Sexism in the Punk Scene

If you're a semi-frequent visitor to punknews.org (probably aren't), you may have seen the massive discussions about sexism in the punk scene. They've gotten the girl from P.S. Eliot and two other bands I can't remember to weigh in on the topic, and so far, the consensus seems to be that girls don't feel equal, or even safe, within the punk scene. This has insighted a firestorm of sorts on the comments section, and sexism/whining aside, a few good questions have been asked. Who and what is responsible for sexism in punk? How far should we go to combat it and what should be done? Is it really that big a problem to begin with?

Since comments as massive as the one I'm about to make never get read on message boards, and since nobody I know/who will employ me will ever stumble upon said board, I've decided to blog my opinion on the matter. Here goes.

I don't consider myself a member of any kind of punk “community”, but I do go to a lot of shows, and for the most part they are extremely enjoyable experiences. So when I hear that a sizable portion of the fairer sex can't go to a show and enjoy it in the same capacity I do, it bothers me. I don't believe “girls have no place at shows”; in fact I commend them for indulging and supporting something that isn't usually catered towards them. I also don't believe girls should have to “suck it up and deal with” all the boy's club shit that goes on; rape jokes, sexual harrasment and the like just aren't acceptable. The people responsible for those actions need to cut that shit out. I also guarantee I'm not the only one who thinks like this; at least 80 per cent of guys at shows have no ill will towards women, and don't want them to feel uncomfortable or excluded at a show, or anywhere else for that matter.

So where does the problem come from? It would be easy to blame it on a few lonely misogynist assholes, but I don't really think that's the root of the issue. I think the fault lies (as it does with most gender problems) in a lack of communication.

In order to understand these communication problems, ladies, you have to understand the 'pinnacle of human evolution' that is the male brain. Forget any pretense you may have, it basically comes down to this; we want to eat and fuck. I'm not saying we're incapable of understanding our emotions and displaying empathy towards other people, it's just that we don't pick up on the subtle nuances like you do – we're too busy thinking about eating and fucking. Guess which category we process you under.

The moment we see a girl at a show, our brains instinctively start sizing her up, deciding whether or not to 'go in for the kill' so to speak. And if a guy comes up and starts talking to you, he's decided to go for it. This might seem a little sexist amd demeaning in itself, but good luck on going anywhere other than a gay bar and finding guys who will treat you differently. Unfortunately, you may be subjected to it more at a punk show, but that's because there are fewer girls. Think of it in terms of basic economics – you're just a more valuable commodity than a girl fist bumping to Lady Gaga at a club.

Now lets say hypothetically a guy approaches you at a show. You talk to the him for a bit, give him your number, but decide you don't want anything more than friendship. Since you go to the same shows and probably have a few mutual friends, the two of you might become familiar with each other. Eventually, he'll get that you're not interested, and at this point, you become either an aquantance or a friend. This is the context in which I feel most of the problems lie.

When guys hang out with each other, they communicate much differently than girls do. If you were to read a transcript of some of the conversations I have with my buddies, you'd assume we hate each other's guts. I use a whole arsenal of perjorative terms and phrases when talking to my friends, including a number of racist and homophobic slurs that my superego knows I shouldn't be proliferating. I don't use any of those terms out of anger – quite the opposite; it's a show of admiration. Odd, I know, but that's male bonding for you.

So when we're standing around in a circle of friends at a hardcore show (whose attendees are, for the most part, dudes), it feels perfectly natural for us to call you a “dumb bitch” or ask you to “fetch a sandwich.” We don't realize you aren't used to hearing that kind of shit from your friends, and that you might think we're belittling and insulting you. We don't realize telling you to “suck my cock” might make you uncomfortable; we tell everyone and everything to suck our cocks, the phrase means next to nothing. To us guys, that vernacular is meaningless at worse and said out of admiration at best. We're not trying to hurt your feelings, it's just that once you become one of the guys, it's easy to forget that you're still a girl.

So if that is the problem, what can we do about it?

Well, to misquote Martin Luther King Jr., equality is never voluntarily given by the oppressor – it must be demanded by the oppressed.

In other words, if something's bothering you, speak up. In the case of a joke gone too far, it's probably better to bring it up a bit later. If you go up to the friend who made the comment when he's alone and explain why it bothered you, he'll most likely apologize and try not to do it again. If he doesn't, he's not only sexist, he's an asshole who's not worth your time. The same goes for any other situation. If a guy's touching you in a way that makes you feel uncomfortable, ask him to stop. If he doesn't, tell security. They'll gladly fix the problem for you. If you're in a band and a promoter/engineer/whoever else is making misogynist remarks, get all punk rock on his ass and tell him to fuck off. If he calls you a bitch, don't take it personally – either his father didn't love him or his wife left him for a man with a bigger dick.

Here's the skinny; the vast majority of guys in the “punk scene” or whatever you want to call it aren't sexist, and probably love hanging out or being in bands with girls. We want to make shows comfortable and enjoyable for everyone, especially women. But if we don't know what's pissing you off, we can't do anything about it. So speak up, and together we can kick sexism out of punk rock.

Parenting tips from someone who has no intention of ever being a parent, part 1

Even though I have no intention of raising children, I bet I could make a damn good parent. Or at least a damn good parental councilor. Or a good "Uncle Drunky." Either way, here's my advice for parents/aspiring parents. I thought up a whole bunch of these, but it's pretty dense, so I've divided them into parts. Here's part 1

SUPER AWESOME PARENT TIPS GOOD TIME OKAY!!!!

Don't hit your kids-

For real yo, it doesn't work. Think about the message you're sending them: “Violence is bad, what you did is bad, and in order to stop you from being bad, I'm going to get violent.”

I'm tired of hearing this argument from parents who hit their kids. “My parents hit me and I turned out just fine.”

Yeah, just fine, except for your crippling lack of self esteem, extremely short temper and borderline alcoholic tendencies. Your parents thought hitting you was a good idea? Well your parents were wrong about a lot of things. They probably thought only gays and blacks could get AIDS, and look how that theory turned out. Even worse, your parents probably listened to either disco or the Sex Pistols. Marinate on that before coming back and telling me your folks were always right.

Want proof of the fact that beating your kids doesn't help? How about every single informed, relevant opinion? Don't get me wrong, I'm no expert on the matter, but all it takes is a grade 11 sociology course and a few wikipedia pages to come to the conclusion that virtually everyone who is or was since the mid 80's thinks hitting your kids is a bad idea.

“But what makes these so-called 'experts' think they can raise my children better than I can?”

Hmm, let me think... like 10 years at a prestigious university, plus 20-30 years in the field working with kids, conducting studies and reading medical literature? What do you have on that? Mother's intuition? A 5 minute segment you saw on FOX News where Bill O'Reilly screamed ideological bullshit while some poor fool mentally kicked himself in the ass for thinking he would be able to participate in a rational debate?

Get over yourself. If you think hitting your kids is a good idea, you're wrong. And if you think that disagreeing with the experts makes you a good ol' fashioned, red blooded American, then you're a good ol' fashioned moron.

Don't buy your kid useless, expensive shit-

Listen, don't buy your kid a “smartphone,” or a “tablet,” or any other buzz word Steve Jobbs uses to sell you overpriced garbage. I'm at the age now where some could argue I would need a phone with a browser, an extensive contact list, mp3 capability, a day planner, a GPS system etc. But I don't have one. Why? Because all that shit's just as completely unnessecary as it was two years ago, and I can think of way cooler things to spend $700 bucks on. As for a “tablet,” don't even get me started, I'd need a whole other page for that.

I remember back in Grade 6 when cellphones were becoming economically feasable for practically everyone to own. Phones like the Motorola Razor were on the market for like $150-200, and kids in my class were getting them for Christmas. I remember thinking then “what the hell is wrong with these people? What possible use could a Grade 6 have for a $200 phone?” Like fuck, these kids had four contacts on the thing.

Nowadays, the stakes are much higher. “Cool” phones don't run 200 bucks anymore-- as of right now the iPhone 4 is listed for $659 on Apple's Canadian website. That's a pretty hefty investment, especially when you factor in what the kid's gonna be using it for- texting the five people that actually give a shit about him, listening to three of the 59 songs on his iTunes library repeatedly, masturbating on the internet, and playing with apps that make farting noises.

And you know that as soon as Apple or RIM shits out a new piece of “modern technilogical wonder” some dad with more money than brains is gonna buy it for his kid. Then your offspring are gonna come home and bitch about how “Billy Johnson's dad bought him an Android 546XSP-3GR-2D2, he's way cooler than you.” Don't fall for that shit, stand strong. There are two very legitimate reasons your kid shouldn't be allowed to have the latest high tech gear.

1. You're going to turn your kid into a materialistic drone. Seriously, buying your kid all that stuff only gets the notion in their head that in order to be cool (which is the only thing on the planet that matters, thereby justifying their entire existence), they have to own the newest, most expensive piece of technology out there. Your kid might bitch now, but believe me, she'll thank you later when she's not part of the hive mind and only has moderate credit card debt due to the fact that her liberal arts degree can't get her a job anywhere but at the bank.

2. Your kid's gonna get jacked. When I was in Grade 2, some dickweed stole my Krazy Bones. When I was in Grade 3, another asshole stole my Pokemon cards. When I was in Grade 4, I didn't buy anything because my parents were tired of my shit getting jacked, and Digimon was gay. Now, not only is your kid a target for schoolyard bullies, he's also an easy target for legitimate criminals.

Lets say you buy your kid the basic, cheapest set of Apple shwag, The iPod 3GS, the 16 GB iPad and the 8 GB Nano (when people buy all three of these it makes my blood boil, because the iPhone performs the same functions as the others and more. Like FUCK! Get off Steve Jobb's dick). Your five foot even, 100 pound kid is walking around with $1,120 CDN worth of technology. Kids like to flaunt that stuff too. Chances are they're gonna be walking home with their headphones in, playing with their iPads, and if some asshole sees them, it's not gonna be hard to wrestle that from his weak little hands. And if there's nobody else there with him, it's not gonna be that much harder to pump him for all he's worth, which is practically two months rent. In fact... I'll be right back...

Anywho, even if your kid manages to be smart and not get robbed, there's a good chance he'll lose whatever you buy him. Looking back to Grade 6, I lost virtually everything I owned. Pencils, clothing, money, homework, my anal virginity (kidding). Seriously, I'm 20, and just the other day I lost my fucking pants at a party with my phone, my wallet, my iPod and like five bucks in it. I'd put everything I lost at about $305 tops. I payed for all of it myself, I'm gonna have to pay a FUCKTON to replace it, and my parents are probably furious anyways. Imagine how pissed you're gonna be when your 11-year-old loses his $700 “tablet” that you had to postpone your “parent's only weekend” to buy for him.

A good parent wouldn't put that kind of investment in their kid, no matter how badly they whine. If you have a grand to blow, why not take your kid on a vacation or something that they'll actually remember in six months when everyone else realizes how much money they wasted on the iPad (or whatever the Motorola version of it's called)? Seriously, take your kid to the zoo and the ball game-- get bitchin' seats and steak for dinner. That way your kid will have something to look back on with fond memories, not just something he's gonna pawn off for a half-quarter of shwag weed in three years.

So there you have it, parenting tips from someone who has no intention of ever raising kids. I have more interesting parenting tips for y'ass, but I've got better stuff to do right now. Peace.

Thoughts on Remembrance day

In no way is this disrespecting the troops.

Remembrance day is an emotional time, even for saps like me who've never known anyone in or even remotely close to serving in combat overseas. I got choked up a few times during the Pembroke ceremony this morning, so I can't even imagine how the third of the people in the room standing when the MC asked them to stand if they'd ever served or been related to someone serving in the Canadian military felt.

Nor can I imagine how it must've felt to be Sgt. Sherry Lynn Rodgers, a member of the Canadian military for 20 years. She's served in Bosnia, Kosovo, Sierra Leonne and Afghanistan. She served as a medic, where everyday she cared for people with severed limbs and fatal wounds. Nobody knows the gruesome reality of war better than she does. Obviously, the day was an emotional one for her, sitting behind Jamie Bramburger as he did his best to honour the brave men and women of the military, she wept throughout the ceremony.

And I don't blame her for doing so. How can remembrance day not evoke emotion in her? More than likely, she's seen people die. Like, actually seen somebody die. Not just watched somebody die on tv, not seen somebody go off and never come back. Not just stood on a bridge and watched as a parade of cars pass, like, actually seen somebody's life come to an end.

Think about what it would be like to see that. Knowing that for that person, there will be no more thoughts, no more emotions, no more friends, no more family, no more rainy days, no more traffic jams, no more beers with pals, no more facebook chat, no more sorrow, no more love. Nothing.

Fucking dead. And for what?

Let me make this clear. I DO NOT want to take anything away from anyone who's served in the Canadian military, or any military for that matter. Their moral courage is far greater than mine will ever be-- the vast majority of them put the most important thing they had on the line in order to fight for a cause they believed was bigger than themselves-- and they deserve immediate respect and eternal recognition for it.

The problem is that time after time, these people lose their lives not for the freedom and prosperity of the country they dearly loved, but for the insecurities and greed of the people who rule said country.

From the Boer War to present day (the time period remembrance day was set up for), I can think of 1 case in which Canadian or U.S. military action was justified (peace keeping missions excluded). The others have been selfish acts of war, waged by self serving politicians, and drenched in the blood of innocent and/or well meaning people.

Anyone remember the acronym M.A.I.N from grade 10 history? The four reasons WWI, the second bloodiest single war of all time, was fought?

Militarism

Alliances

Imperialism

Nationalism

Do any of those sound like good reasons to send young people off to die for? And when you think about it, can you think of a better reason for why we're in Afghanistan? Bin Laden is probably dead, leaving us to fight against a military tactic and an ideology, two things that you certainly aren't going to kill with guns. Why are the best and bravest of our young men and women off dying in some sandlot for a cause that is at best implausable as a militaristic strategy and at worst blind loyalty to a country we have made ourselves economically dependant on? 152 men and women dead and not coming back to their families because (if we are to take it at face value) the western world believes it's somehow possible to wipe out 1000 years of violence and indoctrination with more violence and indoctrination. Yet the Canadian government, who lets this war continue without any explination as to why it's happening, pretends to honour and respect the troops.

Go ahead Mr. Harper; wear that poppy on your chest proudly.

Tell the soldiers and veterans of the Canadian military that you believe in what it stands for-- remembrance of the lessons learned from war, respect for the people who died for our country, and the hope that one day there will be no more need for people to die in armed conflict-- when you have thousands of brave Canadians overseas fighting an idealistic and unwinnable war for reasons that you won't explain, probably because they're either incomprehensable or just plain twisted.

Or here's a better idea. Instead of wearing that poppy as an accessory your regular pompous arrogance, go up to Sgt. Sherry Lynn Rodgers and spit right in her fucking face. It would be just as insulting, but at least you would have the balls to disrespect her openly, as opposed to hiding behind the false pretense that you identify with, or even respect her commitment to something you will never understand. She's on the front lines in a fucking war, fighting for the freedom of the Canadian people. The exact same freedom you, your cabinet, your esteemed opposition, and the majority of the members of the highest ranking police force in the country you “run” piss all over every single fucking day. You have no right to tell anyone you respect the commitment of the Canadian military when you continue to send it's members to die for an ideology while slowly destroying everything you tell them they're fighting for.

Very few people have what it takes to be in the military, to risk losing your family, your friends, the very things you hold dear every day, to defend the freedom of people you don't know is so commendable it's beyond words. The politicians sitting behind their desks sending innocent people to die like to think that they've deserved the right to lead a nation in honouring those very people. They like to pretend that they are at least noble and morally courageous enough to be in a class that identifies with these soldiers.

That insinuation would be hilarious if it wasn't so god damned offensive.

Mr. Harper, you don't even have the balls to let your cabinet talk to the media without a script; don't pretend to identify with those who have the courage to die for their country. And what's more, stop sending the best and bravest young men and women this country to die over bullshit.

Transgressions are made, while cowards convey

with a demon's ear, fixed and set to slay

while a statue awaits to be whittled away

with the mock of a slogan hiding filth with fear

never to learn, only to burn, and be burned

granite straight through slate, clear as common day

what will be mark to be made when we

crush it all to burn it down

with out sight without sound

simple shell, solemn still

without sight, without sound

make a martyr pedestal, ribbons of slaughter

feed the altar, stoke the fire it will take over

ignore the cut, the skin will callus as well as interest

when all are reckless none to profit, none to win

who to pay for all the years

all the lives when we decide

all the tears,

all the dumb lead the blind

playing “god deciding”

who will die next in line

for their “rights” justified

for the lie sitting high

playing god deciding

who will walk away

from the rage and revenge

inhumane consequence

comes in time,

playing god deciding

who will fall in line

to arrive

out of sight, and out of mind

Why I'm quitting Tobacco- By Rob

Fantastic--

The walk down the hall is rather short. A quick right after the elevator and it stretches just far enough to feel uncomfortable.

There is a gentile noise about the sixth floor; it’s just quiet enough to be disconcerting.

Entering the room there is a slight tightening in the chest: breathing becomes a little shorter; eyes are cast a little farther down.

At the end of the room, closest to the window, there he sits, slowly wasting away.

The mask is on his face, starting at the bridge of his nose, ending below his chin. Slowly the blankets rise: up and down, up and down, up and down.

He opens his eyes, confused at first, searching for something familiar finaly they settle right on you. For a moment they seem bright, but that quickly fades.

Everything seems to be fading at this point.

You want to ask how he is, but that’s a bad question. Stupid even. You can see how he is (dying.)

Whatever is inside him (the cancer: say it) is eating him away. It’s only been a few days but the difference is obvious. Time is growing short.

You sit down against the radiator ledge and he asks if you’re comfortable. Of course you are (lies, comfortable lies.)

He doesn’t say much, the mask won’t let him and the strength isn’t there (it’s never coming back.)

You tell him the latest news. Perhaps he cracks a smile (perhaps he’s just moving his mouth.)

He can’t turn his head, so he looks at you through the corner of his eye. Even when you don’t speak (and he can’t) he’s looking at you.

What do you say? What can you say? (Nothing.)

So you sit.

Oddly, his wrinkles have disappeared. Or at least, the more you look at him, the more they seem to have. So you focus on that.

Focusing on that is easier than focusing on the reality in front of you (he’s dying, right there, right in front of you.)

He knows it. You know it. No one says anything.

Your mind wanders: where is your suit, what shoes do you have to wear, why is the room so warm, why does the heater blow cold air, who chose the pattern for the floor tiles.

He falls asleep and you’re relieved. Finally you can look at him. When his eyes open, you look away (no need to stare at the dying.)

Your mind wanders, thoughts spring up and tears threaten. Both are pushed away (no need to do that here.)

Finally it’s time to go. You look at him, he looks at you. Do you hug him? Can you hug him? When was the last time you did that? Maybe you should just put a hand on his leg, or arm, or something.

You do nothing (you do nothing.)

Walking out, down the hall, you do nothing.

Nothing (nothing.)

Update: In a sad, but inevitable, turn the man whom I wrote about visiting this weekend — my grandfather — died this evening.

Ode to snowboarding blue balls

Just something I randomly wrote:

Oh great gods of snowboarding, have you no mercy? It's not even mid october, and I already have that feeling in my bones.

Anyone who snowboards knows exactly what I'm talking about. You know that watering in your mouth you get before you eat a big juicy steak? It's kind of like that, but you feel it in your legs. Your calf muscles literally burn with the anticipation of lactic acid and your knees ache, begging to be put through the grind of 7 brutal hours cutting through powder. Your entire lower body is literally begging you to get off your lazy ass and onto the nearest snow covered hill.

But it's only October, and with no snow in the forecast for at least another month, all you can hope to do is ride out your case of snowboarding blue balls. Watching Burton video teasers on youtube or dusting off your X-Box and playing a few rounds of Amped may help to tide you over, but nothing comes close to strapping those bindings on for real.

It was during these confusing days that a girl once asked me jokingly, or so I thought, if I would rather go snowboarding or on a date with her. In hindsight, I should have lied. As soon as I saw the dejected look on her face I knew I had fucked up, and I never recovered.

But what did she expect? It was during one of those cold november nights when the temperature first dips below freezing-- when you can literally count on two hands the sleeps until the first snowfall. No question of “would you rather _____ or go snowboarding” will warrant a different answer.

To the casual observer, my love affair with snowboarding may seem a little strange. I was born and raised in a relatively hill-less part of the world, and even after nine years I would still describe myself as 'mediocre at best' at the sport. So why do I love it so much? Simply because it offers so much freedom.

Snowboarding has always been a sanctuary for me. From the moment you get to the hill until the second you leave, your mind is on a different plane. You could be failing class, getting picked on at school, fighting with your girlfriend or your parents or your friends-- it doesn't matter. As you walk out of the car a feeling washes over you, and all of a sudden none of that shit matters. It's you, 3 friends, and about 10 pounds of fibreglass-- nothing else.

There's no way to score points, no way to win or lose, no us vs. them mentality that you get from team sports, no real rules, and nobody playing against you. Because of this, snowboarding creates a very positive culture, in which the true pillars of sport-- fun and personal growth-- are paramount to competition and the negativity it breeds. It's impossible to cheat in snowboarding because there are no rules to break. It's impossible to be a sore loser because it's impossible to lose. Nobody boos you when you land a trick, and only assholes laugh at you when you fall.

Don't get me wrong, there is competition in snowboarding, but by the sports very nature it's friendly and productive. When you see somebody else do something cool, you immediately want to do it too, and better than they just did. But that's only human nature. For snowboarding, the competition ends at making them look bad. You don't feel good when somebody eats shit, and you can't help but cheer when they land something sick. Even in mano-a-mano competition like the X-Games, you'll always see snowboarders cheer when their opponents land something spectacular. This isn't done in compliance with some ancient unwritten rule like clapping between points in tennis-- it comes naturally from the positive attitude that snowboarding is rooted in.

The most challenging competition in snowboarding comes not from an opponent, but from within you. This is where the magic of snowboarding lies. Because you have nobody to outperform, you can grow at your own level and push your boundaries at a comfortable pace. If you fall while trying a new trick, it's not game over. All that normally happens is you look a bit stupid and maybe hurt a little bit, but that physical pain is nothing compared to how good you feel once you land it. The feeling is addictive. Once you get that trick down and it doesn't feel so good to land anymore, you keep pushing for your fix, aiming for something bigger and better. You may never be as good as Shaun White, but you'll always be better than you were the day before. And if you have a shitty day, there's always tomorrow. At least until the offseason starts.

Which brings us back to mid-October blue balls...

If you live south of the Arctic circle, the cruel reality is that for at least 6 months a year there isn't any snow on the ground. I guess the only problem with snowboarding is that, oddly enough, you need snow to do it.

Wait, scratch that. There's nothing wrong with snowboarding. Let me rephrase that; the problem with our climate is that it doesn't snow every god damn day.

Fall Ritual for Mark's class

God damn this is old. It's about the Bills game I went to last year. If you're good maybe I'll tell you all the story about the one this year...

http://www.allvoices.com/contributed-news/7004660-the-joys-of-canadian-thanksgiving-at-the-bills-game

The Doc-- By Rob

maybe baseball isn't dead, maybe we all just forgot what it fucking sounded like...

http://morningedition.wordpress.com/2010/10/09/a-quick-word-about-the-doctor/

By Rob Hiltz