#but i think a lot of young instructors especially (or older instructors who don't do a deep dive into trauma-informed practices) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

izicodes · 8 months

Note

Don't know if you've touched on this topic before, but do you have any advice on dealing with discrimination within comp sci (specifically sexism)? I have bad anxiety and have constant thoughts telling me how I'll never be good enough or don't belong. My brother who is a senior dev has had a passion for computers since a small child while I just developed an interest within the past two years. My family takes his career seriously but then turn around and tell me how great of a secretary I'll be lol. Thanks for your time!

Hiya 💗

Just some background on me: I haven't had any sexist experiences in during my whole journey of learning software development during my apprenticeship and now working as a Junior Web Dev. I'm the only girl in the Dev team (6 of us in total), the only other woman is the Manager of the Dev team but she does databases + business oriented work so she doesn't code at all. I'm the youngest in the team also so they see me as "oh let's teach the kid of the group" kind of thing. So at work I don't feel any type of sexism, the lads are really open to teach me a lot stuff which I am thankful!

I don't know any other irl developers besides work so I'll move on to online. Online I know a lot more women developers; Tumblr, YouTube, Instagram and Twitter (or X whatever it's called). Maybe it's because I've like cultured the content I see to them idk. I'm really glad to have that constantly on my timeline as it inspires me to push and do/become better because if those girlies can do it, so can I.

Though all the teachers/instructors I had were all men, they didn't make me feel small or not worthy to be in Computer Science, they were the opposite and pushed me to do it more. My Dad did Computer Science with CyberSecurity at university and he always pushed me to do computer science when I got older - not force but inspired me to do it (wanted to do medicine but too hard so switched to comp sci/programming)!

So, in my experience, I never had a really bad sexist interaction because I did computer science. People are shocked I am in programming in general but more like "Oooooh that's cool! Didn't know you did that!" kind of thing!

Now, this doesn't mean I haven't seen sexist remarks online, because I have but more through memes. I always ignore. Everyone, man or woman, should ignore such remarks/meme and move on. Don't let a bunch of people determine what you want and what's best for you! If you did, they would be controlling your life and not you yourself.

I don't know if that's easier said than done for you because I'm a hard person on people saying bad things to me. I just ignore you literally. I'm polite yes, but what you will say to me will go through one ear and out the other if it's really negative. Pretty much a "I don't care about your opinion, I will do me anyways" kind of person. E.g. if my brothers were to tell me "oh you a girl, don't do computer science" I won't listen to them at all.

And at the end of the day, what are they gonna do? Will your family members that are saying those stuff to you physically stop you from learning computer science? Especially since it's so accessible online so all you need a is a computer? All around the world, women are leaning computer science one way or another to change their lives and/or the lives around them.

They are making so much effort so for me to say "oh well.. you know some lads in my comp sci class say I can't do comp sci so I shouldn't" or "oh well I don't think learning programming is a woman's thing yknow because it's so dominated by men" - excuse my language here but that's flipping ridiculous!

This isn't some feminist or even anti-feminist thing here, it's a plain simple human thing: proving yourself and even the people around you wrong. Go into it and succeed. You're not too old or too young.

Why are their programs like SheCodes or BGIT (black girl in tech) that are making effort to help women push into tech? There's more women in tech now than there has been ever so if you're a woman and want to go into Tech but some lads are saying no? Do it anyways.

If a company has lads like that in them, that's the company's fault for hiring a sexist non-team player - says a lot about that company.

As humans we are never good enough so just get that out of your mind, less stress. Good enough for a job? all you got to do is keep going out it. Keep learning the theory, keep building the projects, keep redoing your resume and applying for jobs - keep going.

You quit, you let yourself down - especially when programming/ computer science is your calling!

I went on a bit of a rant but I hope some of this helps 🥳👍🏾💗

#my asks #codeblr #coding #progblr #programming #studying #studyblr #comp sci #tech #programmer #computer science

21 notes · View notes

nostalgicamerica · 1 year

Text

True story:

Back more decades than I care to count my folks uprooted the family from Minneapolis and moved us all to Northern Michigan. Talk about culture shock!

From city lights to country roads. From skyscrapers to outhouses. From a city of millions to a small town of less than 500.

I was about 8 or 9 so I didn't know anything or care that I didn't know anything.

Anyway, Mom and Dad and 13 kids set up shop in a dinky little town and, once the fights were out of the way (I don't know why, but all of the boys - and some of the girls - who were my friends in my childhood I had to fight first.) life was mostly bucolic and serene.

This was before cable TV and computers. My folks didn't even own a television set back then (televisions existed then - my folks just liked to torture us kids by not getting one). Despite the lack of electronics, I don't recall being bored. I do know that if I complained about having nothing to do, Mom was quick to find a chore from her infernal chore list to occupy my time. I was a fairly quick study when it came to avoiding work, and kept any periods of boredom to myself.

One summer morning, my younger brother and I decided we would see who could catch the most snakes. Don't ask why. The 'why' never occurred to us so you shouldn't bother with such trivialities either.

Catching snakes was easy. Especially the Garter Snakes and Copper Bellies that slithered around where we lived. You'd just wander around fields and lift any cover and - especially on hot days - like as not there would be a snake or two. A quick grab behind the head and into the sack.

They are not venomous and most of them wouldn't even bite. The bigger snakes could put a couple of puncture wounds in your hand, but I hardly noticed the bites.

At the end of the hunt my brother and I met up to compare the haul. Numbers escape me. Maybe he caught 15 and I had 12. It doesn't matter; we had close to 30 snakes and we couldn't just let them go. But what to do with them?

We were young and stupid but we knew enough to know bringing them in the house could result in very bad things happening. We could easily foresee heinie whackings or groundings or more chores if our mom found them or if they got away in the house.

We wracked our brains to find a solution when we had the brilliant idea to keep them in the worm box in the basement. Perfect.

An older brother had a less than thriving business picking and selling nightcrawlers to local fishermen and kept his product in a worm box in the cellar. He had lots of worms but few customers and mostly, I think, forgot he even had the business.

The worm box was huge; it was at least 6 feet long, 3 feet high, and 3 deep. Imagine a poorly made coffin. It was painted a light blue and sat in the back of the basement in the darkest, coolest spot. It was about half filled with dirt and worms.

While, technically, the basement was a part of the house, we reasonably reasoned as only young boys can; snakes can't climb and they certainly can't navigate stairs. What do they say about experience being the best instructor?

Satisfied with the solution, we dumped our catch in the box, closed the lid and went off to see whatever it was the evening had in store for us.

The next few days were a repeat. Wake up, chores, beat feet for the creek to cool off and then a snake hunt. A new friend, Skunk, joined us on one of the days.

By the time of the great snake escape, we probably had close to 100 snakes in the worm box. It was hard to judge because they would not stay still for a count, and - I can't speak for my brother - my ability to count decreased dramatically once I got past twenty. Twenty-one if I were naked.

It is disputed to this day how the snakes got out. I think somebody left the lid ajar, my brother asserts they just found a hole. It doesn't matter now, and it didn't matter then. The only thing that mattered is that a mob of snakes made a break for it.

If the snakes had done the logical thing and gone out the door leading outside there would have been no problem. But, no. They went in every possible direction and we learned that, yes, snakes can climb stairs.

I was reading a book in our room. Tom Sawyer, maybe, or Moby Dick, perhaps? Regardless of what I was reading, I was yanked from the plot by a sister's screams coming from the kitchen.

A sister's screams may be differentiated by volume and pitch. A shrill, piercing warble could mean anything from, "Somebody ate the muffin I was saving for later." to "A serial killer is breaking in the front door." On the other hand, a shriek that can decalcify your spinal column from one floor away can be loosely translated as, "My goodness, there appear to be a great number of snakes writhing around in the kitchen."

It sounded like banshees were running amok. Pots and pans were crashing, Mom was yelling, the dog was barking, and I could hear Dad laughing.

Though it was already dark outside, my brother and I slipped out of our window and managed to make it to ground level without breaking anything and beat feet for the creek.

Suffice it to say, upon our return, my brother and I had our backsides paddled. While I wasn't a fan of spankings, I just stoically accepted them as consequences for whatever it was that I had done.

For the next day or so Mom could hardly turn around without a Garter snake asking her to dance, and every time, Mom reflexively swatted whatever child was closest, even those who had nothing to do with the snakes running amok in the house. She was frazzled and harried and at her wits ends.

The worst of it was a few days later when she had a group of local ladies over for coffee and nisu. We had only been in town a few months and Mom was going out of her way to make friends.

Apparently (fortunately, my brother and I weren't there) the ladies were settled in the living room, trading gossip, nibbling on various Finnish confectionaries, and listening to Mom's Verdi and Rossini record albums when a garter snake decided emerge from under the couch.

The snake, perhaps just hungry for Mom's korvapuusti, or looking for the elusive exit, slid up on Mrs. Pelkkanen's shoe to have a look or maybe join in the conversation. One of the ladies across the room spotted the snake and tried to sound the alarm, sucked a piece of nisu into her throat and began to choke. She began coughing and trying to point as the lady next to her began pounding on her back in an effort to dislodge the obstruction.

At that point, another lady screamed, not bothering to point, which set off other ladies screaming for no particular reason.

The snake, apparently insulted at the less than cordial welcome, proceeded to slither across Mom's area rug towards possible freedom.

Mom was so incensed at the snake's cheeky gall she jumped up to get rid of the serpent but stumbled into the coffee table, spilling the coffee pot all over Mrs. Suuri's white skirt, and flipped the tray of treats across the room. Mom began snarling at the snake and spitting with ineffectual rage.

Fortunately, my oldest sister, keeping her wits about her, grabbed the broom and brusquely swept the garter into the dust pan and deposited the snake outdoors, which was all it wanted in the first place.

When calm was restored, the ladies were all laughing about the unusual entertainment and Mom had made several fast friends. Even Mrs. Suuri was mollified when Mom offered to clean her skirt, or replace it if cleaning didn't work.

If Mom was grateful for our assistance in expanding her social circles she had a strange way of showing it.

For the next two days my brother and I were required to pull every piece of furniture from each room, one room at a time, certify the room was snake-free, and replace the furnishings.

Without bothering to inform Mom, we found about a half-dozen snakes in various locations which were all set free in the garden.

33 notes · View notes

aslitheryprinx · 2 years

Text

Shipwrecked- Niki and Puffy

When Niki and Puffy first met, their biggest struggle was the language barrier between them. Puffy didn't speak English or German, and none of the mers nearby did either. It took a week for Puffy to convey Niki that she meant no harm, and a week further for her to believe it.

They were young, both still in their teenage years. Puffy lived on her own, though there was a small family of mers nearby. Niki stayed in her cave, especially since she freaked out whenever Phil stopped by for a visit.

Niki had experience being around people that didn't speak her language. She'd been an exchange student in an English speaking country for several years. She'd learned the language so she could talk to the people around her. Since it seemed like she was stuck here with a mer for now, she decided to learn their language too. ...it was a lot harder without books or an instructor.

It took a full year for Niki to become fluent in mer. During that year, she and Puffy had to find their own ways of communicating. Gestures and noises were common, as was pointing. About four months in, Niki realized they'd accidentally developed their gestures and noises to be somewhere between human and mer.

Puffy and Niki had bonded, and Niki had grown comfortable enough to interact with the other mers too. The longer Niki stayed, the less desire she had to leave. Despite how bizarre it was, she felt at home.

She had friends here! Friends who liked her because of her, not because she was the exchange student. She had Puffy, and the twins next door. They were all a little older than her, but never used that to snub her like the kids at school would have. Phil was kind, patient, and funny, a stark contrast to most of the adults she'd known before.

Puffy asked her once, a couple months after Niki started to teach the mers her languages, if she wanted to go back to the surface. The mer seemed quiet and sad, but Niki thought about the question carefully.

"No," she finally said. "I don't think I do. I've spent so much of my life looking for a place where I belong. Now, I've finally found it! Here, with you, is my home."

#mcyt g/t #shipwrecked au #tiny!niki

38 notes · View notes

whentherewerebicycles · 3 years

Note

i have to wonder if there's an implication that can be drawn the other way around wrt playfulness and stress - not that un-playful individuals experience stress more acutely, but that people who experience stress more acutely become less and less playful. i have intense, disproportionate shame/fear reactions due to Childhood Trauma(tm) and it's inhibiting as fuck - my work with my singing teacher to relax and (though i've never framed it this way) play(!) w/out embarrassment has been (1/3)

one of the most healing things for me... so i think there's this nexus of inhibition & confidence/security & perspective/scale & playfulness & resilience. to be playful you have to be a bit silly and vulnerable and willing to take a risk on doing something "wrong" i.e. not take yourself too seriously, but if you feel chronically unsafe you'll take yourself & everything else too seriously and want to do it "right" so you minimize the perceived risk of harm. going back to my singing teacher (2/3)

the most important thing she did for me was create an explicitly safe, non-judgmental environment where it's not only ok but even desirable to "fuck up" and "look/sound stupid" and to reinforce that message multiple times. so anyway that quote just made me think that "don't take things/yourself too seriously" sits at this interesting intersection between increasing playfulness & coping strategies for emotional damage. sorry to ramble about it in your ask box lol! (3/3)

yes I think this is so so true!! all of this, lol, but especially the part about how acute stress can make it increasingly difficult to be playful. i have written a lot about working through internalized shame here in the past, and especially about the ways that shame causes you to both physically and emotionally shut down parts of yourself. (i actually gave a talk about this subject recently! it was like, a layman’s intro to the neuroscience of shame, with a specific focus on how shame responses affect people’s ability to learn & to connect socially with others in learning spaces.)

i do just want to clarify that the excerpt i posted was from a study that was very narrowly focused on answering the question: “is there a link between playfulness levels and positive/adaptive coping mechanisms in responding to stress?” the study wasn’t designed to answer larger questions about what kinds of life experiences might produce higher levels of playfulness vs. make it difficult to be playful (such as past trauma, not having one’s basic needs for security met, etc.). in the conclusion the authors note that their findings (i.e., that playful people seem to be more able to readily access and use positive coping mechanisms) means that we should be doing more research on how to cultivate playfulness and how to help people unlearn maladaptive coping mechanisms like self-blame. so the point of the study was not to blame individuals or place the responsibility on individual people (“if you could just lighten up, you wouldn’t be so stressed / unhappy / bad at coping!”). it was more like, an attempt to establish that playfulness (as a way of engaging with the world) seems to be associated with all of these positive ways of coping and managing stress, and so we might want to research playfulness more deeply and/or focus on cultivating it in college students.

so i think you are absolutely right that when we talk about playfulness it’s important not to think of it as something that something people just “have” or don’t have (detached from any consideration of people’s backgrounds, lived experiences, etc.). and we also want to avoid pathologizing its absence (“if you don’t have a playful attitude then there’s something wrong/flawed/messed up about you that needs to be fixed”). my research is focused on understanding how we can better create learning environments like the one your singing teacher has created for you -- i.e., spaces where people feel more secure and less vulnerable to scathing or hypercritical judgment; where failures and mistakes are encouraged & normalized as a natural, healthy part of the learning experience; where instructors are modeling self-compassion and deliberately not using shame-based methods; and just in general, where students are getting the kind of gentle, compassionate, consistent messaging you describe receiving from your teacher. basically I’m interested in creating classrooms that provide the stability and consistency people need in order to learn adaptive coping mechanisms that will serve them well outside of those learning spaces.

i think these questions are so important because most college instructors are VERY aware that our students come into our classrooms carrying many different kinds of trauma—whether it’s the more extreme forms that we tend to think of when we think about trauma (childhood abuse, sexual assault, trauma experienced by combat veterans or refugees from warzones), or the forms of pervasive lowgrade trauma associated with financial precarity, racialized stress, etc., or even just the “lighter” or harder-to-classify forms of trauma that rachel naomi remen calls “the cultural shadow” (i.e., the toxic dominant culture that many of us grow up immersed in). and anyone who has taught at the college level (or taught any age level) knows that as a teacher you often have to at least temporarily play aspects of counselor / social worker / person adept at navigating university bureaucracy to help keep students in crisis from slipping through the cracks. (that is obviously NOT ideal, as those roles should be filled by trained professionals! but we have all been in those situations, where you are the first line of support for a student in crisis, or sometimes the last line of support because they have slipped through the giant holes in our country’s social safety nets.)

i think there’s been a shift in recent years towards “trauma-informed pedagogy,” but the slightly watered-down version of this approach many instructors receive tends to be very focused on mitigating harm in the classroom (ie, avoiding certain things or framing material in certain ways so as to avoid re-traumatizing students). this work is obviously HUGELY important (and my own research project is v much informed by it!). but i sometimes feel like these approaches are very damage-centered, ie very focused on understanding how students are “damaged” by their experiences and how we can “prevent further damage” in the classroom space. again, wanting to adopt teaching practices that avoid retraumatizing students is a good thing!!! but i think what i am hoping my work can do is suggest that we can and should strive for more than just limiting damage. to put this another way: i’m looking for ways to go beyond asking “how can we avoid re-traumatizing students in our classrooms?” to thinking more broadly about how we (as teachers, mentors, etc) can design learning environments and learning experiences that help students grow into healthier, happier, more emotionally resilient versions of themselves—and hopefully help build a foundation of social-emotional skills that they will take with them into their adult lives.

play is not the sole "answer” or solution! but i think that for me, it’s been one useful way to think about things like trauma-informed teaching, restorative practices, and social-emotional mentoring strategies, in ways that center a more positive, joyful understanding of what happy and emotionally well-adjusted adulthood can look/feel like. does that make sense?? i think about cultivating playfulness as just one angle onto answering these questions, or as one approach or set of strategies that people could have in their toolkits as they think about how we design learning environments. it won’t work for all students or all teachers or all learning environments, and it won’t solve all of the problems in higher ed (or in a culture where traumatic experiences are so prevalent and yet are so often left unacknowledged and untreated). but i think for me at least it’s been one generative way to reimagine some of the common structures and norms that structure higher ed learning environments.

anyway sorry to use your ask as a springboard into a long “thinking aloud” post!! but i really enjoyed reading your thoughts and i feel like it’s prompted me to articulate some thoughts that have just been sort of murkily floating around in my mind for the last couple weeks. i am also so glad for you that you have a space in your own life (and a trusted teacher figure) where you feel secure & can practice and explore being vulnerable, making mistakes, being silly/playful, etc. it sounds like she is a really wonderful teacher, and it’s so cool too that you are able to describe the ways in which that learning space has felt healing or healthy for you.

#long post #to think further #!!#playfulness project #play project #mw #teaching #mentoring #edit to add: i know that trauma-informed pedagogy is also thinking about these things & i don't mean to suggest that this is #the first time anyone has ever thought of this lol #but i think a lot of young instructors especially (or older instructors who don't do a deep dive into trauma-informed practices)#do tend to get that watered-down version that focuses more on damage and less on restorative / reparative practices

12 notes · View notes

fruithonorific · 2 years

Text

Something I've been thinking about recently as a larger sociological trend is that as a greater percentage of women in the US have entered the workforce (~30% in the 1940s, steadily rising until it peaked ~60% in the early 2000s, rn it's about 57%; source, U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics), that means working people and especially working families have less free time overall.

Like this is a very white/heteronormative basis I'm thinking of, largely informed by the demographics of people I work with in my union; but assuming a nuclear family with a man working ~40 hours a week and a woman staying at home to do the unpaid work of raising kids, cooking, and cleaning, that means the total paid working hours of a family were 40, with a whole person to do the home stuff (and sometimes even with help doing that, if they hired someone — most likely a woman of color — to do or help with those tasks). That leaves free time for both people in question. Now, if you have two working parents working full time, or even one full time and one part time, they both have less time to do the work of cooking, cleaning, and child-rearing at home. Having one person be able to earn an income that allows for another parent to stay at home is a privilege afforded to far fewer families than was the case decades ago, when labor in the US had more power from unions, more domestic manufacturing, etc.

I think this has to have drastic implications for working people's physical health, their stress levels and their mental health, their sleep habits, their ability to be social beings who spend time with friends and community around them, affecting their ability to get involved in community organizing, to be an active citizen or an activist who is able to expend the time/effort to stay informed and engage in their local politics or in labor organizing... the list is neverending.

I was looking at the Bureau of Labor Statistics and they have lots of data that breaks this down by gender, race, age, whether the person in question has children and how old those children are, full-time work vs part-time work, etc. Obviously there have always been some women who worked outside the home, especially women of color, unmarried/single women, women in poor families. Those people and families have always had less time for both domestic work and for leisure.

But I think the big picture remains the same, that as women have drastically increased their labor force participation, which is a *good thing* that allows women to be more independent and live without being financially dependent on men, there is a total sum of free time that the working class has lost. And this ties in to an argument that I've seen a lot of people make, that the 40-hour workweek is tied to a standard that no longer exists and is too long, but idk how many people I've seen explicitly tie this to the ability to engage in labor organizing work.

I was thinking about it this week when the instructors at my union hall were talking to me and the other 1st-year apprentices about how we need to get involved because a lot of the guys involved in local labor clubs and stuff right now are getting older. And I was thinking. Are/were these older guys married? Did they have kids? Did their wives (my union is dominated by straight white men, there's like three queer women counting myself who are all apprentices, there are zero out gay men) work or stay at home? How are/were their households organized? What were their average work hours when they were employed? (So many young guys in my apprentice class *love* overtime. They want to work a ton of it, especially now, I think; they might want to work less as they get older/have kids, idk.)

Tl;dr I think we need a shorter workweek for a multitude of reasons, but a big one for me is to get more young folks engaged in organizing. But I don't know how many guys I could get to be interested in fighting for that, and I think even if I could, which is not at all guaranteed, we'd face a strong uphill battle against contractors who benefit from long working hours in construction in order to meet aggressive fast-paced deadlines.

#anyway as you can expect i am watching other workers' fight for a shorter workweek very closely 👁#whether they be office workers here or workers in other countries #labor #organizing #public health #capitalism #unions

8 notes · View notes

watching-pictures-move · 3 years

Text

Put On Your Raincoats #14 | William Lustig Double Feature

The Violation of Claudia opens with Sharon Mitchell being "attended to" by three servants. Dissonant music plays, consisting of clashing piano, percussion and synthesizer, while distored moans are heard on the soundtrack. For Mitchell, this seems too good to be true, and alas is is, as she wakes up next to her husband, an older, inconsiderate man who claims to be too busy to give her the romantic attention she craves. So she spends her days getting tennis lessons from a sexy instructor played by Jamie Gillis, with whom she has an easy rapport. He raises the idea of prostitution ("lots of exciting jobs a pretty lady like you could do") and she abruptly leaves. Of course, Gillis proves persistent, and in a later scene when she's getting a massage, he takes over and has his way with her (as can be expected for the genre, consent proves a slippery concept), leaving his number after he's finished.

At the dinner table she tries to strike up a conversation with her husband but he's not very attentive. Frustrated, she informs him that she "had a very enjoyable fuck", to which he responds "Hmmm, that's good." (She reacts by angrily cutting her steak.) When he leaves for a business trip ("I hope the plane crashes"), she lets the maid take a few days off and decides to act on her desires. She picks up a hitchhiker who resembles John Amplas. "Have you ever made love to an older woman?" she asks, even though they look to be the same age. They make love beside the fireplace in a sensually shot scene, that seems less interested in close-ups than in photographing two attractive bodies. After this, Mitchell takes up Gillis' offer and joins his agency. She hits it off with fellow escort Crystal Sync, who proves extremely friendly in both natural (helping her try on dresses) and genre-pandering (gettin' it on) ways.

Her first client is a balding, diminutive bespectacled man who immediately searches nervously for hidden cameras. He then lays out a tablecloth, asks her to undress and lay on the table, puts on an apron and paper hat, then puts down a bunch of toppings on the table, and proceeds to put whipped cream (and other delights) on her body. (The first shot after the scene is of an ice cream sundae. "No thanks," says Mitchell.) I was a little worried when the weird looking guy showed up, but this is actually a pretty fun scene, helped largely by the fact that both participants seem to find it amusing (Mitchell giggles all the way through). Mitchell's next client is a cross dresser who wants to "sprinkle her with [his] fairy dust", at which point she decides this isn't for her and walks out. (On a side note, it is interesting how films whose purpose is delivering explicit content decide what lines can't be crossed. Ilsa, She Wolf of the SS has endless, graphically depicted tortures throughout its runtime but its heroine finds the idea of a golden shower too vile even for her.) Without giving too much away, let's just say she finally learns why her husband has been so inattentive to her.

The Violation of Claudia is almost like a softcore feature with a few extra close-ups. The sex scenes, while explicit, seem less concerned with gynecology than intimate vibes and handsomely shot nudity. Bringing to mind a smuttier Belle de Jour, the tone is unexpectedly elegant, especially given the grungy genre movies that William Lustig would go on to direct. If one really wants to reach, they can find similarities between this and Maniac in how Lustig gets inside his protagonists' headspace, but the performances by Mitchell here and Joe Spinell there, while both good in their own way, couldn't be more different. (Fun fact: Mitchell has a cameo as nurse in Maniac.) In any case, this is well acted and features nice soft focus cinematography and attractive decor, all of which make it pretty enjoyable.

These qualities don't persist in his follow-up, Hot Honey, which opens with a Lou-Reed-ish theme song while the characters walk down 42nd Street. The heroine, played by Colleen Anderson (credited here as Heather Young) is reluctant to have sex with her boyfriend, who wastes no time after she leaves in calling his upstairs neighbour for a booty call. When Anderson gets home, she gets chewed out by her brother Jamie Gillis, who is in a wheelchair and attended to by a nurse played by Serena. Anderson has a friend with whom she practices her dance routine (this is not a euphemism) and then later does the horizontal mambo (this is a euphemism). Her friend's husband is played by Herschel Savage, who at this point had a hair and mustache combo that made him look like Gene Shalit, so if you ever had a thing for Gene Shalit, this might be worth your time. (Alas, he makes no puns.)

Later Serena chastises Gillis for riding his sister. Her prescription? Riding his sister. Anderson walks in on her sexually dominating Gillis and is invited to join in. (I should note that during this scene Gillis moves his legs repeatedly, and it's not clear if he's breaking character. I will give him the benefit of the doubt.) After this, she decides to finally have sex with her boyfriend (actual honey figures in the action at this point) and in the film's climax, has a threesome with her friend and Savage. (Fans of Gene Shalit, rejoice!) To be perfectly honest, there isn't a lot to this. Most of the sex scenes feel perfunctory in their execution (the exception being the scene with Serena and Gillis, where the perversion factor gives it a tension absent in the rest of the movie), and characters are sketched out roughly at best. I enjoyed Anderson's work in Skin Flicks, but I don't think she's a good enough actress to make her arc work or otherwise ground the movie. This isn't terrible by the standards of the genre, but is only really worth seeking out for completist interest in Lustig's career.

#film #put on your raincoats #movie review #william lustig #the violation of claudia #hot honey

3 notes · View notes

coochiequeens · 3 years

Text

San Diego County Gun Owners launched the initiative Not Me SD, two years ago.

It’s a program focused on helping women protect themselves and their loved ones.

“Not Me SD is our initiative to stop domestic violence and sexual assault,” Wendy Huffen, Not Me SD director said.

Each woman who goes through the training is paired with a female mentor who teaches them everything from learning how to shoot a gun, to gun safety, as well as the steps it takes to apply for a conceal carry weapons permit.

“What we’re doing is leveraging our expertise as gun owners to be able to help increase women's ability to stop domestic violence and sexual assault,” Huffen said.

Huffen said the program stemmed from her own experience.

“I didn't know where to start or what to do there are just so many questions to ask, even figuring out what to ask is complicated,” she said.

She said the program sparked even more interest during the pandemic.

“We definitely saw a huge increase during the pandemic, women who were on the fence of ownership, realized they needed to take their safety into their own hands.”

Following a global pandemic and political unrest, 2020 saw the biggest increase in gun sales.

The National Shooting Sports Foundation estimates 8.4 million people bought a firearm for the first time last year. Nearly half of those buyers were women.

Huffen said it’s women from all walks of life that are wanting to learn about gun ownership.

“We have young women in their early 20s, we have older women who are in their 80s who are living alone and really need to be able to protect themselves,” said Huffen.

In just two years, Not Me SD has helped 320 women become gun owners and that number is expected to grow.

Janine Abdallah joined Not Me SD because she feels like she needs an extra source of protection. She'd been wanting to buy a gun for awhile.

After hearing about Not Me SD she decided it was time to learn more about firearms.

“More women should take more steps to protect themselves and be at least comfortable being around firearms and I don't think nowadays enough women are,” she said.

Melissa Morris, a firearm instructor and mentor for the program says it’s all about arming women with knowledge and empowerment.

“I see their fear diminish, their confidence increase, and their skill level improve,” Morris said.

Morris said it’s not uncommon for women to be nervous about gun ownership, especially when they’re coming out of a domestic violence relationship.

Deputy District Attorney and president of the Domestic Violence Council, Claudia Grasso, said there was a 3% increase in domestic violence cases last year.

That’s more than 17,600 cases reported to law enforcement in just one year.

“We fear that as we open up more and more we are going to get those victims that are going to report those cases that happened during the shutdown, but they were not able to report and were in essence trapped in the home,” Grasso said.

Although self defense isn’t one of the main focal points of the Domestic Violence Council, they do provide resources to help victims overcome their trauma.

“Leap to success is one. That is empowerment classes, not necessarily self defense, but empowerment to say this is what I want,” Grasso said.

She also encourages victims to have a safety plan: like carrying a cellphone and having a safety word in case you need help.

For women wanting an extra source of protection, Not Me SD welcomes those who want to use a gun.

“If you don't even want to own a firearm, but you just think it would be helpful for you to learn how to safely operate one, then that is the perfect place to learn that,” Morris said.

Those interested in learning more about the free program can visit Not Me SD.

Ladies even if you don’t want a gun it could still be worth while to at least know how to handle one. A lot of men count on women not being comfortable with guns.

#San diego #San Diego county gun owners #Not Me SD #Free program

0 notes

secretlifeofachicamuerta · 4 years

Text

Not every home is one to be thankful for and that was a lesson Arabella was forced to to learn the hard way when she was only six years old. She had the DiMarco to thank for that. They were the very first family to take in the young orphaned Latina. The day she got picked felt like the blessing Sister Josephiña told her would always come in time. Arabella had quite literally waited her entire for this moment. Not only was she gaining a family she was going to get to learn ballet. Mr. DiMarco owned a prestigious ballet school and his beautiful wife was an instructor, they housed young children while training them to be the very best so it was as if she was also getting siblings. Life for the little one was about to get a lot less lonely.

It was embedded in her memory the first time she pulled up to the white, perfectly trimmed estate. It looked like a palace. "¿Puedo vivir aquí?" She squealed with glee and unbelievable excitement. All her years of being alone, not being picked, wishing she had a family was all being made up for. Arabella's niave mind truly believed she had been pulled into a fairytale.

Perfectly manicured red nails tapped Bella's knee lightly, "Now, now Arabella what did Momma DiMarco tell you about speaking Spanish?"

Oh no! She had already messed up with her new parents. "Speaking Spanish is not allowed because it's disrespectful when no one understands." Her tiny chubby fingers folded together in a pleading motion as the biggest sincere pout took over the child's face, "I'm so very, very, very sorry. Please don't send me back. I can do better!"

Amused laughter echoed in the back of the limo from the blonde goddess that was now her mother. "Darling I would never give you back, you're everything I've ever wanted."

The way Mrs. DiMarco's hand cupped thr Latina's cheek was more the most affection she had ever been seen. Not that the nuns were mean at the orphanage but their love had always lacked something and until that moment Bella did not know what. A mother's touch. A touch so tender that it took the right kind of person to deliver it. This was every thing that Arabella had wanted. Or so she thought...

"Move out of my way orphan!" Sneered suzie as she had ran past Arabella shoving her down. "Great now I have cooties!"

Needless to say Arabella had not been very well accepted by the live in students of the DiMarco Ballet Academy. Every since she had moved into Suzie's room the little curly red headed had terrorized her. She called her names and told all the other children if they played with Bella they would catch Orphanidis and their parents would leave them too. She was a very cruel little girl for being nine but Momma DiMarco explained it was just jealously of having to share the spotlight. It would seem the latina had a natural knack for ballet and after just one year of being trained by Momma DiMarco she had been moved up to the intermediate class for young children. All the kids in her class were two years older than her. That seem to upset Suzie in ways that Arabella at seven years old could never understand.

However Bella never cared that she did not make friends with kids her age. The teens at the academy seem to be fond of her but most of Momma DiMarco loved her. She always knew just what to say to make the little dancer shine through the rain. In fact she was the only reason Arabella was as advanced as she was. She worked tiredlessly day and night during the first year to show the beginner the ropes. She had loved dancing so much with her mom that she always asked for more. A bystander might ask if it was ballet Arabella loved or the connection she was building with Momma DiMarco. But did it matter? All the hard work and training was worth making that woman proud.

Daddy DiMarco however was an entirely different story. It wasn't that Bella thought he did not love her but more he was always super serious, a very busy man running a school and making dancers into the perfection to become a Prima at his doing. He had more of a tough love way about parenting. Not that that he was cruel, he was determined to make Arabella strong. Not just physically but emotionally. He did not see her as a child to coddle, her age did not matter. He was shaping her to face the world and the spotlight was a cruel place to be a times. He was honest and raw with her, he did not believe in sparing the truth to protect her feelings or any else's. Especially during the one on one critique dances. He every week all the live ins had to to perform for him personally on Sunday. Not only dance but choreograph a dance to a song he would assign. His eyes never missed a mistake.

"Arabella! We've talked about this again and again. You must pivot when landing a jump or you can blow out your knee." He rubbed his temples in pure annoyance. He did not care if most eight year olds could not do the triple spin jump. She could and he expected her land correctly.

Her dark ravenous curls fell around her face as she looked down at the pink ballet slippers on her feet. They were beginning to tatter now after two years. She had put in so much practice and time. There was no doubt she went above and beyond but she felt like an amateur right now. She did not deserve to be standing before him.

His hand weighed heavy pressing down on the shoulder of the adolescent. "What do we expect here at the DiMarco Academy?" His voice stern, she would hear no graditude from him today. He would not comfort the weak.

"Perfection." Her tiny voice squeaked with sorrow. Don't cry. Don't cry. The voice inside her head whimpered. "If I can not display pure perfection for the art of ballet I do not only not deserve to dance but be a vessel for such a prestige school." Words no one would expect to come from the mouth of a child but those are the exact words he would use. She had them memorized. Every student have. Being his daughter gave her no exceptions if anything she knew he expected more of her.

"Exactly I have no use for a student who is injured not to mention I do not have the patience to wait for recovery." He would bend down on one knee and tuck his callused finger beneath her chin to ensure she was making eye contact before saying what he needed to next."There is someone out there who can replace us all and it is simply why we must be the best. Do not make reckless moves Arabella. Do better. Be the perfection I know you're capable of."

And Bella would do just that. Every single day she worked hard, determined to make Daddy DiMarco proud of her like how momma was. She wanted to be perfection he so ruthlessly taught. She without a doubt had the skills to be just that. Her need to impress her parents, her desire to accepted by her family fed her enthusiasm of shaping herself to be the dancer they both wanted her to be. Such a heavy weight for a child to carry but still at the end of each night she'd thank God in her prayers for blessing her with a family.

But her story would not be one of parents who pressured her too much or set a life plan for her. That would have been a far nicer ending than the one fate has in store for her. The journey with the DiMarco's would take a heartbreaking turn shortly after Arabella turned nine. The older she got the better she became at her control and balance making her even more advanced. While Momma DiMarco finally had switched up the rooms so she did not have have share with Suzie it did not stop the girl from hating Bella. By now Suzie was eleven, in her tweens and full of herself. Until Arabella the red head had never experienced true competition, she had always simply been the best at everything and did not handle not getting her way so well.

Pasty white finger jabbed into Arabella's shoulder angrily, "The only reason you got lead in the recital is because Mrs. DiMarco feels bad for you but I can see why your parents did not want you! You stink!" She plugged her nose being the dramatic show she was as Suzie.

"Mentirosa!" She'd shout, over the past three years she learned when to correctly use her Spanish and since her parents were not around she could. "We both know they would not. They have standards they hold to. I got it because I worked hard and perfected the whipped throw."

Arms presented crossing over her chest with the most snoody look to appear upon her face while turning her nose up at the pathetic orphan before her. "Well they picked you for a daughter so maybe their standards are not ones to be sought after."

The audicity! Suzie's words hit her deep, anger and hurt filled the soul of Arabella. The girl's tone made such remark as if something was wrong with the young Latina as if she was not worthy to picked to be loved. She bawled her fist beside her as her dark brows furrowed glaring at the hateful girl standing before her. "You're just mad because you'll never be more than my understudy!"

Her comeback must have hit Suzie in a way that she would never expect because next thing Bella knew she was tumbling down the large staircase after being pushed. Each step of the marble stairs smacking some part of her body landing her with a loud thud at the end of the bottom of the staircase knocked unconscious by the fall. She had finally won a battle words against Suzie. But at what cost? A broken ankle and shifted growth plate that would leave her with the inability to dance for at least six months if not longer. Daddy DiMarco was gonna be so angry.

"I know I'm not allowed to dance and have to stay off my feet but I was thinking maybe I could help you train some of the beginner classes momma." Arabella was excited to finally be going home after three days in the hospital. "Make myself useful while I'm recovering. Plus I have a feeling that everyone in the house might be mad at me for getting Suzie kicked out and..."

"Suzie did not get kicked out. She will remain in the house." Father DiMarco quickly interrupting his daughter's rant.

"Oh..." Disappointment rang in her voice but she would force herself to understand after all Suzie was an incredible dancer, she was good for the academy. "I just thought with the zero violence policy she'd be asked to leave."

A sigh of annoyance hissed in his voice as his full attention was now directed to Arabella. "Why would we get ride of a student with her talents that can actually still dance. It is you who will not be returning."

A sense of panic rushed over the young Latina, blood rushing from her face. It was clear she did not understand what her father meant exactly."But I'm the best dancer at the academy..."

"You were the best dancer and now you are useless to me. Have you learned nothing in all this time Arabella? The show must go on." His facial expression would lack any care or comfort that child might be searching for. He had done nothing but warn her if anything prevented her from dancing what would happen.

Tears swelled in Momma DiMarcos eyes as she clutched her child's hand, "I'm so sorry." She brushed Bella's dark hair behind her ear before cupping her cheek once more like she had done the very first day.

Arabella tried to be strong and understand something as harsh as the truth before her but at least she had her mother to comfort her. "It's okay I can go to regular school and once I get better I'll still practice every day with your help..."

An insidious laugh belted from her father, he found amusement in the pathetic plea she was making, "Arabella you've clearly misunderstood the dire situation presented before you. It's not just the academy you will not be returning to but our home. Your bed could be better suited for a child who can dance. We've already spoken to Sister Josephiña..."

Arabella to present day still had no idea what Mr. DiMarco said after Sister Josephiña as a child she zoned out. She had zero understanding to how her parents could give her back. She had never believed the seriousness or extent to what he meant all the times he had told her an injury would make her useless. They were giving her back and seem to not be a sight of care in his face as if it was normal to return a child to an orphanage for a refund. Mrs.DiMarco just sat there in silence as Arabella screamed and pleaded not to go back. But remorse was at least written across her face. While it was clear she was no one to the man she believed was her father she had in fact been the world to her mother.

"Momma please don't let him send me back, I promise I'm not useless." She blubbered as crocodile tears steamed from her hazel eyes. "Please momma tell him! Tell him you love me, tell him I'm worth keeping."

No mercy would be shown to the nine year old, in fact all it led to was Mrs. DiMarco retrieving her shades from the top of her head to place over eyes. It did not matter the promises she made, the begging to be kept there was nothing but silence in the back of the limo. Mr. DiMarco had made up his mind and there was no changing it. It had become clear the only reason he had agreed to taking in Arabella was the promise his wife had made to train the child they chose into the most magnificent prodigy the DiMarco's were incapable of birthing due to her sterile womb. Though tears could be seen steaming down the face of the woman who once was her mother she did not speak a word of protest against her husband she just sat there while her child's heart broke.

Arabella had to be forcefully removed from the car by the driver upon return. Though she might have been a small injured nine year old she did not make it easy. She squirmed and tossed, screaming as she would clutch to anything she could hold on to trying to reach for her mom in hopes she'd reach back. But she did not. She had to watch the people who were once her parents drive away once again leaving her an unwanted orphan. The DiMarcos were not a blessing, they were a lesson.

0 notes