Home Comforts

Part of my doing repro rights spiel is that I really wouldn't have been as interested if I were back home. Reason being, the right to abortion is not so obviously under threat. However, there is a rabid anti-choice MP, Nadine Dorries, who keeps trying to get the abortion limit reduced. Recently, I posted on my utter annoyance with the horrible David Cameron and his horrible stance on the abortion-limit vote that took place last week. Well, too bad Nadine and tough bloody luck DC, your "moral conscience" vote showed that most people feel that allowing a woman the right to choose IS the definition of a moral conscience. Fabulous. And if that weren't good enough, The Bugle's opening item this week was about it and I absolutely pissed myself on the train home. I'm particularly pleased with it as I'd been saving it for a treat, something I deserved for working hard at bar stuff and the gym this week, and it really, truly was.

Me Faltan...

Thanks to the joys of the Bar, this summer the concerts I am probably going to miss out on are:

• Santogold, Diplo & A-Trak at SummerStage
• Sonic Youth at Battery Park
• Jarvis Cocker at Terminal 5 or The Venue
• Bruce Springsteen & The E-Street Band at Giants Stadium
• Spiritualized at Terminal 5
  
• RZA as Bobby Digital at Webster Hall
• The Beat at Irving Plaza
• Spoon at Prospect Park Bandshell
• DJ Shadow & Cut Chemist at McCarren Park Pool
• Bon Iver at Bowery Ballroom

Boo.

Oh, and the weddings of three of my best friends.

Boo.

Shop Talk

I was toying with the concept of blogging the Bar course I'm on. Not just its miseries, but its interesting points, things I'm learning about the Law that I just didn't know (it really is remarkable that after three years and nearly $120,000 in tuition just how much practical and useful stuff about which I do not have an inkling).

But, I decided, that's a tad self-indulgent, particularly as it'd be one post after another regarding my utter hatred of the situation and how hard it is for me to be somewhere by 8.30 every morning. Ugh.

Instead, it's another post about how NY Mag is pushing my buttons, and not in a good way. This week's edition had a major feature about the fallout from Spitzergate, and the large numbers of men that cheat on their wives. I need to re-read it, but the main argument was that current morality on monogamous marriages hasn't caught up with our evolving concepts of sexual morality - experimentation, acceptability of gay relationships, single motherhood, lack of marriage all together. It seemed to be some bloke basically saying he was too scared to tell his wife he wanted to sleep with other people, and he just couldn't help himself, so we should give him a green light. It's unrealistic to expect people to be faithful for life and it doesn't really hurt anyone, just like being gay or sleeping with people before marriage.

Unsurrisingly, there were a couple of things that I really took issue with that undercut what he's saying entirely.

First, the argument that infidelity causes no harm is simply not true physically, even if it's not true or arguable or we should change how we view it morally or emotionally. Syphilis rates increased 60% between 2001 and 2006 in the USA; as did chlamydia, and only gonorrhea dropped. HIV is the biggest killer of women of ages 15-44 in NYC. Given chlamydia's effects on fertility, this is clearly not a case of no effect or harm, necessarily, unless all the unfaithful people are using condoms, which somehow, I doubt... so he should have at least acknowledged that.

Second, he talks about all these poor husbands who aren't getting any sex from their wives, who have simply lost interest. Not once did he posit that perhaps the women are bored of their relationships, too. Not once did he suggest that maybe women's lack of sex drive could be connected to their husbands' failure to satisfy them or to keep them interested. Chances are, given statistics on infidelity, women are having affairs too. They too want someone to make them feel sexy, attractive, and to have sex that's exciting and new. But that didn't fit into this story about how Spitzer's decision to have sex with prostitutes could be explained by men trapped in sexless marriages.
Third and finally, as pointed out by the RH Reality Check podcast, having sex with prostitutes is NOT the same as having an affair. Yet this story conflated the two. Paying a person to have sex with you is not the same as establishing a relationship with someone else in order to have an affair, regardless of how fleeting that is. The only thing they have in common is that Dr. Laura will blame women for both.

J to the Dizzle

I graduated.

Ulp.

Path to adulthood firmly in front of me with very little room for escape.

Ulp.

Part Time

I always tell myself that with not much to do, no time pressures, I will do more exercise, spend time preparing healthy salads and meals, that sort of thing. And yet, and yet... here I am, having stuffed myself stupid over the last few days, very little motion, movement, whatsoever. Buttered toast for breakfast, maltesers and wine and beer, booze cruising, and more tv than is really, really good for me. Or anyone. Oops. I seem to benefit most from a) structure and b) loneliness, heartbreak and misery, given that when I worked part time in Barcelona while my beloved was on the other side of the ocean I was in the best shape of my life - well, my post-teen life, anyway.

In tribute to that, and to give myself a kick up the backside, here's a photo from that glorious city.

Sprung!

Every time I appear to think Spring has Sprung forth Summer, I am thwarted; hence being woken up by the gentle sound of rain this morning.

Nonetheless, yesterday's picnic in the park was one of surreptitious wine, sun, cards and boules, as I prefer to bocce. It strikes me often how proximity and exposure dictates some of the distinctions between Yankee and Albion English; in many cases, the former takes the Italian where we take the French - zucchini/courgette, bocce/boules, arugula/rocket (roquette, for its correct version) and so forth. Not sure it applies to eggplant, though - who the eff knows where you people got that.

But particularly exciting was the spotting of one of these handsome fellas, just pootling around in the bushes. As my friend pointed out, not a native bird - well, not this far north, as it is an Oriole, more often found around Baltimore. And, other than my friend Amy, possibly the prettiest thing from those parts.

All My Loving

Sometimes, there's just something in a name. My geography teacher named Ms. Hill, for example. And the plaintiffs in Loving v. Virginia, the Supreme Court case from 1967 that struck down miscegenation statutes as unconstitutional. Virginia was but one of sixteen states that banned mixed race marriages. It was a unanimous decision, so rare these days, but this was so frighteningly awful, there was no other choice. Particularly galling was that there was clearly no other motive than the fear of "tainting" of the white race, as it was only banned between whites and "others."

Mrs. Loving died on Friday.

Alabama only officially took their miscegenation statutes off the books in 2000.

When arseholes like Dobbs et al. claim that we should be past this "race" business, then we need to remember stuff like this. Because it is not over, not yet, not by a long shot.

Read the story. It's inspiring. Sad, but inspiring.

Hiatus

It's the Monday of the first week after law school finished.

It's weird. But good. But weird.

So here are my aims for this post-law-school-pre-graduation-and-bar-course limbo:

1. Go to the gym! Seriously, I need some getting in shape to be done.
2. Catch up on my crappy tv.
   
3. Spend time doing stuff I'm not going to be able to do for months - or, at least, without severe pangs of guilt - go to the movies in the afternoon, have a kickaround in the park, that sort of thing
4. READ! For pleasure!

Erm, that's about it, really. Still, not bad eh? That's literally all I have to do for the next couple of weeks.

M'aidez!

New month, same old anger. This time, it's directed at Oklahoma. A new law means that all women seeking abortions are required to have an ultrasound against their will, and against their doctor's will. Those ultrasounds include vaginal. That's right ladies, the surgical procedures that you can be forced to have against your will are caesarians, and an ultrasound probe stuck up your cooch. Charming. Charming.

Which is why our reliance on the Supreme Court to do the right thing is even more sad. And why this Boston Legal clip is even sadder... because it's just never going to happen.