Climb On

 There was more I'd intended to do with this (you know- like actually put in the rest of the damn climbing holds) but it's waaaaaay past time for me to get ready for bed, sooo.... maybe you'll see a properly done version this weekend.  (Maybe.)

(Click to embiggen)

Winners

Tonight was Nerd Night, so here I present you with a doodle of one of my fellow nerds, and a choice exchange of the evening:

"If blowing something up doesn't work the first time, blow it up again!"
"That's right!  Because quitters never win, and winners never quit!  And winners blow shit up."

The Madame McWilskyton

F Bomb

There is a certain word that begins with an F that a lot of women (and men, for that matter) seem uncomfortable using, especially as it applies to them.  I  have a difficult time understanding this discomfort, and I can only attribute it to an imperfect understanding of the word's meaning.  In fact, it was my reading an interview of a young starlet that prompted me to write this.  Her grasp of the F word was... well, the nicest thing I can say about it was that at least it was benign.

That F word, by the way, is "Feminism".  And for the purpose of my blog entry today, that word is "Feminist".

I am a feminist.  And no, unlike so many celebrities who, when asked point blank whether or not they are, I have absolutely no qualifiers to that statement.  I am a feminist.

But what does that mean?  Well, here's the actual definition of the word:

...which is all well and good, as far as it goes, but as we all know, a word is more than its denotation.  There is also connotation to consider.  So when I say I'm a feminist, I'm saying the following:

I have the right to choose.

And no, I'm not talking about the abortion debate (in this entry).  I'm talking about the right to choose what I do with my life, with myself.  I'm talking about the right to work any job I'm physically and mentally qualified for, and get paid a fair wage for it, and not be harassed while I'm at it.  I'm talking about the right to leave my (theoretical) children with caregivers so I can do that job- and not be guilt-tripped for doing so.  But I'm also talking about the right to stay at home with those children and be a full-time parent, and not be told I'm "squandering opportunities".  And I'm talking about the right to choose not have any kids at all, and not be made to feel any less of a female.

I'm talking about the right to burn a bra- or to wear a push-up.  I'm talking about the right to dress in a mini-skirt or a hijab, as my own conscience dictates, and not be hassled for it either way.  I'm talking about the right to use all the tools in one's personal arsenal: intellect, humor, physical strength, and yeah- physical attractiveness.  I'm talking about the right to make my own decisions, and to have an equal say in the decisions that affect my family unit.

But do you know what else I'm talking about?  I'm talking about men being able to make those choices for themselves, too.  This isn't about "us vs. them", because when I say I'm a feminist, I'm saying that I believe in equal rights- be they civil, economic, social, or cultural- for all people, regardless of gender.

New Year, New(ly Re-established) Habits

I (like many people, I suppose) have a Certain Superstition about New Year's.  Which is to say, I believe that whatever it is that I do on the first day of the year is a reflection of my behavior for the coming year.  That being said, I do my best to make sure that the behaviors I exhibit are behaviors which I'd like to see kept up throughout the year.  This year said behaviors included things like making sure my house was clean, making brunch for my bestest friend, and doing art.  And now I'm writing, just to round things out (although I  may have to go write some fiction after this, just to make certain I cover all my bases...)

We were going to go for a hike this afternoon, but since my knee is still complaining about the abuse it suffered during the flights home from Birmingham, that has been tabled for a while.  Instead I laid down color on the afore-mentioned art, and assisted Nathan with his newest 365 project.  That's right: he's doing it again.  This year he's going to focus on portraits, and rather than be locked into one per day he's decided to go the route of seven per week.  And I, in my best Supportive Wifey Mode, have started my own new project.  It's basically a re-working of 2011's abandoned project, which was to draw every day.  This year?  Oh this year I'm going to make a return to the little comics I used to draw, once upon a time... my goal is to update at least once a week, with the higher goal of six black-and-white updates and one color update, and a more realistic higher goal of three times a week (once in color).  We shall see what we shall see...

In the meantime, here is the fruits of today's labor, a mostly-accurate representation of our New Year's Eve Celebration:

(The plan was to have a LotR marathon: we didn't quite make it to Lothlorien...)

Dodging Holiday Bullets

It's been mentioned a time or two on this blog that my husband and I do not share a religion.  He's Christian, I'm...  not.  As such, Christmas is a holy day for him and his family, whereas for me it's... well, not.  Christmas, for me, is an entirely secular holiday, an excuse to not go to work, to exchange presents, and to see my family (or friends, those years I was working retail.  But I respect that it's a sacred day for many people, and as such I have never felt comfortable sending out Christmas cards, per se.

Yep, you read that right: I sent out "Happy Holiday" cards not because I'm "at war with Christmas", but because I respect it, and because I don't want to falsely represent myself as someone who observes it as a religious holiday.

This caused me to have a tiny little crisis during out first Christmas as a married couple, because- as I mentioned- Nathan is Christian, and as much as I don't want to falsely represent myself as a Christian, I don't want to falsely represent him as not.  He celebrates Christmas, his family celebrates Christmas, and they are the type of people who do not settle for a generic "happy holidays": nor should they.  They have a specific holiday, and it's theirs, and they shouldn't have to censor their greetings any more than I should be censured for saying "Happy Solstice!" (which falls on the 22nd this year, in case you were curious).

Now, let me clarify: Nathan doesn't care about holiday cards, Christmas or otherwise.  Left up to him, there would be no seasonal greetings upon card stock, let alone photos and letters, etc etc.  So he was just as happy not sending anything- which was a perfectly reasonable solution to my holiday-spirit-ual dilema.

But I was not okay not sending anything.  I like sending out cards (you should see me around Valentine's Day), and I didn't want to not do it just because we couldn't agree on the wording (and by "we", I mean my own brain).  At last, however, a solution sprang fully formed from the aether, allowing me to to make everyone happy- including, most importantly, myself.

Thus did my tradition of sending "Happy New Year!" cards begin.

This Man is Not Afraid to wish you a Merry Christmas

The Adventures of Weenie McSissyPants

After my excellent reintroduction to climbing the other evening, I was very excited to get up and go bouldering this morning.  I waltzed into the gym about an hour after they opened, found it pleasingly underpopulated, and slipped on my shoes.  Then I sauntered over to the empty bouldering area, stretched out, sat back, and considered my routes.

I shall start with a V0, I thought.  Just to get warmed up.  And then move my way up until I get tired.  No need to rush right into a V2.

No need, indeed, gentle readers, for that V0 I first tried my hand(s) at was only just barely conquered- and it was my only victory of the morning.  I was swiftly- and humbly- reminded how much freaking harder bouldering is than harness climbing, especially when most of the bouldering area seems to consist of overhangs.  Verily, my hiney was most thoroughly kicked.

And so it was I found myself taking my shoes off after about half an hour of good-faith effort, the words weenie mcsissypants floating through my head.  Fortunately, however, Older and Wiser O was able to counter those words with, "For the love of stars, you haven't bouldered in at least six years.  It is going to take time to build your muscles back up.  Not to mention your technique.  So just be pleased that you managed to complete even one problem, and then go look at the message board for someone you might want to be belay partners with."

And I did.

Stress Relief

Egads, it's December!

...but chances are you knew that already.

I am feeling good right now, the sort of sore looseness that only comes after a good workout.  It is a much needed looseness, coming as it does after the Thanksgiving holiday which, while wonderful and full of family, was also full of Stress (capital S).  Not even Thanksgiving per se (or, as I prefer to call it, Turkey Liberation Day), but the following Tuesday.  That was the day my mom and stepdad headed back home, which came on top of a couple of other (non-related) Emotional Low Blows.  As such I did not go to work that day, but instead engaged in two sure-fire stress relievers: I made lists, and I cleaned house.

That was not enough, and so last night I baked.

I was still feeling like Blah this morning, but that was okay because I knew what adventure this evening held: my brush-up climbing class at Vancouver's new rock gym.  Although to be perfectly candid, as the hour drew near I found it was adding to my stress rather than relieving it.  I started to feel really nervous, and vomitty, and all-around I-don't-want-to-go-ish (because what if I look like a fool??).  But I did go, and I had a really excellent time.  I found that I hadn't forgotten nearly as much as I'd thought I had in the three years since I last put on a harness, and moreover that it's really every bit as fun as I remembered.  After warming up on a couple of routes, I pushed myself by doing a 5.8, and although I took a fall on that one my partner (brand new to belaying) caught me and all was well (and then I finished it, which was even more well).  By the time I finished my last climb of the night (a 5.7 with the teensiest bit of overhang that my triceps are currently making much of) I'd worked up a happy, healthy sweat, and a determination to make it out there at least three times a week.  Not to mention the happy sore looseness.

And now?  Now we sleep the sleep of the (stress-free) righteous.