(no subject)
Yesterday I dragged Keith with me to the dojo so he could film me, mostly so I can show my retarded new rheumatologist what aikido actually is and not whatever the hell tai chi thing he's probably imagining. (I'm pretty sure tai chi people don't spend all their time falling down or wrenching each other's joints). Of course, that meant I had to watch the clips when we got home and I'm not sure I recognize the woman in them. I know I was the only female member of that particular small class but....
I also had a bingo discussion with a fellow student (a younger male) who could not wrap his brain around the idea of internet etiquette and pseudonyms. In real life, a fake name usually indicates something (illegal) to hide. In a small percentage of cases, it's because a person is in the witness protection program, but usually not. On the 'net, a closed, unpoliced, largely unregulated environment, everyone has to act like they're in that witness protection program. But to an outsider, someone inexperienced with that social etiquette, it must appear to be evidence of wrong-doing.
Naturally, his argument repeatedly fell back to the well-intentioned but horrifically naive assumption that it's safe and proper to use ones real name as it is in real life. But the 'net lacks most the built-in safeties and restrictions inherent in the complexity of real life. See, etiquette isn't just about arbitrary rules about what is and isn't proper behavior; in many ways, it's about creating privacy even in public places. We all know what we're not supposed to notice/say/ask, depending on our environment and relationships. I would say one of our most treasured mores is the right to privacy generated by a pseudonym.
The internet is not different in that regard. Some of the rules may seem radically different to a newb but its even more hazardous for the one who fails to recognize it is a complex social environment governed ultimately only by those modes of behavior. Not that I don't agree with his ideals; I hope that eventually our society reaches the point where most people recognize that the internet is not full of child molesters and axe murderers; it's just the latest social medium. Until then, you've got to watch out for the bigots, stalkers, trolls and that ignorant alarmist fool who happens to have authority over some aspect of your life because absolutely no one's gonna do it for you on the 'net.
Anyway. Work remains tediously overburdened but the only way I see to leave on time would involve cutting all of my third class mail, every day. *shrug* On the upside, that leaves me plenty of time to listen Honor's continuing, increasingly absurd adventures in space. We've just reached polyamorous accidental pregnancies territory. *g* (I totally believe Emily Alexander has gatling guns and a death ray hidden in her hover-chair). Besides, the narrator gives all the Peeps French accents and there was that one part when she suddenly started singing a country-western filk....
You know what I think? David Weber sits down and makes a list of characters and they're all women. Then he sighs melodramatically and grudgingly makes some of them men instead. It's the only explanation. And he obeys the first rule of feminist fiction aimed at young adults: add telepathic animals. Nevertheless, I suspect these books would be intolerable to read so I'm giving my brownie points to Allyson Johnson.
I also had a bingo discussion with a fellow student (a younger male) who could not wrap his brain around the idea of internet etiquette and pseudonyms. In real life, a fake name usually indicates something (illegal) to hide. In a small percentage of cases, it's because a person is in the witness protection program, but usually not. On the 'net, a closed, unpoliced, largely unregulated environment, everyone has to act like they're in that witness protection program. But to an outsider, someone inexperienced with that social etiquette, it must appear to be evidence of wrong-doing.
Naturally, his argument repeatedly fell back to the well-intentioned but horrifically naive assumption that it's safe and proper to use ones real name as it is in real life. But the 'net lacks most the built-in safeties and restrictions inherent in the complexity of real life. See, etiquette isn't just about arbitrary rules about what is and isn't proper behavior; in many ways, it's about creating privacy even in public places. We all know what we're not supposed to notice/say/ask, depending on our environment and relationships. I would say one of our most treasured mores is the right to privacy generated by a pseudonym.
The internet is not different in that regard. Some of the rules may seem radically different to a newb but its even more hazardous for the one who fails to recognize it is a complex social environment governed ultimately only by those modes of behavior. Not that I don't agree with his ideals; I hope that eventually our society reaches the point where most people recognize that the internet is not full of child molesters and axe murderers; it's just the latest social medium. Until then, you've got to watch out for the bigots, stalkers, trolls and that ignorant alarmist fool who happens to have authority over some aspect of your life because absolutely no one's gonna do it for you on the 'net.
Anyway. Work remains tediously overburdened but the only way I see to leave on time would involve cutting all of my third class mail, every day. *shrug* On the upside, that leaves me plenty of time to listen Honor's continuing, increasingly absurd adventures in space. We've just reached polyamorous accidental pregnancies territory. *g* (I totally believe Emily Alexander has gatling guns and a death ray hidden in her hover-chair). Besides, the narrator gives all the Peeps French accents and there was that one part when she suddenly started singing a country-western filk....
You know what I think? David Weber sits down and makes a list of characters and they're all women. Then he sighs melodramatically and grudgingly makes some of them men instead. It's the only explanation. And he obeys the first rule of feminist fiction aimed at young adults: add telepathic animals. Nevertheless, I suspect these books would be intolerable to read so I'm giving my brownie points to Allyson Johnson.