Pas Devant Les Domestiques

I was recently struck by just how invisible a well-trained servant truly is.

I'm sure that we are all aware that, yes, the maid dusting the bookshelf has a perfectly functional pair of ears and yet some of us seem to ignore that little factoid when carrying on conversations, doing homework and - the real kicker - having a real throw-down, knock-out argument.

What this says about us as a sentient species which claims that it is the 'higher' processes of compassion and understanding, among others, that set us apart from animals, I don't quite know. Of course, personally, I have always maintained that the only real difference between us and other predators is that animals have no concept of cruelty, a most highly developed process in humans. Oh, and we wear clothes.

That aside, the fact that we can so dehumanize a person that their presence, while noted, is not truly acknowledged, is rather . . . capable of restoring my faith in the universe. Ha! Take that, you naive fools waffling on about the innate "milk of human kindness"! I knew we were a set of callous,  self-involved backstabbers.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is class discrimination at its most subtle, most ingrained, most unconscious. In short, at its finest.

Tangentially, the situation that led to this line of thought also raised another issue.
To make sense, however, I must recap:

•  A certain lady (let us call her Mrs. X) has, shall we say, a rather eventful household, full of interesting dialogue and drama.
• A certain maid (let us call her Y) has worked for Mrs. X for a while and, as such, has been privy to the little intrigues of Mrs. X's life, Mrs. X being prone to the above-mentioned common habit of becoming oblivious to one servants at times.
• Y has picked up a nasty habit: when answering the phone, if the caller is one recognized by Y as an associate of her employer, Y promptly begins to tattle and, to be frank, bitch.
• Result: horror, disgust, disapproval, etc. (On the part of callers, naturally.)

What I found interesting was that last bit. (This is not to say I didn't experience the same when my mother told me; I make no ludicrous pretensions to moral superiority.)
Why, though? Why that instinctive recoil at such behaviour? Was it truly all that shocking?

To put it another way, would we feel so repulsed if it were Mrs. X's friend, sibling or child (though I would hope they have better taste than to do so) doing the gossiping? No, of course not. We'd gasp in malicious enjoyment and say, "Really?! And then what happened?"

Oh, certainly, one might, if probed, come up with a few logical reasons for this: if Y were so dissatisfied with Mrs. X, she should seek employment elsewhere, instead of being such a nasty so-and-so; it is unethical to badmouth the household you are part of (in a way), and so on.

However, during that split-second interval between hearing the chatter and responding to it, there simply isn't time for all that to go through your head. The instinctive, knee-jerk reaction is due to Y, 'one of them', acting against 'one of us', however despised. Again, discrimination at its finest. The next reaction is "Damn, I hope Y's the only one". The same action, perfectly acceptable when committed by an equal, is instantly unpalatable when performed by one seen as inferior.

Therefore, the moral of the story is that, if you must fight (and of course you must, it's such delightful fun!), gossip or engage in other reprehensible behaviour, don't do it front of the servants. They turn around and do the same.

Seriously, though, it is a bit disappointing, even to bitter little cynics like myself, how ingrained certain prejudices seem to be. Also, the tangent I mentioned earlier: it is rather funny to see  how we appear to automatically close ranks about those we perceive as either equals or like ourselves. The caveat is that this only occurs when the 'attacker' is not from amongst us; if they were, we'd still close ranks, but we'd turn around in that metaphorical circle and watch with glee as the situation escalated.

~*~*~

Now, that being done, I shall proceed to thoroughly enjoy the remainder of the first day this week without a midterm.

*Runs off screaming about hiring an axe murderer to go after the room-mates*

It's the principle of the thing, you know?

A Tip of the Chapeau

After long consideration - read the minute and a half I spent waiting for the microwave to do microwavey things to heat my honey-and-milk - I decided that due gratitude should be shown to the inestimable persons who upload novels onto the internet without riddling them with viruses. They do a great service to the community.

I was provoked to this conclusion by a desire to read another of my beloved Amelia Peabody books, spurred in turn by having passed the public library this morning on my weekly grocery jaunt with a friend. For some time, I have been unable to make use of the facilities to read one of the above-mentioned series, which is an activity I occasionally pursue at that location. Therefore, I decided tonight that, oh, what the hell, it's a holiday, and took advantage of the - downloaded - complete works on Amelia Peabody and read the next in the series. (Also, I honestly don't think I could have stood much more Ecology without tearing up the book and jumping on the remnants.)

My distaste for prolonged exposure to Ecology aside (it has to do with Bugs - before they told me about having to touch the damn things in the labs, I was quite enthusiastic about the lessons), I am very grateful to whichever kind soul took the time to type up the considerable works of Elizabeth Peters in particular and decent writers in general for doing so. All literate but time-constrained individuals should join me in giving thanks, to a degree. Of course, there is the consideration of piracy - I never mentioned that I owned such books, merely that I had read them! - so long as people are willing to show due respect for the author and purchase at least a few of their books so as not to completely destroy their well-deserved earnings, I believe that this is a valid compromise.

To be certain, though, if I were to ever write and publish a novel, I am quite sure I would take a diametrically opposing view of the whole thing, but, hey, consistency, as David Eddings said, is the defence of a small mind.

Now, if only someone would see to uploading the latest Wheel of Time novel . . .

To Rise Above the Mundane

Today, I crossed into hitherto unexplored territory and made risotto, with copious use of The Most Foul and Evil Onion. I bore the smell bravely, by the expedient method of tying a perfume-drenched shawl across my face before starting to cook.

As I type, the beginning of this concoction is slowly - insanely slowly! - sauteing on the stove. I feel very virtuous about escaping to the kitchen and the laptop, having completed a few chapters of Ecology. I do not understand why it is necessary for Biology majors to all learn Ecology - our lives are so illuminated by gathering nasty little isopods, a skill that will make or break one's career. However, in hopes of an easy A (which looks ever more impossible the further into the term we get), I hear and I obey. I suppose it would be somewhat useful for people to gain an appreciation for the tremendous damage we are doing to the planet, but really, what's new? We all know that ecosystems today are suffering irreparable damage. Surely it would be more worthwhile to actually do something about this than to torture innocent undergraduates with having to touch Bugs?!

The lessons themselves are interesting enough, especially the facetious little suggestions that the professor offers as either causes of or solutions to the depletion of world ecosystems. My personal favourite was the idea that everyone stop having biological children, in order to reduce their carbon footprint. A close second involved the theory behind the destruction of marine ecosystems:  the Chinese craving for shark fin soup. In one fell blow, by removing a single shark's fins, suppliers are destroying several square kilometres of marine ecosystems. A most enlightening factoid. Particularly intriguing was the expression on the faces of several Far Eastern students when this was mentioned.

But I digress. The purpose of today's little ramble was to document my going beyond my usual uninspired fare of pierogies, bagels or pizza pops. To that end, I shall now go and check on the sauteing onions, garlic, ginger, peppers and scallions. I hope the damn things are finally browned.

. . .

Well, it wasn't a complete waste of effort. The veggies were reasonably browned (ie. I was too hungry to let them brown any further). On the other hand, the chicken broth I had left at high heat had nearly boiled over. Such is life. As I started to stir in the rice, I remembered just why this is an effort I rarely make - it's just too much bloody trouble! Although the end results are more than worth it . . .

In the meanwhile, as I wait for the rice to fry just enough to add the broth, I suppose a few cherry tomatoes nicked from my ingredient bowls couldn't really hurt. After all, not even I'm lazy enough to avoid rinsing off a few more.

Bon apetit to me.

I just hope the rice is done soon.

Twilight is the Antichrist

Twilight is the Antichrist and Robin Hobb is all that stands between us and annihilation.

Have you ever been treated to one of those raves by a *cough* friend on how utterly "dreamy" Edward Cullen is, or how the Twilight "saga" has opened up their eyes to fantasy?
When I was subjected to this drivel by an associate a short while ago, it took considerable self control to stop myself from pounding the nonsense out of her head on the spot. I came to my senses when I realized that I had just cleaned the apartment and bloodstains would be hell to get out of the carpet. She just wasn't worth the Chlorox.

In any case, it is quite insulting to a fantasy afficionado such as myself to hear third-rate Mills-and-Boon-esque trash described as being depictive of the fantasy genre. By doing so, people are classing Stephanie Meyer with the likes of J. R. R. Tolkien, Terry Pratchett and Robin Hobb, when just using them as a comparison is an insult to writers of that calibre! With all due respect to Ms. Meyer (hah! let's measure that, shall we?), these are two wholly separate forms of writing, with one being light years above the other.

While I am proud to say that I have never read any of the Twilight books, I did actually sit through a few minutes of the first movie. The fifteen minutes or so before I dozed off were quite sufficient for me to realize that I would not touch the books with an acid-coated stick. (Well, I would, just to watch them dissolve, but you get the picture.) However, my personal dislike of the series is not entirely why I find statements like the one that sent me on this rant offensive.

I believe that every being on the planet that is not cerebrally challenged has the freedom to express their opinion on a given matter. I make use of this right quite often. However, to quote the immortal Pratchett, no practical definition of freedom would be complete without that upon which all the others are based: the freedom to take the consequences. Therefore, those who take the Twilight series as being representative of the fantasy genre, while doing no further research into the matter, should feel no surprise at being verbally lambasted.

From what I understand of the plot of the series (All hail Wikipedia!), the female protagonist, Bella, is merely a pathetic, whiny little wretch whose obsession with her over-controlling boyfriend verges on addiction. And this is being thought of as fine fantasy?! Excuse me while I regurgitate my dinner, mustard, peppery cheese and all.

I suppose what it all boils down to is that the trash that the majority of contributors to popular culture read is of such substandard quality that even a poor excuse for a novel looks like literature.

We need Books, as opposed to Mass-Produced Junk-Food Equivalents.

Ms. Hobb, would you mind obliging by writing yet another of your outstanding Farseer novels?

To Begin at the Start

After considerable thought - read onset of Boredom 10 minutes after finishing my new Terry Pratchett - I was overcome by the urge to add my thoughts to the vox populi, by weakening before the blog epidemic, despite having held strong against it for several years.

Ah, well. Hypocrisy runs in the best of us - from whom I am quite far.

So here I am, ready to blog. Upon consideration, this doesn't seem a particularly good idea, considering the dearth of interesting activities in my life at the moment. Hmm, I wonder what counts as bloggable. Do the lunch/dinner menus of lazy undergraduates make the cut? Regardless of the eligibility of such a topic, I shall now discuss it with great enthusiasm.

I had lunch.

. . .

It looks as though this will take some work. Let us try again.

I had a most interesting lunch, wherein I expended a great deal more than my usual effort and did NOT thaw out a pizza or bagel. *Gasps* No, instead, I made . . . burgers.

I note the lack of applause and astonishment at this unusual sign of culinary creativity. Would it help if I mentioned that hot sauce, mustard and peppered cheese were involved? No, probably not.

In any case, I must now return to the weary drudge of studying for my forthcoming midterm. Bleargh.