Aleen Mean

Rotten

Today was rotten.

I spent the afternoon at an allergist’s office, trying to figure out why I had a spontaneous asthma attack in the middle of the night a few weeks ago. Turns out, I’m allergic to some things (as shown by a skin-prick test). It took hours for the hives to go away.

Aleen's Allergy Tested Arm

I also had to do a pulmonary function test, which triggered an asthma attack, go to an imaging center for a chest X-ray, and then go to a lab to have my blood drawn.

By the time I got home, I was just done. I didn’t want to interact with anybody, I didn’t want to cook dinner, and I certainly didn’t have the wherewithal to clean. We ordered pizza instead of being responsible. After months of threatening to, I finally restarted playing The Last of Us. Justin managed to work up the willpower to empty the overflowing kitchen trash can but that was about as far as our ambition went.

He came in from the garage. “I have something to tell you.”

“Okay,” I said, “What’s up?”

“You’re not going to like it.” He paused, then continued. “The freezer door didn’t seal all the way and the food inside of it is warm.”

He didn’t mean the refrigerator/freezer in the house. He meant the dedicated freezer in the garage where hundreds and hundreds of dollars worth of grass-fed beef, organic produce, and Justin’s lunchtime burritos were stored.

I’m not really a cryer, but I came close tonight.

I’m trying to be grateful. There were a few things we were able to salvage (a couple of items right under the fan in the back of the freezer were still completely solid). A lot of things were partially frozen, so the smell wasn’t too overwhelming. The unit is now completely clean. I cleaned out the freezer in the house to make room for the few things we salvaged from the garage, so now I can check that off of my to-do list. (Just what I wanted to do after a day of misery.)

And mostly, while this is a major hit and it hurts like hell, we’ll be okay. No, we won’t be able to buy another half beef (we were down to about a quarter beef before tonight) anytime soon, and I don’t think I’ll replace the $35 bag of salmon we bought yesterday for a while. But we can buy meat, frozen veggies, and Justin burritos when we need them. I know that’s more than a lot of people can say.

Still. This day was literally rotten.

Less Than Or Equal

The idea came to me about a month ago. “I should start a podcast that focuses on women in technology!” I exclaimed, out of the blue.

Justin and I talked about it quite a bit over the next few days.

“You know you’re going to get threats,” he said.

“I know. People can be pretty crappy sometimes.” ((If ever I’ve wanted to be proven wrong, it’s now.))

It took a while to hammer out the details. Justin came up with the name in a sudden stroke of genius, Less Than Or Equal, created the logo and website, and researched the best way to record. (Because he’s amazing.)

I spent a lot of time hammering out the premise. It’s not just woman who are underrepresented in the tech industry. It’s not just the tech industry where people still face inequality. So my focus shifted slightly to include more groups of people and more fields of interest.

I didn’t want it to be a negative show, either. Sure, I could invite people on and we could talk about the horrible state of things, but that would get tedious for everyone involved pretty quickly. I decided that the focus of the show should be talking about what the amazing things people who are discriminated against are doing. There will definitely be stories about the adversity people have faced and discussion surrounding how we can make changes for both ourselves and for geeky kiddos. It’s going to be a fine line to walk, I think; my hope is that I’ll be able to walk it well.

My hope is that Less Than Or Equal will open doors and help us start taking meaningful steps toward true equality in my industry and related fields.

I have concerns. Yes, I’m going to get threats and I’m sure that will be frightening. I’m going to make people mad. I’m going to have to get better at confrontation.

Mostly, though, I’m worried that people won’t want to come on the show because they’re afraid of misspeaking. I’m afraid that I won’t be able to do this issue justice, that the podcast won’t strike the right tone. I’m afraid that people won’t even give it a chance.

Before I allow my doubts to take hold, I have to take a deep breath and say:

Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try Again. Fail again. Fail better. ~Samuel Beckett

If Less Than Or Equal isn’t a success there will still be value in it and I will find another way to make a meaningful difference.

Your support would mean the world to me. You can listen to the first episode on the website; it’s been submitted to iTunes but probably won’t be approved until tomorrow sometime and, even then, it will be a while before it’s indexed so you can search for it. You can also like it on Facebook and follow the Twitter account. More than anything, though, I need people who are willing to come on the show. If you’re interested, please let me know.

The Elephant in the Room

I am only presenting my perspective here; while I’ve had conversations with others who disagree with me, I’ll let them speak for themselves if they wish to do so (nicely, of course).

I don’t know what rock I’ve been hiding under, but I’ve recently become aware of a brilliant person named Brianna Wu. She’s Head of Development at Giant Spacekat and is a huge advocate for women working in tech. Last week she gave an excellent talk, Nine ways to stop hurting and start helping women in tech, at AltConf. I nodded and made noises of agreement throughout her entire presentation but her eighth point, The absence of privilege is not oppression, really hit home with me (The embed should start at about 24 minutes in, but I really encourage everyone to watch the whole thing.). (Note that there’s some colorful language in the video if you’re offended by such things or have impressionable children within earshot.)

It’s almost exactly the thing I was trying to communicate in a Twitter debate/argument (Is there a word for a conversation somewhere between these two?) (hereafter referred to, over-dramatically, as “the Incident”) I had the night before with Scott Simpson, a stand-up comedian. Without getting into it too much, four of my favorite podcasters (Marco Arment, Casey Liss, and John Siracusa from ATP and John Gruber from The Talk Show) did a live show together during Apple’s World Wide Developer Conference. It was everything you’d expect from Apple-centric tech podcasters: geeky observations and speculation about what’s to come. One of the podcasters gave a shout-out to a 10-year-old listener he had who’d recently been injured in a sporting accident.

Then Scott came on stage to entertain the crowd after the podcasters were done with the tech part of the show. He made it through his first bit, then said something like, “That kid is going to get so much puss!” (Slightly paraphrasing here.)

I physically recoiled, waited a beat, then asked Justin to check the chat room to see if anyone had commented. I thought I’d misheard, but I hadn’t; other people noted it, too. Like any good geek, I immediately took to the Internet and Tweeted my disappointment. The Incident itself really wasn’t very interesting. Scott was understandably defensive (facing criticism immediately after a performance is not a fun thing) and I was unable to communicate my point effectively given the limitations of Twitter.

However, I’ve now had a week and a half to consider my reaction. Why was my initial revulsion so strong and why was a single word at the crux of it? (When I told the story to a friend she immediately said, “Wait, how old was the kid he was talking about?” I don’t know why that wasn’t my reaction.) I’ve been able to identify three reasons: equality, language, and context all matter.

Equality

If the shout-out had been directed toward a girl, I doubt that Scott would have commented that she would get “so much dick” as a result of the mention. In our culture, males who have a lot of sex are admired (stud), while girls who have a lot of sex are persecuted (slut).

Language

I’m a writer in both my professional and personal lives. Therefore, I know that picking one word over another can have a huge effect how well my point is understood. I’m probably hyper-aware of the impact simply because writing is such a large part of my identity, but we’re all taught from a young age that words have power. “Don’t call your brother that name!” and “What did you just say to me?” are common refrains in households the world over. The way we choose to talk to others can make or break both personal and professional relationships. Most people don’t have to even think about it because social niceties are so ingrained in the way we think.

“Puss” and “pussy” are derogatory, vulgar words we use to talk about women (or words we use to call men weak). They do not convey a sense of respect or even basic courtesy toward women. They are generally used to demean people.

Context

The reason I was listening to the live Talk Show/ATP mashup was because I enjoy listening to these four people talk about technology. Furthermore, Marco, Casey, Siracusa, and Gruber have all spoken up about the inequality women in technology face. They don’t make a show of including women in their podcasts and blogs, but they certainly don’t exclude us. It’s like a magic fairy land where gender doesn’t matter. I wasn’t listening to the live stream because I wanted to hear stand-up comedy.

This is the crux of my reaction, I think. As a female who works in technology and who is generally geeky, I am always on the lookout for misogynistic comments. I am surrounded by them every day, so it’s not even about constant vigilance–it’s a passive skill I’ve developed to help me make it through each day. This time, I let my guard down and quickly felt unwelcome and unwanted. Had I been listening as a fan of stand-up comedy or without my rose-colored glasses, I wouldn’t have been nearly as upset by Scott’s word choice.

The Aftermath

Twitter was a little weird for a few days after the Incident. I was reminded that I am a straight white woman and therefore have nothing to complain about. People helpfully informed me that I could have just stopped listening to the show. A couple of people agreed with my perspective. A friend of Scott’s called me and we had a really interesting conversation about our differing viewpoints on the subject.

I’m a shrug-it-off kind of person: “No big deal. I can see where they were coming from.”

It’s getting harder and harder to let these things go, though. It is, as Brianna also says in the AltConf talk, death by a thousand cuts. Sure, that person was just trying to get a point across by that sexist remark. That person didn’t mean their racist comment. That person’s not homophobic, they just don’t realize the impact of their slur.

For me, these remarks and acts have added up, been exposed to radiation, and mutated into a giant elephant in the room I can no longer ignore.

Expect more from me soon (This is either a threat or a promise, depending upon your perspective.).

Mia

Please note: This post might be triggering for 1) my friends, who lived through this loss and 2) anyone who has lost someone to cancer or similar illnesses.

It seems like cancer is everywhere I look lately. Rebecca Meyer lost her battle last week. Next week will mark Rowan’s 16th birthday. The author of another blog I follow announced that her brother-in-law’s fight is not going well.

I am so, so sorry. My thoughts are with you all.


A lifetime ago, I considered myself a Christian. I studied the Bible and prayed for the salvation of my friends and family while hoping that my conviction was the One Truth. Somewhere along the way I lost the faith I had in an all-knowing God and, with that, I stopped praying.

In the summer of 2012 my fervorous prayers began anew.

There was no ritual. I didn’t bend my knee, bow my head, or even speak. I wasn’t directing them at anyone or anything. They were blank stares into a handful of laundry, tears as I navigated through my day, and whispers in the darkness as I tried to sleep at night.

Please. Please let her live.

As we moved into the fall and we all started to catch glimmers of the future, it changed.

Please. Please let her see the new year.

As Christmas creeped nearer, there was little else I could think of. I don’t think there’s ever a good time to die. There’s always something more to live for, another milestone ahead. It seemed so cruel, though, for my friend to die during the holiday season.

We went to deliver some food and hang out a week or so before Christmas. She lit up when she saw Justin, just like she always had, but it was like seeing the flicker of a candle after knowing the brilliance of the sun. She was swollen from steroids and exhausted from her pain, not to mention the cocktail of medicine designed to help control the agony. She dozed off in the middle of sentences. We helped her move from her chair to the bed to the chair again in a bid to help buy her some comfort.

Before we left, I gave her a hug goodbye. I didn’t want her to know I was crying so I held on a bit longer than I otherwise would have, my head resting on top of hers as I tried to sob silently.

My prayers stopped that day.

It’s okay, Mia. It’s okay. We’ll take care of Mark and the kids. You can go. (I’m sure you’ll hear more about Mia over time. She was an amazing woman whose loss I feel every day.)

On to More Productive Things

In light of some colorful behind-the-scenes comments I’m getting….

My friends are gay. I didn’t point it out specifically because it didn’t seem necessary. The point of my story was that my friends, parents of a girl who fought like hell for her life and lost the battle, were struggling and I was thinking of them. Their sexuality had no bearing on my intent. And here’s the thing: It’s not just that I don’t care. Rather, it never even crossed my mind that I should spend the time and energy to form an opinion about their relationship.

Other peoples’ sexuality and/or identified gender is absolutely none of my business, any more than my sex life is any of theirs. That’s all there is to it.

So. Rather than spewing hate because two women had a child whom they loved and cherished (the nerve!), let’s focus our energy on something more productive. Lord knows we have enough real problems in the world.