Shut up.

Some people are too stupid to realize that they are too stupid for philosophy.

Vaccinated with lies?

Over the past few months, I, like many women, have been inundated with TV commercials discussing the dangers of contracting the Human Papilloma Virus (HPV). Not only is HPV a sexually transmitted virus, which no one ever wants, but the ads also tell me that HPV causes cervical cancer. As a woman under 26, I should be vaccinated against this increasingly common virus, because, according to the jolly women in the commercials, most people who have it are not aware they are infected.
Initially, I thought this was a great idea. Anything that defends me against cancer is a good thing, right? But then I read a MacLean’s article titled “Our Girls Aren’t Guinea Pigs,” which discussed the dangers of the new Gardasil HPV vaccines, and it caused me to take a step back and review the situation.
In the article, complications, and even deaths, from the vaccine were outlined, and I was amazed with how I had been so blindly influenced by the media. The Gardasil vaccine is clearly not perfect, to say the least, and its testing has been limited. Long-term effects and benefits are not guaranteed…so why was I so eager to roll up my sleeve? Clearly, I am not immune to advertisement-induced brainwashing. But how come this topic affected me so much when smoking, Cheetohs and Ford commercials had failed to influence my spending habits? It was because I felt threatened.
These ads made it seem that if I did not get vaccinated, I would get cancer, and slapping the big C word on this product is a great sales tactic. And I was so worried about cancer that I didn’t even think of the vaccine as a product; but that is exactly what it is. Someone must pay for it, and a company will benefit—and at the moment, Gardasil has a monopoly on Canada’s HPV vaccine market. Threaten and scare the young women into consuming—keep them in fear so that they don’t ask questions, that they don’t wonder what is being injected into their young bodies.
So, when Gardasil tote bags and other propaganda were handed out in the concourse in the first week of classes, I had to wonder who authorized such an obvious marketing ploy. I thought it a strange coincidence that on Tuesday I was reading the MacLean’s article bashing the needles out of the vaccine, and on Wednesday I was holding a doorknob hanger that read, “Do not disturb! Unless you want to talk about Gardasil.”
This product is for “girls and young women aged 9 to 26 years of age.” I am in no way suggesting that women not protect themselves from cancer and STDs, but before putting anything in your body (or your daughter’s), remember to ask the necessary questions to ensure you don’t leave the doctor sicker than when you got there. And also remember that good ole condoms will protect you from more than HPV (when used properly).
So maybe next year the college will hand out something useful rather than tote bags with advertising that tiptoes around its true intent. Condoms at least don’t pretend to be something they are not; they are straight to the point and honest in their presentation, possibly making some people uncomfortable. But Gardasil hides behind its packages and slogans when safe sex is really the message everyone needs to address.

What it’s like to get your first lap dance

(from the Other Press, Sept 2007.)

It was shaping up to be a classy night. Invited by a friend to watch his girlfriend strip, I stood in the bar admiring the scenery. Girls in fancy underwear stalked men all around me; I could hear snippets of the sexy spiels that they used to entice patrons to pay them for a lap dance.
They had expert sales pitches, and reminded me of when I used to hawk cell phones for a living. I had hated coercing my clients into purchasing items that they might not need; it felt as though I was selling my soul. So, it was unfathomable to me as to how these women could flash their flesh for a few bucks; but I wasn’t about to mention that now.
After being there for an hour, a girl with a particularly ample bottom approached my friend. After the exchange of whispered words and money, I was told to follow her. I was confused, but I don’t usually argue with half-naked women.
She led me into a curtained room, and I sat on a bench. I realized that I was about to get my first lap dance. As curious as I was about what was about to happen, I couldn’t shake the awkwardness out of my voice when I tried to make conversation while she spread a towel over my legs.
Her actions were definitely rehearsed, but not mechanical. As she danced and undressed before me, she held my gaze with her vacant eyes; I had to look elsewhere to avoid getting lost in them. Once nude, she moved onto acts that I had not been expecting in a lap dance; but as I said before, I don’t argue with naked women.
I am not sure how lap dances usually end, but mine ended very abruptly. I left the room with mixed feelings of need and confusion colliding in my brain. My flushed cheeks announced to the bar what I had just been a part of, but no one seemed to notice.
I mulled over the situation as I nursed a beer; that lap dancer had just made one hundred dollars in six minutes.
I wondered who, out of the two of us, was the stupid one: the girl who made lots of money by simply showing off her naked body, or me, the student whose income may never compare. I wondered who, in regards to a stripper/patron relationship, had the power, and who was being exploited.
But realizing that no one needed philosophy in a titty bar, I finished my beer and kept my mouth shut.

Back Up for a Sec!

Well!
I have been unable to write in the blog for a while now because of some glitch! It seems to be fixed now, unfortunately for you!

Back to school!

Alright, so I guess (if anyone should care) there will be more action on this blog again as I am back to school, and will be adding articles, reports, stories and such to share with all my no fans.

Thanks if you care!!