is not given exactly, but they have to sneak in gin, and they are supposed to be picked up by midnight, so we're dealing with teenagers and I don't think on the upper end of "teen".
While dancing, the friend of the narrator, Sarah, suddenly disappears. The only thing found of her is her dress the next day. She returns two weeks later, not knowing what happened or where she had been.
So we're talking about a horrible crime commited against a child, obviously.
Yet the criminal in this story is invisible. He doesn't get mentioned, it is as if he doesn't exist, as if this whole tragic event isn't solely the fault of one person who decided to abduct and probably rape a child.
Instead, the blame gets put on the girls. The narrator is blamed by the parents, apparently she didn't take enough care of her friend. And she blames herself. "I didn't mean to let you down...I hated when I let you down". How exactly? How was she supposed to know that something horrible would happen the moment she turned around? Weren't they supposed to be "safe as safe can be"? And she blames her friend "but you left me on my own...why didn't you scream, why didn't you shout?"
The idea is clear: There are things the two girls could have done to prevent this from happening. The criminal is like a force of nature whose path you can't change. You can only get out of the way.
I admit that there is the possibility that Kate Miller-Heidke actually tries to show how ridiculous, cruel and stupid it is to put the blame on the victim, to put the onus on girls and women not to get raped. I just don't think that it is coming across like that and not like a "tragic story of two girls where one didn't pay attention and the other didn't scream loud enough.

Montag, 18. Februar 2013

And the flowers and the trees, de Botton part II

So, are you still there?
I know this is getting long. I wished philosophers were more concise. I also wished they wrote less bullshit.
We're on page 3 of the article and we're still talking about the love-killer marriage is.
Sex also has a way of altering and unbalancing our relationship with our household co-manager. Its initiation requires one partner or the other to become vulnerable by revealing what may feel like humiliating sexual needs. We must shift from debating what sort of household appliance to acquire to making the more challenging request, for example, that our spouse should turn over and take on the attitude of a submissive nurse or put on a pair of boots and start calling us names.
I'm still wondering how all of this is tied up with marriage. Surely as somebody who grew up in Switzerland and lives in the UK he should be well aware and comfortable with the fact that nowadays indeed many people don't get married at all. Some of their relationships last, some don't, but on the whole their lives don't seem to be that different from mine. I haven't looked into their bedrooms, of course, but since de Botton sets up his conflict between the "household needs" and the "intimate needs" I don't think it matters much.
Again, it's not my sexual desires and kinks that make me vulnerable towards my husband. It's the fact that I love this person with all my heart and that he could break it easily.
Why should the sexual desires he describes be humiliating? Sure, they require trust and safety with your partner but so does raising a family. It's again de Botton's screwed up perspective on sexuality that shows here, not some objective truth about submissive nurses in leather boots.
Why are bread crumbs in the kitchen bad for sex?
Because they get into your ass when you're fucking on the kitchen counter.
Easy answers for easy questions.
 We tend to forget we are angry with our partner, and hence become anaesthetized, melancholic, and unable to have sex with him or her because the specific incidents that anger us happen so quickly and so invisibly, in such chaotic settings (at the breakfast table, before the school run) that we can't recognize the offense well enough to mount a coherent protest against it
I really wished he could decide himself what it is now. Are we not fucking because of marriage? Because our desires are too humiliating? Because we don't want to force our gross sexuality onto the other? Or because of the stupid breadcrumbs? Hell, it's a wonder that anybody who isn't paid for it even manages fucking once in a while.

 And we frequently don't articulate our anger, even when we do understand it, because the things that offend us can seem so trivial or odd that they would sound ridiculous if spoken aloud: "I am angry with you because you cut the bread in the wrong way." But once we are involved in a relationship, there is no longer any such thing as a minor detail.
In an average week, each partner may be hit by, and in turn fire, dozens of tiny arrows without even realizing it, with the only surface legacies of these wounds being a near imperceptible cooling between the pair and, crucially, the disinclination of one or both to have sex with the other. Sex is a gift that is not easy to hand over once we are annoyed.
Dude, if you're seriously upset about wrongly cut bread you need either more help than any blogpost can give or you need to cut your bread yourself. Again, we have this wonderful thing. It's called communication.  People use it to talk about things and in a working relationship that's the bread and butter. And nonononono again: Sex is not a transaction. How many times do I have to repeat this. You're getting this wrong, wrong, wrong.

Why are hotels metaphysically important?
That's an interesting one. Yeah, why are they?
The walls, beds, comfortably upholstered chairs, room service menus, televisions, and tightly wrapped soaps can do more than answer a taste for luxury. Checking into a hotel room for a night is a solution to long-term sexual stagnation: We can see the erotic side of our partner, which is often closely related to the unchanging environment in which we lead our daily lives. We can blame the stable presence of the carpet and the living room chairs at home for our failure to have more sex: The physical backdrop prevents us from evolving. The furniture insists that we can't change—because it never does.
I guess there's no room (no pun intended) for people who feel intimidated by hotel rooms, why feel actual discomfort by the strange smell of some industrial laundry detergent and who like the comfort of the own home for the safety it offers. Let's not forget the insulting classism here in telling people who might be struggeling to pay the rent (and probably therefore not as interested in sex as before, because some people have actually bigger problems than breadcrumbs) that what they need is to go to a hotel for the night. Especially one with a complimentary fruitbasket. Best hotels I've ever been in had individually wrapped soapbars...
Contrary to all public verdicts on adultery, the lack of any wish whatsoever to stray is irrational and against nature, a heedless disregard for the fleshly reality of our bodies, a denial of the power wielded over our more rational selves by such erotic triggers as high-heeled shoes and crisp shirts, by smooth thighs and muscular calves.
Again, can I meet this Nature person who apparently makes a lot of rules? But it's probably because I'm a woman because she seems to talk again to men only.
But a spouse who gets angry at having been betrayed is evading a basic, tragic truth: No one can be everything to another person. The real fault lies in the ethos of modern marriage, with its insane ambitions and its insistence that our most pressing needs might be solved with the help of only one other person.
Yeah, totally your own fault, bitch. Should have seen it coming. Really, folks can't control themselves, especially when somebody in high heels walks by. Why are you to think that you deserved if not fidelity then at least honesty?
  It is impossible to sleep with someone outside of marriage and not spoil the things we care about inside it. There is no answer to the tensions of marriage.
Citation fucking needed. Open marriages exist, polyamorous marriages exist, couples who engage in multi-partner sex exist. Stop talking to this Nature person and get talking to actual people.

OK, now I clicked on page 4 of the article and I find this:
We could not be fulfilled if we weren't inauthentic some of the time—inauthentic, that is, in relation to such things as our passing desires to throttle our children, poison our spouse, or end our marriage over a dispute about changing a lightbulb. A degree of repression is necessary for both the mental health of our species and the adequate functioning of a decently ordered society. We are chaotic chemical propositions. We should feel grateful for, and protected by, the knowledge that our external circumstances are often out of line with what we feel; it is a sign that we are probably on the right course.
Does this make any sense? It hangs there like a miss-matching body-part put there by an apprentice Igor...
But it also means I'm through, so that's somethink to be grateful for.