Posts Tagged ‘Psychology’

  • Rowling’s writing an adult book?! Oh noes!

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    This is what happens when you think you have everything worked out. Already had a post lined up for today, I said. It’ll just flow off the fingertips, I said. No problems with posting it on Friday morning, I said. I tell ya, I’m such a slacker sometimes!

    Anyway, before I head into today’s post, I thought I’d revisit last week’s, um, less-than-charitable thoughts on why Watson, for example, is being played by a woman in CBS’s new series and not Holmes. One of my hypothetical network “creative” directors/bean-counters says: “[Because] men will turn off in their millions and that’ll trash our viewing figures.

    Well, I only had to wait a few days for vindication of my jaundiced view. Director Andrew Stanton, on marketing “John Carter”, had this to say:

    I changed Princess Of Mars…because not a single boy would go.

    He does go on to say that he then changed “John Carter of Mars” to plain ole “John Carter” because:

    And then the other truth is, no girl would go to see John Carter Of Mars.

    Oy! And two more bits made me sad:

    I hate doing things out of fear, but I can’t ignore that truth … Mars is going to stick on any other film in the series. But by then, it won’t have a stigma to it.

    So not only can’t we have an allusion to a woman in the title, we also can’t have anything futuristic in the title either because of a stigma attached to it. Let me be clear, I’m NOT slamming Andrew Stanton for any of this. I’m just sad that such decisions need to be made by people like him in the 21st century.

    Anyway, onto the second piece of news. Rowling is writing an adult novel! As yet, we don’t know the book’s genre or “vision”, if you will, although clues say it’ll be something along the crime line.

    Am I a fan of Rowling’s work? Not really. We have all the Harry Potter books. I read through them just so I could keep tabs on how things finished, but I don’t feel a driving urge to re-read them. They’re there for the kids now, in case one or both of the two would like to delve into Potter’s universe. (I can’t stand Potter’s universe, having been educated in one very close to it, but it may hold novel value for my two.)

    I say “oh noes!” in the post’s title. Why? Because JK Rowling is (a) one of (if not the) richest woman in the UK, (b) is a writer, (c) is a woman. This means that every mean-spirited, narrow-minded excuse for a critic is going to excoriate her, regardless of the book’s merits (or otherwise), based on nothing more than a combination of (a), (b) and (c). And I’m talking about both male and female critics here.

    When I first read the news of Rowling’s next book, I winced. I personally think this is an extraordinarily brave move on her part, especially considering who she is. My fear is that no good will come of it because of who she is. People resent her for her fame, the way she rose to it, the money she’s earnt from it, and the fact that she dared do all this while being…a woman.

    (While not at all in the same league, I remember one petty-minded manager at a company I was contracting for telling me that one reason he was making life so difficult for me (not paying my invoices, writing obscenities on my work, locking me out of the company’s systems) was — and I quote — “because you’re a woman and you earn more than me”. And that was just little ole me. You can just imagine what Rowling’s going to face, can’t you?)

    I think Rowling is as competent a writer as Dan Brown, really I do. But no matter how much criticism Brown has copped, I predict it’s going to be nothing compared to what Rowling faces when her book hits the shelves. She has my sympathies and my best wishes.

  • WAR GAMES ready for 1 August release! / Society-FAIL

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    Well, it’s been a long haul so far…and it isn’t over yet. BUT, I can tell you that WAR GAMES is on schedule for official release on Monday, 1 August. And the fully-edited Prologue is up at my site for your reading pleasure.

    Cover for War GamesThe main problem with telling you that it’ll be released on the first of August, however, is that it takes time for the uploads to propagate to various etailer sites, so I wouldn’t go looking for the book on the Monday, if I were you. Best to leave it a couple of days.

    By now, stalwart reader, you would know the history of this novel. It’s been more than two years in the making. The book has gone through increases and decreases and now seems to be settled happily at almost the 90,000 word mark. I’ve taken out scenes and fleshed out others and I’m pleased with the result.

    WAR GAMES is also important because it’s my first self-published title and the first release for my own micro-press, so I had to dot many more “i”s and cross many more “t”s to ensure that things fitted together well. But we’re not done. There are still other plans in the works, other books, other offers, other enhancements. I am the ultimate tinkerer.

    For now, though, looking towards the end of the month, it all appears doable. And, for that, I’m very happy.

     

    ***

     

    I don’t always do this. In fact, I can’t remember ever putting a section break in my blog posts, but I had to share something with you. I was taking The Wast through English and he had to pick the appropriate verb in order to satisfy subject-verb agreement. (That is, single subject, singular form of verb; multiple subjects, plural form of verb, that kind of thing.) I won’t go through the exercise with you but I do want to share the output. A case of English-pass but Society-fail, if you will.

    Darren told Alan, “Walking is a good form of exercise. We have to exercise to stay healthy.”
    “You have been telling me that for a long time,” replied Alan, who is used to other activities like playing football. “Jenny and Liza were out walking yesterday when they were robbed. It’s really not safe to walk on your own.”
    Darren said, “They were foolish. They chose to walk at night. Plus, they were not paying attention to what was going on round them. And it’s not like they don’t know about safety measures. Whatever it is, everyone is responsible for his and her own safety. They should have been more careful.” *

    Of course Malaysia can’t be described as libertarian-leaning by any stretch of the imagination. But I’m sure the average Malaysian knows just how, um, hard-working the local police are. They are paid for with public money but, as you can see from the above passage, they are absolutely NOT responsible for public safety.

    I’m not sure what revolts me more about this passage:

    (A) The fact that women’s safety is so easily glossed over
    (B) The “blame the victim” mentality inherent in the piece
    (C) The absolution of police from any kind of behaviour to protect the public
    (D) The fact that two out of three authors of this Guide are women (see below)
    (E) The inculcation of contempt for women being woven into education from a tender age
    (F) The complete incomprehension of locals to the heinous nature of this drivel
    (G) All of the above

    With this in mind, I hope you have a  better weekend than me and I’ll catch you next week.

    * Taken from “Longman Essential English Form 2 Revision Guide” (2011) by Sheela Prabhakaran, Doreen Da Costa, K. N. Vasanthy

  • On idiots and women and encroaching horror

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    I’ll admit it, I’m grumpy, sarcastic and confrontational. As I’ve said in the past, stalwart reader, if you met me in person, you might not like me that much. But I think part of the reason I’m such a warped human being is because of the frequency of incidents akin to what J faced last week on the bus.

    He came home shaking his head. “I just had the weirdest experience,” he told me, “and I don’t quite know how to categorise it in my brain. I’ll tell you about it and see if it resonates with you.”

    And here’s what he told me:

    There’s a guy who occasionally catches the same bus as I do. (Let’s call him Faisal. The ethnicity is irrelevant, I’m just trying to be all 1Malaysia and multi-cultural here. –kaz) Faisal is a really friendly guy. He always greets me when he sees me, is perennially cheerful and seems bent on offering me advice on everything to do with living in Malaysia.

    This morning, he said that I just had to travel up to KL and spend some time there visiting various clubs. I told him that I wasn’t really into visiting any nightclubs and, besides, we have animals at home. Two of our dogs are still puppies (they’ll always be puppies to J, but that’s another discussion –kaz) and I’m not willing to kennel them on a whim just so I can go haring off to KL.

    “Don’t be stupid,” he told me, “they’re only dogs. Just leave them at home and go.”

    I stared at him. “They’re part of our family,” I said. “I can’t just leave them.”

    “I’ll look after them,” he said.

    “Do you own any dogs?” I asked. He said no. “Then how can I leave them with you?” I asked, adding, “They need food, walks, attention.”

    “Tcha,” Faisal replied. “Just leave them with me. They’ll be fine.”

    And there was nothing, J told me, that he could say to convince Faisal that (a) he wasn’t interested in visiting KL in the near future, and (b) pets need to be taken care of.

    “I don’t understand. It was like he absolutely refused to listen to anything I had to say, no matter how many different ways I tried to explain it. Have you ever come across this kind of behaviour before?”

    I made an equivalent non-verbal gesture to chewing up a wad of tobacco and spitting it out and said the following to him (feel free to follow along at home):

    Let me encapsulate the last two plus decades of being a woman and a business owner for you.

    I meet a guy called Fred. And Fred is bouncy and perky and says to me, “What do you do for a living?” And I say something like: “I’m an IT consultant.”

    “Who have you worked for?”

    I shrug. “I’ve worked for a variety of companies.”

    “Have you worked for NASA?” he asks.

    “No,” I shake my head.

    “Why not?” he asks.

    “Because I’m not a US citizen,” I reply, starting to get just a teeny bit tetchy because, really, is it any of his goddamned business? But I’m trying to be polite here, “and you have to be a US citizen to be employed by NASA.”

    At this point, Fred laughs. “Oh that’s just bullshit. My friend, Pete, comes from Burkina Faso and he’s employed at NASA as a Senior Moon Crater Investigation Dude. He makes seven gazillion dollars a year doing that shit and they employed him six seconds after he cleared US Customs & Immigration in New York.”

    Me, still trying to be nice and bringing my eyebrows back down to head level again: “Are you sure? Because I’ve spoken to NASA guys at job fairs and I even got into a conversation with them at Ames. They say they love my experience but, as I’m not a US citizen, they can’t employ me.”

    “You just don’t know what you’re doing,” Fred replies, as chipper as ever. “That’s probably why you’ve been working for all these second-rate companies all these years. Let me get Pete to talk to you and he can show you what you’re doing wrong. You might even start to make some money. Wouldn’t that be nice? What say I come over tomorrow night with Pete and you can buy us pizza? And beer. I really like Duff Gold. What’s your address again?”

    I tell him two words.

    At this point in the narrative, I tell J, one of two accusations usually gets levelled at me. I’m either a frigid lesbian or a man-hating ballbuster.

    It’s gratifying, but also sad, to see the dawning realisation on my husband’s face.

    “I’m so sorry,” he tells me. “I would never have brought up the incident at all if I’d known you’d faced something like that even once.” Then he gets indignant. “Why didn’t you ever tell me about behaviour like this?”

    I thought about that for a long second. “Seriously? Because it happens so often, it’s just part of life. It’s nothing special.

    I cannot tell you how much I love men. I love kidding around with them, swapping dirty jokes with them and generally shooting the breeze with them. (Curiously, considering my ideological stance, I get on best with ex-Army officers. Must be my background as an Army brat kicking in.) To me, men have an air of fun that women lack. I think that has to do with evolutionary biology, but that’s my opinion.

    However, there’s one segment of the male population that I Cannot Stand and they are the Freds and Faisals of the world. That segment spans all races, colours and creeds and, unfortunately, they’re everywhere.

    After this incident with Faisal, I think J is starting to realise exactly what kind of uphill battle our Little Dinosaur faces when she goes out into the big bad world. Through no fault of her own, she is going to get put down just because she’s a woman, and that’s not even counting the fact that she’ll be a migrant in whatever country we end up in, as well as having brown skin and an exotic-sounding name. And if she shows the least bit of ambition or is proud of her competence, well….

  • 888 Prosperity … buy my books now?

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    It comes as no surprise to see gaudy advertisement after advertisement during special occasions here in Malaysia. Having just past Chinese New Year, the prevailing colour was, of course, red. Which actually brings up another sideline observation. Is there some underground global legislation that says that if you open a Chinese restaurant/take-away/shop, you have to make sure at least 51% of any shopfitting/paint is red? Believe it or not, the Chinese characters emblazoned on the front of the establishment are usually a dead giveaway. No need (please!) to rub it in with red carpet, red dinnerware, glassware decorated with red trimming, red serviettes, red wallpaper, red lantern lighting, red…you get my drift.

    Moving right along, we have an interesting phenomenon in advertising. That is, the Prosperity This or the Auspicious That.

    I was wondering why this was bothering (i.e. annoying the hell out of) me. After all, don’t we get inundated with ads during Christmas/Easter/Western New Year, and so on? Standard procedure is to keep an eye open for real bargains, ignore the rest and move on. But these Chinese New Year ads are…something else.

    In the case of Christmas specials or Christmas cakes or Christmas decorations or Christmas sales, the emphasis is on…Christmas. Okay, it may have lost every bit of spirituality that it first engendered as an ancient spirit-of-life ritual, but we generally know that it’s about An Occasion. It’s then up to us to use the occasion as a channel to find deeper meaning in our own lives and reflections that we can use moving forward. Presumably.

    I think the thing that bothers me about the Chinese New Year ads is not that it’s about An Occasion so much as it is about Me and what will rub off on Me. The implication of the ads is that I will increase my fortune, I will double my happiness, I will be prosperous, if I eat this burger/buy this car/send out for this pizza. What is possibly going through the minds of the advertisers and, perhaps more importantly, does it work?

    The examples I have littering this post was culled from one day quickly flicking through one paper. I should have started a month ago in order to give you the full gamut of advertising lures, from $188,888* Mercedes sedans to $1,888* extras when buying a Proton car. There was even an S&W “prosperity” pineapple cup ad on TV, for crying out loud.

    And, as mentioned before, it was all about Me! A weird association between a product and someone’s fate, as if you really can double your money if you eat a cornflake-topped pizza or that you will have a successful year of business if you buy a dining suite from Harvey Norman.

    * (For those ignorant of the significance of the number “eight”, the pronunciation and Pinyin character for “8″ is similar to the spoken Cantonese for “fortune” and the written character for “wealth”. That’s like saying I date a lot because my favourite sweatshirt has a picture of Daffy Duck on it.)

    ADDITIONAL: Wow, my scanner has given up the ghost, I think. I can’t seem to get any decent colour balance from it At All. Maybe it’s time for a new one. Sigh.

    UPDATE: If you find this post interesting, read a similar observation from Yawning Bread, a Singaporean blogger and gay activist. And if you live around here and don’t subscribe to Yawning Bread, you should.

  • Why people like kibble: one hypothesis

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    Here in south-east Asia, the food for pets is kibble. I had thought it had something to do with the fact that kibble doesn’t spoil in this equatorial heat and people just don’t have time for the previous tried-and-true pet food, home-cooked stew in rice.

    But I think I also just stumbled across another reason.

    It was bad enough when J mentioned at work that we have bull terriers and was told in horrified tones that they “kill children”. I’ll cover that topic in another post. J’s co-workers started to get really agitated when they asked what we feed our pets and he replied, “raw meat”.

    “Raw meat?” they repeated. “Aren’t you afraid they’ll…attack you as a result?”

    Now, isn’t that interesting? There was an implicit assumption here (for both dogs and cats) that if we feed our domestic animals a raw food diet (as we have done for the past 6+ years), the animals will start to look at us as potential food.

    It got me wondering if this kind of thinking melds very well with the choice of kibble as a food. Kibble doesn’t resemble raw meat in any shape or form. It looks and smells processed. Or, to use another term, it appears more “civilised” than a plate of raw meat with bones.

    It occurs to me that we constantly try to distance ourselves from our biological heritage. Say to someone, “you and I are both animals”, and there’s a frozen moment of disbelief and outrage. I know this because I’ve done it. And while people have had to agree in the end that, yes, they are animals, there is always a “BUT” floating around at the end of the admission.

    So therefore, if we deem ourselves to be “civilised”, then the animals who inhabit our personal space (with the exception of those who yearn for “exotic” pets for ego or vanity reasons) must be “civilised” as well. Which means we don’t feed them anything raw. We feed them the kind of cooked, civilised meals that we eat ourselves. Roast Lamb with Vegetables. Seafood Platter. Beef With Gravy. Calamari in Prawn Jelly.

    Admit it. You’ve seen those labels too, haven’t you? Who do you think those words are meant to appeal to? Illiterate domesticated animals? Or human sensibilities?

    I’m thinking this out as I write this post so I’m not sure if I’m hitting everything clearly, but it could be that one reason people choose to feed their pets kibble to show they’re “civilised” pets and therefore promoted above the rest of the animal pantheon into a rarefied human circle. Which might also make sense of the horror when one of these so-called domesticated animals dares to attack us. We’re just not expecting it.