Thursday, March 31, 2011

little boxes

I love the ocean. I think if I didn't live near the hills, I would have to live next to the ocean. Perhaps I could live on a deserted hillside by an ocean.

My cousin was posted on facebook a video of a cover The Decemberists did of Malvina Reynold's song, Little Boxes.

I love that song (particularly Malvina Reynold's original) as such a scathingly accurate depiction of the expectations (and assumptions) of conformity in middle class society. The desire to fit within the box that we are assigned is, I am sure, overwhelming for many people, to the point where those that do not fit within our prescribed 'types' of appropriate behaviour are problematised and isolated as abnormal.

And while I appreciate that this is a broad, sweeping statement that does not apply to all people, at all times, I would argue that, well, it's not intended to. But the fact that it applies at all, I think says much about the cultural values and norms of the society within which we (or I) live.

It is the differences that make us unique, and although I don't feel that we should all strive to be different for the sake of it, I suppose I find the expectation to be the same is both exasperating and for many, difficult to resist.

I say this because it seems to apply to so many things and so many people in so many different facets of our daily lives. Occasionally I stop and look and am surprised by this.

So, yeah.

It's not that I'm hating on society, but I guess today has been one of those days where I surprised at the conformity to these cultural ideals and societal behaviours and expectations that is so overwhelmingly present in so many people.

That, and I  just that I have nothing funny to say today.

Anyway. Here's the song lyrics.
Little boxes on the hillside,
Little boxes made of ticky tacky
Little boxes on the hillside,
Little boxes all the same,
There's a green one and a pink one
And a blue one and a yellow one
And they're all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same.

And the people in the houses
All went to the university
Where they were put in boxes
And they came out all the same
And there's doctors and lawyers
And business executives
And they're all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same.

And they all play on the golf course
And drink their martinis dry
And they all have pretty children,
And the children go to school,
And the children go to summer camp
And then to the university
Where they are put in boxes
And they come out all the same.

And the boys go into business
And marry and raise a family
In boxes made of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same,
There's a green one and a pink one
And a blue one and a yellow one
And they're all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same.

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

mirror, mirror

frack you, ikea
I can't remember why - because I couldn't possibly have justified needing it- but I bought a mirror from Ikea.

As I walk past it, still in its box on the shelf in the spare room, it glares at me in ways only mirrors can glare - saying, "go frack yourself, Katey".

Well. Frack you too, mirror.

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Paper thin

from here via ffffound
 It's true. I am.

I seem to have an alarmingly good ability to think and act in a manner that is so utterly selfish...and then, as I suppose most people do, feign justification - if not to everyone else, at least to myself.

Societal rules and constructs regarding care responsibilities typically necessitate that women are self-sacrificing; one's role as a mother is not without marked compromise and indeed, subsequent judgement. 

We are expected to endure, suffer in silence and persevere irrespective of our feelings.

A large part of me agrees, in so much that I feel that surely the wellbeing of my children is to be given primacy over my own? However, what if the two are intrinsically connected, and the hollow ghost of a mother is no more beneficial than if she were to act as she felt ... and not as she thought she should feel...?

Feminism encourages us to challenge those rules that bind us. But this becomes part of the dilemma - while I feel that the societal rules that may limit us and our actions are rigid (but movable) it is difficult to encourage others to see that this may be the case. And while I know that our willingness to push these boundaries is shaped by our experiences, I recognise that this can be both a limiting, and expansive experience.

Saturday, March 19, 2011

Anchorman Barbie

Posted by Picasa

I don't think this is Kayla-the-lesbian-Barbie's girlfriend.

I think that's a different Barbie doll.

I think this is just Anchorman Barbie, whose name is Grace. She also plays jazz flute and has a penchant for scotch. She's also really in to punk. The sleeves cover her many tattoos of Vince Noir and other Boosh characters (such a sycophant!)

 I suspect my children are quite strange.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

you know when you see something on youtube and you lose all faith in reality?

I had one of those moments today. I watched this:

Yes. That's right. Rebecca Black - Friday.

The worst song ever made? I think yes. Without question, yes. The fact that it is more popular than Japan as a trending topic in twitter is perhaps confirmation of this.

This IS her concerned face
But then, from a country that gave us The Hills, Jersey Shore and Sarah Palin, am I really that surprised?
I might repurpose my knitting needles as earplugs. Yeah.

*note: I'm not hating on America. Just on shit music and shit tv that makes me want to stab myself in the brain. 

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

From a place you'd rather be...

23102010074 by kateykateykatey
23102010074 a photo by kateykateykatey on Flickr.
I don't have much constructive to say today. Coincidentally, I haven't done much that has been terribly constructive, either!

Useful things I have done today include:

*coming in to my office
*turning my computer on
*pretending to work
*getting a spiral bound book from the stationary cupboard
*writing 'Katey's PhD Diary' on the front
*pretending to work by writing shit in PhD diary.

Obviously the latter point was not intended to be taken literally, because if I just wrote the word 'shit' over and over again, it would be quite obvious I wasn't doing anything. And that would make all of that important pretending and busy-looking a great big fat waste!