On Jian Ghomeshi and Feminism

OK, I will admit it. I'm a groupie. This cutie here is Jian Ghomeshi, host of the CBC show Q (which you USAmericans can hear on PRI and Sirius Radio! Check out the website). He's an impeccable interviewer and his velvety tones are really sexy. If I miss hearing him in the morning, more often than not I'll download the podcast so I can catch him later. Hearing him flirt with Dr. Ruth should make you an addict, too.

He's also an avid Twitter user, and unlike many people in his position, he reads fan responses and sometimes even engages in conversation. Not too many thrills compare to that, even though his tone in our latest exchange was distinctly irritated. Can't say I blame him too much - I do keep coming back to the same thing, and here it is.

Jian likes to address male interviewees as "Sir". Nothing wrong with that - courtly and old-fashioned is extremely charming, especially when combined with above-mentioned velvety tones. The problem is that he has not yet found an appropriate female equivalent, and tends to address his female interviewees by their names. I have been bugging him on Twitter for a couple of years now to find an equally respectful mode of address for women (or girls, or gals, or ladies - see the problem?). In our latest Twitter exchange, Jian suggested that I should find a larger issue to concern myself with. But actually, I think that is a pretty darned large issue, and it comes down to the question of how, and why, women earn respect in our society, and more importantly, from themselves.

The "official" or formal equivalent of Sir is Madam, as in Dear Sir or Madam. I did suggest to Jian that he should experiment with using Ma'am, as is so prevalent in the American South. He responded that many women are not comfortable with that form of address. When I queried whether anybody knows or cares whether men are comfortable with the term Sir, he said that he'd been using it for five years and no man has ever complained.

So, why would a young woman squirm at being addressed as Madam (or perhaps My Lady, as the medieval equivalent of Sir?) or Ma'am, while a young man is fine with being addressed as Sir? We use Madam for women in formal positions of power - Madam Justice, Madam Speaker. I can't imagine the Speaker of the House (any house) feeling uncomfortable with that form of address. So why is it not appropriate for a female actor or activist, regardless of age? Does it imply an old woman to you, more than Sir would for a man? Or is it an enhancement in status for a man to be addressed with that form of respect, while it detracts from a woman's status? Why would it be a detraction for a woman to be addressed as being mature and worthy of respect? This is coming from the women themselves - but the internalisation of the patriarchy is no new phenomenon for us. See Ashley Judd's fabulous essay on the subject. 

Am I crazy to be hearing echoes of the old Madonna/Whore dichotomy here? A mature, powerful man is sexually attractive, whereas a mature, powerful woman is a cougar, unless she abandons all claim to sex altogether. A Madam is a woman who runs brothels, where young, low-status but attractive women cater to the desires of men who are addressed as Sir. The waters become successively murkier the deeper we delve into this.

Jian himself is a strong feminist - just this morning his opening essay was a stirring indictment of the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame for their neglect of women musicians. But even he is stuck on this thorny issue of address. Yes, it seems a small thing, but I think it is a canary in the coal mine - if we can find a satisfactory mode of expressing respect to women, it will indicate that there is more true respect for women in the bedrock of our society. Call me a dreamer.

What do you think?

True Confessions about Fish

OK, I'm going to come out of the closet. After 18 years as a lacto-ovo vegetarian, I've decided to include fish in my diet. Not just any fish - it's got to be wild-caught, not farmed, and preferably labelled with one of the sustainable fishery seals, so I can be reasonably confident no dolphins, whales or seals were harmed in the process. Also, given the laws of kashrut, the fish have to have fins and visible scales - so no shellfish for us.

I've got some nice Pacific salmon filets in my freezer, and even better, northern pike and pickerel (walleye to you Amurricans) from Lake Winnipeg - as close to local as you can get in a landlocked province like mine. Well, OK, it isn't really landlocked, but I don't know how much of a fishery they have up in Hudson's Bay. Some people dream of  ice fishing up there ... but I digress.

Now, of course, I'm looking for some good recipes. I've marinated the salmon and baked it in aluminium foil - I guess that's the default for any fish, but I'd like to expand a little, especially for Shabbat. All constructive suggestions welcome!

Dashing through the Snow

So, I didn't run barefoot or in a skirt, but I am still recovering from a 5K I ran on Sunday in St. Vital Park. It was called the First Annual Run Your Heart Out Run/Walk in support of the Canadian Diabetes Association. I have to admit, my heart was fine, but I did have some concerns about my ears and toes.

It was my own silly fault, of course. It was -16C and I decided not to bother with a hat because I tend to get very hot on top of my head when I exercise. The obvious answer is a headband, and I do actually own one, but unfortunately I didn't bring it. I did have gloves on (not really warm enough), and I was the only person not wearing a windbreaker (although I did have a warm jacket from Iceland). I was wearing my normal padded running socks and outdoor running shoes (which hadn't seen any use since November or so).

I have to say, it was fun, except for the cold ears and toes. I definitely did not miss the windbreaker - I was sweating inside my Iceland jacket. We ran on the road that loops around the park (about 2.5 times around to make up the 5K). The snow was freshly plowed, there was no visible ice and it was in fact not slippery at all. My husband had expressed some concern about breathing freezing air but I, at least, did not experience any difficulty from this. My ears did warm up after about 2K, on their own so I'm not concerned about frostbite. My toes took longer to recover but appear to have suffered no ill effects. I probably should have put more moisturiser on my hands and face.

I'm a slow runner at the best of times, and of course, what with the snow and the preoccupation with my sore bits, I clocked in just over 40 minutes, one of the last people in (if not the last). I honestly don't care. I did it, I finished it, and I'm very proud of myself. The people who were ahead of me ran faster but also took walking breaks. I decided to stick to a steady slow jog - maybe it's not the best way to go, but I did run the entire 5K without a single break. I do know about the advantages of intervals, so I'm debating in my mind what to do next time.

Runs can only get warmer from here on out. I'm trying to decide whether to stick with 5Ks and try to get faster, or look at moving up to a 10K - although, if I stay with this pace it would take me nearly an hour and a half! Not even thinking about the half marathon at this stage ... and I'm not looking for distance for distance's sake. I just want to be healthy and happy and do things that make me feel good.

What do you think? Which way should I go?

More on Chinese workers

My friend the writer Holly Jahangiri introduced me to a fascinating man named Peter Wright. You need to read Peter's life story to really appreciate his point of view - he was a farmer in Zimbabwe at the time that Mugabe's thugs took over, and has gone on from there. He now lives in Canada. I don't often agree with his political views, but I have great respect for him nonetheless.

Read his blog post on buying stuff made in Chinese factories and tell me (and him) what you think. This could be a fascinating conversation!

On Having Imperfect Children

No child is ever really perfect, of course. Every human being is born with physical imperfections. We count their fingers and toes, we look at their ears and their eyes. Most babies fall within normal parameters, and all is well.

Sometimes, though, something goes wrong with the process of creating something as complex as a human. Maybe some kind of radiation or environmental toxin damages the DNA that is being replicated so many times in a short time. Maybe there's a genetic switch that is on instead of off or the other way around. Maybe there is just no way of knowing what happened, but it didn't come out quite as planned. It's to be expected that such a miraculous process will have the odd oops, but you don't want it to be your baby.

Sometimes these genetic imperfections are not compatible with life, and the babies die before or shortly after birth. Sometimes they live in pain or discomfort for a few years and then succumb. Those are the obituaries that make you cry.

Sometimes you get lucky, and the problem is fixable - just plumbing, something a skilful surgeon can repair. My family is one of the lucky ones. My son was born with a large abdominal defect, and a very skilful surgeon put him back together. He is now a healthy and active twelve-year-old. Of course, we are still waiting for the other shoe to drop, but so far, so good, thank G-d and Dr. Wiseman.

So, why am I writing about this now? A USAmerican friend asked me to share my experience with prenatal testing, given some of the discussion going on right now in the Republican camp. In particular, one of the candidates apparently opposes free prenatal testing on the grounds that it might lead to more abortions.

Perhaps it would. If our son had tested positive for one of the terrible chromosomal abnormalities that sometimes accompany his physical problem (in particular, trisomy 18 or 13), maybe we would have chosen for abortion. If we had not, he would still almost certainly have died before or soon after birth. But we were fortunate, and his chromosomes are normal. We still don't know why he had the physical defect he did. It is apparently most common among babies of teenaged mothers from Northern Manitoba, and I am neither.

But here's what prenatal testing did for us. I went for amniocentesis because I was 37 years old. The tech looked at the screen, then moved me, belly and gel and all, to a better machine. I was a little surprised, but still had no idea anything was wrong. The doctor looked at me and told me what the little circle in the image meant. My son's liver had taken up residence outside of his body. It was working just fine, the baby was growing as expected, but obviously, that was not a sustainable situation. Those ten days before we got the chromosomal results were the longest of my life. Once we knew the problem was entirely fixable by surgery, we could start to prepare.

To begin with, there was a concern about childbirth. I had had difficulty with my first birth and ended up with a Caesarean section after 36 hours of largely fruitless labour. I had very much hoped for a VBAC, but it was clear that that would be extremely dangerous for a baby with an exposed liver. So right off the bat, it was clear that I was not to go into labour with him. How would we have known this without prenatal testing?

We met with the surgeon and the head of the NICU. Both sat down with us as if they had all the time in the world. I distinctly remember the surgeon leaning back with his hands behind his head, clearly prepared to spend as much time with us as we required. He has huge hands and I have never ceased to marvel at how he can do such delicate work with tiny newborns. We would not have met him beforehand and known exactly what his plans were with our son without prenatal testing.

We scheduled the C-section for a day a week or so before my son's due date. A week earlier than that, however, he decided it was time to come into the world - setting his own terms already. I remember putting my older son, then three, to bed and sitting down on the toilet, and my water broke.

My husband phoned the hospital and spoke with the duty doctor in the ER. She sounded quite bored with yet another frantic new father, until he explained the situation to her. There was a full 30 seconds' silence while she digested the information, and then told him to bring me in. We tried to hold off my son's birth until the surgical team could be assembled in the morning, but he was having none of it. In the end, the doctor performed a large vertical cut at 3 a.m. and got him out with some difficulty. A nursing team was standing by to run him into the other room and get that exposed liver disinfected and wrapped. Would all of this have been available without prenatal testing?

In the end, my son underwent five different surgeries before he was five years old, and has done extremely well ever since. But without prenatal testing, we would not have known or suspected the situation, and chances are high his liver would have been at least lacerated if not severely damaged during birth, and then who knows what his life might have been like?

This is the kind of unwitting damage possibly faced by families who are denied prenatal testing because of their financial circumstances. I am very fortunate to live in Canada, where money did not play into our story at all. But I shudder to think of the possible consequences of our not having had prenatal testing for my son. I should add that I have no problem with families choosing not to have prenatal testing. Most babies, after all, are fine, and I am not a fan of unnecessary medicalisation of a natural process. But sometimes something is wrong, and knowledge is power.

What do you think? Should families be denied knowledge and babies possibly damaged because of what the parents might choose to do with that knowledge?

Agonising about Consumer Electronics

Next week is my birthday, and I really want an iPhone. I've had an iPod Touch for the past two years (got it for my birthday!) and it is absolutely one of my favourite possessions, and not just because my wonderful husband engraved some loving words on the back.

I am an Internet junky, and I love being connected via my iPod Touch. Of course, it only connects me when I am in a Wi-Fi area - that's why I want to move up to the iPhone. But now I am undergoing a struggle of conscience.

I've been reading articles about the terrible conditions of workers in the Chinese factories that make these darling objects. Suicide nets hang on the Foxconn buildings. Do I really want something that comes from such human misery?

Looking at the list of major customers, it looks like I already have much. Not only the lovely iPod, ordered directly from China because of the engraving, but also the Lenovo laptop I'm typing this on.

My son has an HTC Hero running Google Android, that is apparently made in Taiwan, where working conditions may be a little less awful. It's a nice phone, although I am a little reluctant to give Google more control of my life (they already have my search, my blog and my email ...).

But I really lust after an iPhone. Will I hate myself if I get one anyway? Or should I get over myself and get a phone that wasn't made in such dreadful conditions? And do the parts of the Android phones still come from hellhole factories on the Mainland, so the whole choice is an illusion anyway? Does anybody know?

Should I just donate the cost of the phone to Siloam Mission and continue living without a smartphone, because it's such a bourgeois problem to have?

Help me decide!

If not now, when?

Hillel says, "If I am not for myself, who will be for me? But if I am only for myself, who am I? If not now, when?" Ethics of the Fathers, 1:14

Next week, G-d willing, I will be celebrating a significant milestone in my life - achieving the half-century mark. As I fully intend to live to be 100, that's halfway through my life's journey.

As I recently said to my friend Jodi, also turning 50 this year, they don't make 50 like they used to. Once upon a time, a 50-year-old woman was old. Nowadays, I know 60-year-olds who easily bike over a hundred kilometres a day. I know octogenarians who regularly hit the gym. We are fortunate.

So, this is the year I am going to run at least one 5K (I did one last October, but I've let it slip since), lift heavy things and become a strong, healthy person. Maybe I'll even run a 10K. Why not?

This is also the year I am going to find my passion and go after it. I'm going to kick the Lizard Brain in its scaly tail. I've spent too much time worrying and procrastinating and reading Facebook. I don't know yet what I want to be but I've got to grow up sometime. If not now, when?

This is the year I'm going to figure out the veggie paleo gig and blog about it. You are all warned. It may seem like a contradiction in terms, but I'm going to find a way to make it work. It may not be fully paleo or fully veggie, but that's OK. If it works for me and my family, it is good. If I am not for myself, who will be for me?

This is the year I'm going to find ways to give back to my community. I keep meaning to go out and volunteer with all kinds of worthy causes, but there is always something else going on. Enough. I need to do it. I do some things, but I need to do more, and I need to involve my kids. We all spend too much time in front of screens. If I am only for myself, what am I?

Whether you are hitting a significant milestone or have just noticed that time is slipping by, what are your plans for this year?