American Psycho Is Leading To My Psychosis

American Psycho had been on my list of books to read (actually, that's several lists now and organized by themes - Classics, CanCon, books of the 90s, etc) for a while now, so of course I bought it when I saw it on the shelf at Cheap Thrills. Finally, I thought, maybe I could understand the '80s, at least in a deeper way than just listening to Sussudio on repeat. Although I'll swear the answers to that decade lie deep within that song, somewhere in the cryptic lyrics.

The first part is slow, although not so slow if you have an idea of what's coming, because you pick up on the little clues that are left about brutal stabbings and decapitations. Although Bateman's constant classification of everyone he meets by the brands of clothing that they're wearing is effective at putting you into the headspace of a status-addicted yuppie, it's also deeply boring. And dated - some of the brands don't even exist any more and others, like Pierre Cardin, have become the kind of thing that gets plastered on men's underwear boxes at Sears. I found myself hoping that Patrick Bateman would get around to killing someone soon.

Then he finally did, and I wished that he hadn't. The murder scenes started out being incredibly graphic and the more I read the more unpleasant they became. I don't think I can finish the book. I would rather watch Hostel in a damp concrete basement.

But this books is also grossing me out because it feels like the parent of all the CSIs, Law And Order: SVU and Criminal Minds. The murders on those shows are just as excessive, torturous and meaningless as the ones in the book. And since they can't really show them on TV, they're often left to describe the killings verbally. Sometimes that ends up feeling more like the book than the 2000 movie ever did. But those shows are like getting comfort food on the TV.

It's not a matter of being desensitized if the book can still shock. Maybe it's because the TV shows are better at finding the line where it's just enough, where women are brutalized just so we're titillated and not repulsed. And then they make sure the crimes get solved so we know that society's part of the solution and not the problem. Still, I would rather have that, then wonder if maybe I'm not starting to get off on the murders and executions (or mergers and acquisitions) of the book.

Baby Blues

At some point in the past year, I must have accidentally entered a time machine and was sent straight back to 1952. How else to account for the baby boom I'm currently living through? I just finished one blanket and one sweater, and now I've got three more pieces of baby gear to bang out. Instead of grabbing the needles and yarn though, I've been having a little bit of an existential crisis.

One of the moms-to-be is pretty much my age. Now, I've heard of plenty of people I knew back in high school in Guelph getting pregnant. And by "heard" I mean "seen their Facebook pic get replaced with a photo of a newborn." But, you know. As of today they haven't been friends I was particularly close to. I could still pretend to be living in a bubble of eternal irresponsibility and cheap beer! I was barely making my credit card payment AND LOVING IT!

Alright, so not really, but a friend having a baby has made me selfishly obsessed with what the hell is going on in my life. It's not that I want a kid now - I still haven't decided what I'm doing in that area, except if and when such a thing appears it will be named Butch and it will be made to skate, damnit - but it's just that I'm so far from a place where that would even be imaginable, for personal and professional reasons, that I'm worried at some point it will be a decision made by my biology and not my free will. And even if that doesn't end up being an issue, I will still end having to face at some point... reluctantly... with annoyance.... that I'm getting old.

I guess I better get back to knitting, because that's one way of working out my snarled thoughts. And it will be something like this Seamless Baby Kimono for all of them, or maybe a big blanket that has "WHY NOW?" spelled out in intarsia.

The Plague Returns

Today, which is Family Day in Ontario, President's Day in the U.S. and Monday here in Quebec, I woke up feeling sick. I went into work anyway, figuring I needed the money and would shake it off. Three and a half hours later, I had slowly muddled my way through a fraction of my work and rushed to the bathroom to throw up. Since that was a false alarm, but a co-worker had seen me rush in and out of the stall without flushing, I proceeded to tell her way more than she probably wanted to know about my potential illness.

It was at that moment that I realized I should really care less about what people think of me, or else I might just stroke out one day worrying that the waitress at the take-out didn't see me tip, and then my cause of death would somehow go down as morbid allodaxophobia (fear of opinions, according to The Phobia List.) I would rather die in a more bad-ass manner, preferably by swordfish.

Things accomplished on my sick 1/2-day:
1. Ate too many Cheez-Its
2. Knit 1" on the cabled sweater of doom
3. Finished a book
4. Realized I was better than watching short track speed skating on the TV

Music Chaser

Well, let's wash out the taste of all that righteous anger with some music, shall we? I know I blew mine off my watching Slap Shot thanks to the McGill Film Society, but if you would rather mellow out than watch the Hanson brothers check folks, give this a listen:

For some reason, it makes me want a cottage.

Post-Game Show

So, the Tim Tebow ad aired and in a fairly toned down manner. Basically, it's just his mom saying that he's her miracle baby, but although he's all grown up now she still worries about his health. Then there's a note that you can check out the full Tebow story online, along with the name of the organization and the slogan "Celebrate family. Celebrate life." You can YouTube it if you want.

I can't decide if I'm glad the ad is so toned down as to be non-confrontational, or if it's a little underhanded and sneaky. In either case, it certainly wasn't as off-putting as this ad.

What's up with the growly serial killer voice? Why is it acting as if, say, carrying around someone's lip balm is the most degrading thing ever? Christ, it's a 2 inch-long tube, just stuff it in a pocket somewhere and try and develop a sense of confidence that's not so freaking fragile.

Still, I think the pro-choice credentials of Scott Fujita were responsible for the Saints victory somehow. Well, along with the hard work of Drew Brees and that interception by Tracy Porter.

The Super Bowl, Brought To You By "Life"

Who's Tim Tebow? He's more than a quaterback with a charmingly alliterative name. He's not just a Gators player who's been vocal about his decision to wait until marriage. He's the beefy star of a television commercial, and it isn't for Nike shows or Campbell's Chunky soup. Instead, he's stumping against choice, er, sorry, making a commercial to his commitment to "life."

As a feminist with a mild interest in football, I've been more than a little intrigued by the whole controversy. The ad hasn't been released yet, but it's apparently going to be about Tim Tebow and his mother. While doing missionary work in the Phillippines and expecting Tim, Pam contracted dysentery and then developed a placental abruption as a result of the treatment, so she was advised to terminate the pregnancy. She didn't and you can see the happy ending right here.


My issues with the ad are many. Going through a pregnancy in spite of a placental abruption can be dangerous and your chances of ending up with a healthy baby, much less a Heisman-winner, aren't guaranteed. Also, abortion is illegal in the Phillippines, so Pam was getting an option the rest of the country still lacks, where women have the choice about life made for them and sometimes die as a result.

I also have some concerns that go above the content of the commercial. Although I loathe Focus on the Family, if CBS doesn't have a policy in place banning issue ads during the Super Bowl and FOF wants to pony up a cool 3 mil, then run their ad. Sure, I would take their commitment to "life" more seriously if they used that hunk of cash to actually improve the lives of children post-birth, but whatever.

However, that only applies if CBS is just as willing to broadcast ads from the other side of political spectrum, particularly pro-choice spots. And if their reaction to something as innocous as a gay dating site is any indication, they wouldn't be even if Planned Parenthood magically raised 3 million to blow on 30 seconds of air time.

Furthermore, CBS was apparently involved in the development of the ad. I really think that transgresses an acceptable relationship between a network and an advertiser, and only adds to what an already unbalanced fight. Now FOF not only had 3 million bucks to wave around, but they have all the benefits of CBS' resources and experience as well.

I don't think this necessarily points to some shifty conservative agenda on the part of CBS though. Who knows, that could exist, but it's also better business sense on their part to support the anti-abortion side. I haven't sifted through the stats, but I have a feeling that their side would be more likely to organize boycotts of the game and other advertisers if there was such a PP spot, whereas the other side wouldn't. And even if they did, that group would largely be composed of women, generally not the target audience of any of those ads.

Somehow, though, the controversy and all the complaints have only made the issue worse. I really think this ad could have disappeared from public consciousness if I didn't come with so much hype. But instead of CBS being in the shit, it's NOW. There are columns like this one accusing that organization and feminists in general as trying to suppress any kind of disagreement, as if we really present such a unified front. Not only are we trying to mete out our groupthink to the masses, but we're judging Pam Tebow on her choice. Why, isn't that ironic (in the Alanis Morrisette definition of the term)? such people huff. Well, no, it isn't. I'm not judging Pam Tebow's choice when it comes to her pregnancy with Tim, but I am questioning her choice to try and limit those of other women. And I'm questioning CBS' choice to air that ad and not the one for Man Crunch.

And I am questioning whether to watch the stupid game at all, but since I'm Canadian, all the ads will be replaced when it's simulcast anyway. So I'll be watching a spot for Bob's Discount Carpet Warehouse somewhere out in Scarborough instead of this insanity.

Garter Stitch Mission Accomplished

I'm not sure if I've ever mentioned this in the blog before, but February is tied with November as my least favourite month. November because it is grey and dreary without having the benefit of being winter and February because of the flocked velvet terror that reigns until the 14th. So, this week has been a little blah for me. To help me get back into the blogging swing of things, here are crappy cellphone pics of the baby sweater I was knitting way back. The red thing is a ladybug button.

Yes, I forgot to take photos with a real camera before bringing it into work. And yes, you all must suffer the consequences.

I think the sweater turned out adorable-looking. I am concerned that the hood is too shallow and the arms are too long, and that there needs to be many, many more buttons, but you know what's tedious? Making buttons loops. Particularly so if you're not sure if the damn thing will fit. So if I get it back for repair work, there will be better photos.

As for the pattern, well, I really think there can be such a thing as too much garter stitch. The ridges, oh, THE RIDGES.

Stitch After Stitch

I would just like to remind you all that I knit. For example, I knit cables. In wooly yarns. Using patterns from Elizabeth Zimmerman. Yes, this is the January Aran, and hopefully the cardigan version at that. I've been knitting on it steadily since before Christmas and now have a hefty tube that will hopefully be ready for shoulders and sleeves soon. Unfortunately, I've had to put it aside for the moment to concentrate on this:

A baby cardigan, for a co-worker. He's the new dad of what I assume is a handsome and tech-savvy young boy and so something small and knitted was in order. Since the Dad has fixed many of my computer problems at work and is an all-around awesome fellow, it couldn't be too boring. However, it couldn't take too long either. So, another Zimmerman pattern is in the works, a baby Tomten Jacket. It's sort of an ugly-looking pile of garter stitch at the moment, but I will show you finished pics if it ends up being neat.

I also have very heretical beefs with EZ's pattern-writing, but that's for another post.

Classic Video Bin: Meet Me Tonight At Atlantic City

When I hear the words Atlantic City, I used to think of the Bruce Springsteen song. Then I might have remembered that it's an actual place and only after that something about it being a movie, starring Susan Sarandon and lemons. I decided to try and change the order of things a bit last week and actually watch the movie.

However, I was ready to turn it off after the first 10 minutes. That's because, with its ambient music and high number of characters, I was reminded of Nashville. Now there's a movie I'll admit intellectually is a great film, but never want to watch ever again. However, I soldiered on and found that those seemingly disparate characters end up collecting together in a story that's more of a traditional narrative than the sprawling Nashville. Also, the movie has in Burt Lancaster something Nashville doesn't: someone who can deliver an amazing, magnetic, movie-driving performance. Sorry, Lily Tomlin.

He plays Lou, who acts like he was a big-time gangster back in the day, but who just seems like a petty criminal with a chivalry problem. He lives in a rundown hotel that will probably be torn down for a new casino, along with the aging beauty queen he tends to and Sally, Susan Sarandon's wannabe dealer and oyster bar waitress. Soon, Sally's husband and spacey sister show up, with her sister knocked up and her husband packing stolen drugs. After that, the characters all try to make it, hoping to use the drugs as a shortcut.

The husband wants to sell the drugs to make some money, while Lou wants to sell them to take care of and impress Sally. He watches her cut lemons and rub them on her body after work. She just wants to get the oyster smell off while he seems to be having a half-religious and half-sexual vision of organic renewal.

That's the tension, even more so than the question of whether they'll be caught and rubbed out, that drives the rest of the movie. Sally is practical, she wants to do things and improve herself in very objective, financial terms. Lou is a dreamer and wants to recapture that lawless past he never really had. Naturally, things go sour, but since Lou's beauty queen is also living in the past - essentially, her gloriously set-decorated, frilly apartment- things go a little sweet as well. It might not be the cleanest, happiest movie you will ever see, it's certainly not the very best, but it's good enough.

Greed vs. Need

My foray into church-going was brief and forced, and I can remember little but the fact that powdered peach drink is one of the most repulsive substances yet recorded. Morally, it left me a little unfinished. Now I've got a guilt complex, but none of the convenient religiously-related means of expiating it, from prayer to confession.

As a recent example, the devastating earthquake in Haiti has sent me probing, because it coincided with my need for new running shoes. How much should I give, when there's a crisis of such a magnitude? I felt like I couldn't give less than the cost of the pair of shoes. If I did, I would be conceiving of people's lives in fractions of shoes, which seemed heartless, especially when those could have been stitched together at one of the free trade zones in Haiti*. Those allowed companies to profit from the availability of cheap labour, without doing anything to strengthen the country's infrastructure or government. The weakness of both has only worsened the effect of the earthquake.

On the other hand, I couldn't afford both, at least not without having a dull, rather frugal month. And I did need new running shoes, although I could have lived with the many other shoes I own, many of which cost the equivalent of several pairs of the shoes under consideration. Although I am now an atheist, I briefly considered the possibility of an afterlife. What would be my defense if I was brought before some kind of court, and told to account for how I decided the piles of fashionable impracticality on the one side balanced out the abject human suffering on the other? I had to admit that, on many levels, I was not a righteous woman.

Once I established that, I bought the shoes. Then I did what many people have done when they felt they could no longer trust some deity to be perfectly objective. I decided to have faith in chance, so I flipped a coin. Heads, I would donate all of the money I had spent on shoes and tails, half of it. I'll let you guess where it landed.

If you would like to donate money to Haiti Earthquake Relief without this kind of stress, please check out one of the organizations on this list. You can take a measure of the devastation here, or listen to our Governor-General, Michaëlle Jean's, heartbreaking response here.

*Turns out it was a likely bet that my shoes were manufactured in China. Also, garments are usually produced in those free trade zones, but still.