Just for One Day

The saying goes that you should never meet your heroes - you don't want to be disappointed.  Not that Bradley Wiggins is a "hero" of mine, in the full on sense, but I have greatly admired him - strong, disciplined, seems to not treat cycling as the be all and end all, AND he trained in South London's Herne Hill (not that far from where I grew up).

Still, sometimes you shouldn't know too much about what your heroes think.

According to an interview reported in The Guardian, Wiggins described his poor descent after a crash in the Giro D'Italia as descending "like a bit of a girl really after the crash ... Not to disrespect girls, I have one at home."

The part that of that statement that I find almost gloriously ludicrous is the "not to disrespect girls, I have one at home." Okay, the first part is awful, and sexist, regardless - he explicitly links a poor, timid, physically weak and lacking performance to being like a girl.  Not a boy - not a young, callow, weaker male, but a female. Then, beautifully, he says that's not disrespecting girls - ha! Of course not - how could one possibly find it disrespectful?

The next bit is my favourite, however. He then somehow tries to ameliorate his sexism with a take on the classic "some of my best friends are black/gay/women" shtick - it's okay that he said it, because he has a daughter. So he, and that statement, clearly couldn't be sexist - Q.E.D.  Duh.  If you don't get that, clearly you are ignoring the fact that he and his wife bore a daughter.

Actually, in some ways I think it's worse that he has a daughter and said it - his poor daughter. How awful to know that you have a father who associates weak and losing performances with being a girl - like her. Oh, I'm sure he'd argue, not her - because she's different, I'm sure. But he lives with her, supposedly loves her, and yet thinks this.

Yes, he'd had a big disappointment in the race. We have an awful lot of exposure to athletes, and that includes times when they're severely disappointed, angry, and frustrated. I personally loathe the inside-the-locker-room thing that they do, particularly with U.S. sports - I don't want to invade what is an intensely private sphere. We don't go into a classroom to interview a teacher after she finds out that her students didn't pass an exam; we don't go into a partner's office after she loses a legal case. We should grant athletes some privacy, some space to be disappointed, angry, and frustrated.

Nonetheless, those spontaneous, off the cuff remarks can reveal a lot about someone's prejudices - be they on the basis of gender, race, sexuality, or anything else. And Wiggins, here, revealed that he thinks girls are weak. And then used his little girl to somehow, supposedly, defuse that.

Just awful.

Adventures in Breakfasting

Margaret Thatcher's funeral was today.  My intense dislike for her has meant that I'm not sorry for her passing, and I've been disappointed at some responses to her from people I'd expect more of, and been rather pleasantly surprised at the responses of some others I would not necessarily expect to be so clearly thoughtful, if imperfect.

Anyway, I'm over it.  The beeb has been going on about it, and in striving for balance I, of course, think they're attributing good things to her that clearly are not true. But there you go. 

On to more important things:  BREAKFAST. As an antidote to the Maggie love, and the sight of Osborne at the funeral, I decided that I wanted to listen to something rather different (the left-leaning tendencies of the good folks at TWIB FM), and enjoy a cup of Yorkshire tea (she didn't have much time for those folks, it seems), and eat a jolly breakfast. 

As mentioned previously on this blog, I'm experimenting with breakfasts. This is a new one that I've done A LOT in the last fortnight or so. Adapted from my friend's instagram posts, this is banana pancake breakfast joy for those who are NOT on the paleo diet (but think it has some great recipes). Why it's good? It's extraordinarily tasty, and has fruit and good protein.

Take one banana.  Mash it up with a fork in a bowl.  Then mix in an egg, salt, pepper.  Then spray a non-stick pan with oil spray (paleo folks use coconut oil, I used regular old pam olive oil spray), and pour into the pan over medium heat.  The thing is, the first few times I did this, they burned / got very messy.  Suddenly, however, I'm in a groove. The thing is to make a couple or three pancakes, with a thin spread, and WAIT. (In this time, I also fry an egg in another pan because, you know, I like eggs).

Waiting is key: you have to have the bottom of the pancake thoroughly cooked; the top can be slightly wobbly, but basically, you have to treat it like an egg that you'd flip, or a normal pancake. The first few times I did this, I had to burn the bottom to get it cooked, but I've managed the last couple of times to make it work right.

I then serve with the fried egg, sriracha (because YES), and fruit. 

Living Just Enough

Today was a stellar day.

It's hard to believe that a year ago I was still at my old law firm job; it's even harder to believe, looking at the wind blowing the trees and suffering the biting, near-freezing temperatures today, that about a year ago, spring appeared to have sprung. Things have changed so much for me personally in that year, not least the frequency with which I blog here.

But today was one worth recording.

I went to a school this morning that's a mere ten minutes away, and presented to three classes. The students varied in their interest in the program; the students presented some interesting disciplinary issues (I got called "very strict" by a student, which I'm sure my parents would find hilarious). But they were funny and smart and feisty and I loved them; the teachers were invested and good people, and I loved them, too; it was great. Back home for a quick lunch - extremely tasty leftovers - then hoicked up to Washington Heights to a school there.

It's been a while since I was in the Heights - I was there for a few hours at a school at the very start of January, but otherwise I've spent no real time there since we left for Brooklyn nearly four years ago.  I don't miss it that much, I can't lie - all our uptown friends had moved for the outer boroughs, and we'd grown tired of no outdoor space and not much room, both of which we have here. But today, things felt familiar - and fun. The students I taught were wonderful - funny, bright, vocal, active - just great. Then I wandered back to the GW Bridge and, on a whim, rather than catching the subway, I walked up on the bridge to take advantage of the shining sun and the extraordinary view south along Manhattan.

It was utterly beautiful. Then home to buy freesias, filling the house with their scent, and watch the wind shake the trees in the back garden. That wasn't so great, but it was light - sweet! - and I've spent the evening gently doing email chores and listening to TMS, with my feet warmed by a big fat cat. A stellar day indeed.

Rosy

There's been a barnstorming and fluttering in the blogosphere on various topics this week that push certain of my rage buttons.  And there is some good writing on those topics. There is also a fascinating (subscription-only, alas) article by Jeffrey Toobin about Ruth Bader Ginsburg in the New Yorker, which I highly recommend if you can get hold of it (the link I've put in is to an accompanying slideshow).

But the one that is closest to my heart comes from Kate Harding on changing one's name - in which she adeptly points out that feminists sometimes do the non-feminist or, indeed, anti-feminist thing, that it doesn't make you a bad person, but you need to own that changing one's name is not a feminist action. To be honest, I'm not even a fan of double-barrelling/hyphenating - to me, that seems a little of a cop out - you know the feminist thing is to keep your name, but you really do want to take his name. If he does the same, great - and some of my friends have indeed done that. But it's a very, very, very rare man who does that. And when they are asked whether they would, often the most enlightened, ardent women's equality supporting male will react as if it's the stupidest question in the world - "why would I?" So why would I? Oh, that's right - I'm a lady. I forgot for a moment.

Like Kate I got married, too, and I enjoy being married, much to my shock. But one of the main reasons I did not want to be married was because I'd get hit with the assumptions that are made about a married women, and shortcuts taken about women that simply don't exist for married men.* Losing both my surname and first name at the first wedding we went to as a married couple caused me to cry with rage, I was so furious; the articles about married women taking their husbands' names indicate I'm still very much in a minority, however.

* There are tired tropes about married men, but a lot of those stem from lazy assumptions about women, again - for example how men are forced into doing things that they have ownership in - the house, food, their children - and it's just oh, so awful, and life would be better without her indoors nagging away and just ruining everything. Women, eh?

Oppositional

I am a contrary sod.  Normally, my other half struggles to get me out to do exercise, get me out of the house.  This weekend, he's off in the wilds of snowy mountains, so there's no one urging me to get out; the snow is deep, and so I have a perfect excuse to stay indoors.

So why are my feet itching and my legs shaking around like Damien Francisco's in Dog President?   Because I am utterly contrary, and therefore I'm feel trapped.  TRAPPED, I tell you.  So I'm going to catch up on Apartment Curing and that sort of thing. I've failed to do much of it this week, for sure.  So here we go.

UPDATE:  Today I'm doing the kitchen clear out from the January Cure*, and have discovered:

• Three bottles of sesame oil
• Five bottles of balsamic vinegar (TOH's mining ancestors turning in their graves)
• Many cans of chickpeas
• Many jars of marmalade (current count: six in one cupboard, and that's pre-fridge accounting).  (UPDATE:  FIVE MORE JARS found in the fridge)
• Three bottles of white wine vinegar
• Numerous bottles of marmite (precisely, two of seemingly impenetrable Ma'amite, the jubilee celebration ones, and two regular bottles, too)
• Two giant jars of breadcrumbs (I don't understand how this is possible - ah, one was a year out of date.  For shame) 
• Two bottles of teriyaki sauce - WHY? 

* Latest update on the January Cure here.