All of those things seem to just melt away with the news out of California.
There’s an article in today’s NY Times about women in the fields of science, technology and engineering. The article describes the macho and sometimes hostile environment women experience in these male-dominated fields.
I don’t question that it is hard for women to maintain long work experience in those fields. What I question and where I point my finger is that the NY Times decided to put this article in their Fashion and Style section. Seriously? They have a Technology section. They have a Science section. They have a Business section. What was the thinking behind this placement? Hey this story is about women let’s put it in the Fashion and Style section even though there is nothing in the story that talks about Fashion or Style.
The NY Times is part of the problem because they shuffle a story like this into the fluffy section (yes, bring the hate that I, as a woman, have decided that the Fashion and Style section is fluffy). I don’t work in the fields described in the article. I have a sister who does and I was once a system administrator. I work with someone who has a daughter in high school who wants to be an engineer. I owe it to these women to stand up and tell the NY Times to stuff it. I’m firing up my email to unleash the hounds.
Update:
My email:
I enjoyed your article on diversity in the SET fields. I have worked as a system administrator and my sister holds a PhD and works for an environmental company so the subject is close to me. I question the decision to place this story in the Fashion and Style section of the NY Times website when there are more appropriate sections for this story (business, science or technology). I think by placing this article in a section populated by “what’s new on the catwalk” stories demotes the subject.
It’s disappointing to see serious stories about women shuffled off to the “fluff” section of the paper.
The writer’s response:
Its not as bad as all that. I write a column about life and work. Have been for nine years. Until last year it ran every week in the business section, where apparently you never saw it. No one else did, either, so I asked that it be moved to Styles which has twice the readership and where I get twice the space. Now people like you actually find it, and that, after all, is the point…
No ghettoizing here, really.
Thanks for writing
I just can’t stop listening to this song by Josh Ritter.
And, while you are there, check out the website…nicely done.
At least the theme song is still awesome. I’m not so sure about how this movie will be.
Friday night we drove across the river to the south side of the city (merrily paying tolls) to see the Richmond Symphony perform at a church. Since the city decided to rip up nearly every building in the downtown area to build new buildings and parking lots (which begs the question if no one was interested in downtown with the old, crumbling buildings will they be all “ooooh shiny new buildings, let’s have dinner downtown), the Symphony has been itinerant.
Friday’s show was part of the Bach Festival with music from J.S. Bach, a segment by Schoenberg and Villa-Lobos, and then ending with more Bach. The final segment was the double violin concerto and one of the violinists was a thirteen year old who played beautifully. As we all stood and clapped, the violinists came back to the front of the stage to take another bow. I sort of wanted them to break into Devil Went Down To Georgia for an encore. Yeah, you can’t take me anywhere.
I have been stuffed up like a MF all week. The other day someone said to me that I looked weary. Well, girls do get weary. I’ve been trying Zyrtec since I had a coupon and it doesn’t require me to have a police check so I thought what the heck. Of course, the Zyrtec has been great with the itchy eyes but it isn’t a decongestant and so my head has been packed. Packed like a baby’s diaper.
I tried using the neti pot and one side of my head drained like a champ, but the other side laughed at the salt water and told me to blow it out my ear. Which I felt like I had ruptured when I blew my nose after the neti pot. I looked like a weary raccoon when I got home today because of the packed in snot and that was the last straw. Weary and raccoony? Oh Hell No.
I told the better-half if I fell over to tell the paramedics that I wasn’t done with the 24-hour Zyrtec when I took a 12-hour decongestant and then drank a beer–if I’m going to die, dying happy is a grand idea. About half-way through the beer, my head cleared up. All praise better living through chemistry.
I think I will try the non-decongestant on regular days and not on the days where the pollen count is 12.18 gabillion.
The title of this entry has nothing to do with the contents. I’ve just been thinking about the song.
I turned in all of my papers this morning and then the better-half and I played some Wii. I’d been holding Bowling out as a treat once everything was turned in. Man, I love that game system.
I have a presentation on Thursday and then I’ll be completely done with the semester. I’m so darn glad that I’ll have about a month of relaxation before the summer session begins.
Chris Bopst is a local guy who used to have an excellent afternoon radio show on a locally-owned station. I know I’ve linked to him before but I’m slightly buzzed on Tequila Sunrises (don’t laugh at me, but with me) so I’m not going to find the old entry. The station gave him the shaft (we can’t dig it) and now he’s putting together podcasts.
Hide the kids and listen.
The better-half has tended the strawberry plants since putting them in last spring. He’s been the one most likely to weed the bed, to move the runners around, to care.
Last night he picked the ripe ones:
I just sent the better-half an email complaining about how much I hate working in this building. The heating/air conditioner/air handler unit in the ceiling above me rages every day and sometimes it is so bad that the walls vibrate. I was so cold yesterday that when I left and got in the car I just left the windows up and basked in the stifling, stale, hot air of the car.
I was just out in the hallway, which you know is never a good thing, and the village idiot just said something to me and I swear to God she speaks in another language but passes it off as English. I didn’t even respond. For once, I ‘d like her to begin a sentence that starts off with an attention getter and then close the sentence with something that indicates the end. Instead I get something that sounds like this: “Elephant jump refrigerator clean.”
The better-half answered my ranting email with the simple phrase: I think she said, “Welcome to Hell.”
