Labels: A Gender Rant

cov MLP dvdI have in my hot, little paw the DVD of Season 1 of My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic (MLP). I’ve posted before about the nonacceptance of MLP fans, even within the science fiction community [Plea]. This is a rant of a different color. I don’t consider myself a MLP Fan. That’s because I don’t qualify, not because I’d be embarrassed to be one. After all, I happily admit to being an AFOL (Adult Fan of LEGO) eagerly anticipating two LEGO events in 2013.

If I was a MLP Fan, what would I call myself? The general term of use is the masculine term Brony (bro + pony). Female fans are Pegasisters (Pegasus + sister), at least technically. As best I can tell among MLP Fandom, the use of Pegasisters is less prevalent. Is this because the term is more awkward? No argument there. Is it because male terms tend to be inclusive (mankind) while the female terms tend to be specific (womenkind)? … and mildly degrogatory? Consider the difference in connotation between king-size and queen-sized, or between master and mistress. Could it be that “brony” gets more play because no one is uncomfortable with grown women playing with children’s toys? The infantilization of women is beyond the scope of my ranting ability. I simply devolve into froth. Until corrected by those more knowledgeable, I would chose to call myself a brony, due to the inelegance of the female term.

I spend more time wrestling with this than you might expect. At the fire department, I am militant about the usage of the term firefighter over firemen. The men of the department don’t understand, but they know to expect the fisheye from me if they slip. At one meeting we were running a practice scenario where an ambulance had to come by to pick up the firemen. To which I asked, ‘So, you’re just going to leave me sitting by the side of the road?’ Eye rolls all around.

Conversely, I don’t get my knickers in a twist about the term horseman. I’ve had people call me a good horseman and been flattered.

The difference?

Horseman is pronounced closer to horsem’n, without the emphasis on horseMAN. Simplistic but it does make the term less of an irritant.

Then, there is not a good blanket term for horseman. Horseperson is awkward. Firefighter is better language than fireman. That’s what we do, we fight fires. A fireman could be the stoker of a steam engine on a locomotive. Philosophically, I would prefer a gender neutral term for horsemen (& bronies). But I’m not gonna fuss over it.

The biggest difference between the horsemen and firemen is that women are accepted in the horse world more than they are in the fire service. A few summers ago, my department made a guest appearance at a day camp. We marched in wearing turnout, looking like a like of khaki snowmen (there ya go again). We announced our names. When folks heard my dulcet soprano, I could feel the startlement and saw a few craned necks.

Yes, there are woman in the fire service. A good friend of mine is a career captain. (My newbie volunteer enthusiasm amuses her.) But coed is not the default standard, even less so down my way. Therein lies my problem with the word firemen, the attitude behind the usage. When people stop being surprised to see a woman in turnout gear, I’ll stop railing about terminology.

BTW, why is everything I do so gendered? Surrounded by women in the horse world. Surrounded by men in the fire department & at BrickFair. (With notable exceptions in all cases.) But that’s a question for another day.

What words get your rant up?

Carrot Snob Redux

Mathilda has been refusing her carrots lately. She appears interested but won’t actually take a bite. What is she telling us?

1) It hurts to chew. Check teeth. Done. The vet felt that her teeth weren’t too bad but that he could improve her comfort. Mild points on the inside lower jaw filed down. She is eating her grain with more vigor and eating more hay. Still no to carrots.

2) I don’t like the taste. Winter carrots aren’t as sweet as spring and summer carrots. She has expressed opinions about her carrots before [Carrot Snob]. Nothing to do but wait.

3) You are trying to poison me. Mathilda has always had a deep-seated suspicion about oral medication or anything that might contain meds. These days, about half the time, if Hubby breaks the carrot, feeds half to Rodney, then Mathilda will eat the other half. Rodney is her royal taster.

This is why I call her names.

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GKP Ghost 2

Show Ring Greed

I thought I was out of the box with an American Saddlebred sport horse [Support]. Turns out, I’m nowhere near original. Saddlebreds have been and are being used in sport horse disciplines. In addition, the saddlebred world has a growing Hunter Country Pleasure (hunt seat) division at regular saddebred shows.

The kind lady who has been giving me saddleseat lessons has mentioned the possibility of my showing in a few of these Hunter Country Pleasure classes. The downside is that since I would be cantering in the hunt seat classes, I would have to move up to cantering in the Academy (lesson student) classes. The plan had been to show in the Walk-Trot section of the National Academy Championship Show in November. This means I cannot show at a canter in any class, in any show, recognized or unrecognized, all year. I’m torn. I want it all.

I want to show as much as possible, particularly in a young division with classes that might not be wall-to-wall competitors.
AND
I want to win as much as possible, which means staying at Walk-Trot for a better chance during the year and in November. Cantering is just one more gear in which to screw up.

Usually. decisions are between sin and virtue. In this case, it’s greed in every direction.

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GKP Dash 2

Contest Winner

After 10 months of cogitating, Rodney’s show name is … drumroll …

Rodney.

Unexciting, but I have cause. Friday’s plan was to turn the mare out for her sunshine break. Bring her in, feed lunch early, find the old Coggin’s tests, and come to a final decision on The Name. Meanwhile, Hubby would leave work early to be here in case we needed to sedate Mathilda. Then the vet arrived.

Allow me to restate that. The vet arrived. Two hours early. Horses were in the wrong places. Hubby was still at work. I was caught totally flat-footed. What vet in the known universe arrives early, much less 2 hours early? I tracked Hubby down with several phone calls. I rearranged the horses. We started on Rodney to give Hubby time to drive home. A faint breeze on my undercarriage reminded me that my pants were NSFW. Ah well, nothing he hasn’t seen before.

As the vet took blood for Rodney’s Coggins, I thought, ‘Oh, expletive! I never figured out a name.’ I defaulted to the obvious. While this was never a fallback plan, I had reasons: A) My first horse had the same stable/show name and he looked sharp in the ring. B) If I ever show, there could be cross-over promo for the blog. But mostly, C) I panicked.

Therefore the winner is debandtoby, for “why not just ‘Rodney’?” Deborah and I go way back, so I have the required contact information. I need to know if you wish your credit with Amazon or another outlet.

Honorable mention (but no prizes) to Michelle Rene for the meaning of Rodney page, now that it is his offical name.

At least until next year.
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GKP Percy 2

BTW, the handles of this bag are now cut, per comment.

Sticks & Stones

At the end of last month, we attempted No Name-Calling Week. As I said in my announcement, Rodney doesn’t care in the slightest what words we use to address him. I expected NNCW to be an exercise in self-examination. Instead, it became an exercise in definition. What constitutes an insult?

What if the words are accurate?
Calling Rodney a fat horse is no less descriptive than calling him a tall horse. He is 17+ hands. He has blobs of flesh on his shoulders into which you can poke a finger.

What if the words are justified?
When a three-month old puppy chews on your ear with his adorable needle teeth, calling him a pain seems appropriate.

What if your words are kind but the intent is not?
My unfortunate name for Rodney is Dimwit. To reverse that, I took to referring to him as Luminous Lightbulb. The underlying sarcasm rendered this a distinction without a difference.

What if you don’t use any words at all?
Hubby had lost an item. We searched. When he found it, he wouldn’t tell me where. It was cousin to searching for one’s sunglasses/reading glasses while they resided on one’s head. When finally fessed up, I laughed out loud.

If each instance of name calling was worth a dollar in swear jar, how much did each of these instances cost me? 25c? 50c? Hubby said that laughing to his face was a least a full dollar.

While all of the visitors to Rodney’s Saga have been intelligent and polite to date, from what I have seen on other blogs [also here] and in commentary, I feel I need to state explicitly that I have no intention of mocking No Name-Calling Week. Folks who don’t share their lives with animals might not understand, or perhaps feel I am equating animals to children, which I emphatically do not [Rodney’s Mommy]. Granted, we were not involved in mitigating the horrible issues that surround school bullying. However, we spent the week considering the complicated intersection of meaning and intent. I would think that would be part of what the founders of NNCW had intended.

Diet Update
While I am on the subject of self-improvement, the exercise & diet plan is mediocre to non-existent. I’ve gone swimming a few times, done a few field walks, no sit-ups, no stretching. I don’t count riding lessons. Those muscles are plenty fit. It’s the rest of the body that needs tuned, conditioned, and limbered. So, a start, if a weak one.

I’ve totally failed on the soda front. I’m back to 2 or 3 a day. In the long-term, it’s bad for my blood sugar. In the medium-term, it’s bad for my figure and my teeth. In the short-term … oh, the short-term. Picks me right up on gloomy day. It’s partly the sugar, partly the caffeine, and partly the habit.

I seem to be having a lot of gloomy days lately. No major programming flaws, just little coding errors: a heavy rain that partly floods the barn, a vet appointment with a geriatric horse, some little life event that leaves me reaching for that red, 12-ounce can of happy.
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GKP Arthur 1