When Men Tell Women to Smile

I'm not big on social media--I pretty much stick to Facebook, which mostly keeps me apprised of a) when friends are having parties; b) the latest batch of posts about “Why Grad School Sucks” / a feed of one-liners about “How You Know You’re in Your Thirties” from Buzzfeed; and c) the newest photos of my friends’ small ones—the latter of which is without doubt the best reason to use Facebook, in my humble opinion).

But recently, an acquaintance posted an article (“When ‘Life Hacking’ Is Really White Privilege”) by blogger Jen Dziura, host of the Williamsburg Spelling Bee. After enjoying the post, I poked around her feed for just a moment, long enough to find another article (apparently her top hit): “Benevolent Sexism and “That Guy” who Makes Everything Awkward.” I clicked, pretty certain of what I would read: an article about how sometimes people have expectations about women, like the fact that they should be nice, sweet, charming, etc., and how subtle behaviors (like opening doors for women or other seemingly unobtrusive/chivalrous gestures) may shape women’s behaviors and men’s attitudes simultaneously. You know, something similar to what she and countless others have said about subtle or implicit actions that guide behaviors leading to white privilege/racism.

But although the post explicitly did mention opening doors, and did contrast the notion of women who conform to stereotyped expectations (smiling, friendly, sweet, calm) with those who do not (<insert ostensibly any dissimilar set of adjectives>), I was surprised by its focus: men who apparently see women as goddess-like creatures with mystical powers from whom they can draw energy and replenishment. Ok, sure, the idea of “standing behind your man” is not old. And I would argue that the ability to provide some degree of energy and comfort to one’s partner—irrespective of sex or gender—is a quality worth seeking out in oneself and in potential dates/mates/lovers. The author, however, was decrying men in the workplace who expect women to fulfill this type of role.

I must be lucky to have never experienced this form of “benevolent sexism” in its extreme form. I do not have the statistics on it, but I would imagine that my line of work (which has resulted in my being a graduate student in science for 56 out of the 63 months since I graduated from college and a contractor at a science and engineering company for the other 7) is less prone to the more overt forms of this sexism. I have a few experiences which I will staunchly defend as being “on the line”—such as being redirected to a male colleague and not expected to understand how to do my own statistical analyses at one point, or being told that I looked like a prettier version of Lindsay Lohan by a male direct superior—but its difficult not to blame oneself for not communicating better that yes, I understand how to do this part of my work or no, I don’t really enjoy being compared to former Disney stars who later became sensationalized objects as they grew into adults under the harsh spotlight of the media. Were those a part of implicit sexism? Maybe not. Was I unsure how to cope with them, and did they strain my relationship with my superior? Yes. Could they have happened in the same way if I were a man? It’s hard to say.

The places where I have mostly encountered benevolent sexism are not at work, thank goodness. They are walking down the street, boarding an airplane, having a beer with a close friend at a local brewery, or waiting in line for refreshments after a choir performance. “Smile,” men will say.

I would like to meet the woman who, after hearing a command to change her physical appearance to a form that would please one of those men a bit more, feels more like smiling. I would like to meet the woman who, after being told that her reflection of her emotional state is not good enough, not meeting expectations, wants to thank the man who recently informed she shouldn’t feel free to have control over her own emotions. These aren’t the men who hate women—these are the men who think it is appropriate to enlighten strangers about the reflection of their emotions on their face.

I am not the only person who has written about men telling women to smile. There has got to be a better approach than turning and yelling, but I’m not sure what it is. Generally, it has been for me to ignore them. Sometimes, that is not possible. The stranger on the airplane who catcalled it to me from his seat was easy enough to ignore. Surely, he assumed I was simply annoyed by the process of traveling and that it would cheer me to hear his plaints. The fact that I was personally grieving for another reason was none of his business, and it sure as hell was not his business to tell me to smile, but really, what harm was he doing? The stranger at a bar approaching my roommate and me who was likely trying to strike up a conversation, however, was a bit more difficult. Lucky for me, my friend has more refined social graces, and the conversation moved on to a discussion about science and technology. People who I know and want to respect, however, make things a bit more difficult. Meaning well is one thing, but there comes a point where I feel it is my duty as a person, and as a female person, not to let it slide. That doesn’t mean turning to them, as I might to a guy on the street, and staunchly declaring, “Women are people too.” It doesn’t mean walking away and saying nothing. Usually, it means gritting my teeth, forcing myself utter something resembling a chuckle, and saying something like, “It’s been a long semester.” If I'm feeling particularly combative, I might even manage, "It's not necessary to smile all the time."

Thankfully, others are also thinking about how to get men to stop telling women to smile, including a Kickstarter project funded in October for an outdoor public art series and this slutty nifty sweater.

Antidepressants, plasticity, and language development

Reblogged from NeuWriteSD.org:

As an attendee at the 5th annual Society for Neurobiology (SNL) conference, four years had passed since my first exposure to the meeting–a discussion of the state-of-the-art research being done on the neuroscience of language processing. In those four years, things have happened! This meeting left me marveling at new advances and the number of presenters successfully using new technologies. Techniques of note included ECoG (electrocorticography) (1), TMS (transcranial magnetic stimulation) (2), and even pharmacological studies reaching down to the molecular level investigating speech perception of babies in utero (3).

Read more at NeuWriteSD.org.

Memory

On a recent trip to visit my former home of Cambridge, I found myself playing piano and singing with friends on several occasions. The last night I was there, I opened a Broadway songbook to a tune by a man whom one friend dubbed the "Kenny G of musical theatre"-- namely, Andrew Lloyd Weber. The tune was from Cats:

Daylight
I must wait for the sunrise
I must think of a new life
And I mustn't give in
When the dawn comes
Tonight will be a memory too
And a new day will begin.

Jibing aside, ALW has some out-of-the-ballpark hits, and although I feel most of my friends cringe every time I want to play the song, I can't shake the notion that "Memory" is one of them. If you took the song out of the context of the musical Cats and handed it to a soulful songstress to sing, I firmly believe that we'd think of it a little differently. But more to the point, Weber uses the term "memory" quite aptly in his music, showing that the here and now will one day become a memory too. And maybe the memories of multiple nights spent walking down memory lane will be consolidated into a more abstract memory.

Memory has been on my mind a lot recently, and not just memories of old friends in old towns. In a seminar class in the linguistics department, we are reading papers devoted language and what psychologists call "working memory" -- the memory for stuff we're doing in the here and now, and theorized to include some set of representations that occupy a more privileged status than other stuff. In my own research, I think more about that other stuff, i.e., "long-term memory" -- the imprint we have of all our experiences, plus a whole helluvalotta hypothesized structure which leaves us with many theorized types of memories. "Procedural memory" refers to learned behaviors, mostly typified as motor skills or procedures. Examples might be playing a musical instrument, riding a bike, lots of what goes into driving a car, and, some would say, even certain aspects of language processing. "Declarative memory" refers to memories for facts about the world and the stuff in it ("semantic memory") and to memories for particular events, or episodes, that we have personally encountered (so-called "episodic memory"). For my own part, I'm very interested in understanding how this last breakdown (between memory for stuff we know, or at least think we know, and memory for stuff we've directly experienced) should be thought about. Surely the stuff we directly experience can become part and parcel of the stuff of "facts" that we know -- we see a lot of red apples, and so we come to believe that apples are (at least often) red. But what's the internal organization of all that, and what stuff do we actually access when we're talking about apples?

There are plenty of questions to ask with regard to language and long-term memory. Whether understanding someone who is talking about apples requires someone to engage in processing all of the perceptual information about apples (such as their color) is a question that is part of a hot topic in cognitive science currently. But in my own research, I hope to answer a slightly broader question, which gets at some of the same nitty-gritty questions regarding which features of a concept are accessed during its processing--does the amount of information about (or experience with) a concept directly affect how easily it is processed during language comprehension? The structure of that information will almost certainly have consequences for processing, as well.  For instance, the information might be neatly bundled together (let's say we are apple experts and know that really red apples are also shiny and large, encompassing information about perceptual aspects of apples) or more sparse (perhaps we don't really know much about red apples other than we've seen them grow on trees in Washington, and our parents used to pack them in our lunches when we were kids, facts that are not as neatly related).

In my research, I'm starting out by investigating these kinds of questions using short texts (jargon-y term here would be "discourse") where I manipulate the amount of information that is given about various people who are described in the text.  But what I really want to know is how understanding language about stuff we really know a ton about (people who are very close to us; topics we've spent years studying; our favorite hobby, whether it be cooking or painting or singing; cities we know well) might differ from understanding language about stuff that's more vague to us (sort of like when I hear my friends talking about baseball in front of me; or like when I talk about sight-reading choral music to the people talking to me about baseball!).

I'm thinking our rich memories may help us understand each other at times and perhaps hinder our communication at others.

Vegan things

Here are some delicious vegan things in San Diego.

1. Anything at Plumeria. It's in University Heights, and I am fairly certain there are at least two other good vegan restaurants nearby, though I haven't tried 'em yet. Plumeria is exclusively vegetarian, though some of their dishes contain dairy and other animal products. However, most (possibly all) of their dishes can be made vegetarian. I'm getting used to the idea of eating meat substitutes since moving here, mostly because fake duck is just so damn good.

2. Vegan chai donuts at Dark Horse. It's a tiny coffee shop in Normal Heights; I ended up there with a study buddy recently after the larger coffee shop down the street was too packed on a Sunday afternoon. Only a few seats, but not typically very crowded. The iced coffee with almond milk was good, too.

3. An extensive vegetarian menu including amazing homemade tofu at Dao Fu, formally Tao, also in Normal Heights. They don't give you the opportunity not to try their homemade tofu, in fact. You are given an on-the-house salad with the stuff the moment you sit down.

4. A third Normal Heights spot, LeStat's, has several vegan options, including vegetarian cupcakes and vegetarian chili. It's spicy and delicious. And the cupcakes taste like they are created from heaven. There's also a LeStat's in University Heights on Park.

5. North Park's Sipz is pretty much can-do-no-wrong vegan. I always get the same things and split with friends because they are so delicious I can't bring myself to order anything else: kung pao "chicken", the dynamite roll, the caterpillar roll, and sometimes a vegan red velvet cake slice. If you didn't think vegan sushi could be good, I dare you to try theirs. There are other Sipz locations, though I haven't tried them.

6. Many options at the Hillcrest Farmer's market on Sunday mornings, including vegan cheesecake. If you think you're being healthier by eating vegan sweets, beware; this baby is made pretty much wholly of oils from cashews. While delicious, they're not exactly non-fattening.

7. Roots, located on the UCSD campus, is almost surely one of the reasons UCSD consistently gets voted top vegan campus. My favorites: sweet potato fries, the Root burger, and the Hetch Hetchy.

Originally I had thought of making a new themed blog (I'm a fan of themes) in which I'd report on all sorts of restaurants in terms of their vegan-friendliness. It seems that perhaps there is not a large need for this (one can of course use Yelp! to search for veganness within a specific restaurant), so I'm holding off.

In other news, the quarter is drawing to a close, meaning that summer is drawing near! In San Diego, that means we are entering what I have heard named "June Gloom". Unfortunately, the month that is typically nicest in eastern cities is one of the saddest in the south of California. However, it seems to perk up in the afternoons, when the clouds have been clearing (at least recently). This afternoon it was still a bit cloudy when our softball team (which I am a part of almost only in name; I played in just one game this term), the Earthpigs, won the intramural championship game! ...by default, since the opposing team only showed 55 minutes late. No matter, we still won championship t-shirts (a first for me, in sports) and got to eat celebratory Popsicles. Snort snort snort.

Reunions

At some point in the last few years, I think it finally sank in for me (and likely for my parents) that "settling down" was something that would not happen for me in the near future, if ever. When I told my mom I had the best offer for continuing my PhD in California her response was something like "Well, if you have to go far away, we will just have come to you sometimes." Thinking back to when I was in high school and wondering if I would even get the chance to get out of the small town I grew up in for college, I feel incredibly fortunate to have such supportive and caring people in my life, my family chief among them.

So come to me they did, this past weekend -- some of my family, that is. Through a series of happy coincidences and last-minute decisions, my mom and her two siblings, as well as my uncle's wife, my cousin, and his fiancee, all trooped (some via car, some via plane) to southern California from various parts of the country and we had a multi-day mini-reunion. It was such a good feeling seeing all of them at the same time -- that hadn't happened since I could count my age on two hands. My uncle's family was only in town until Sunday, but we got a good three days to spend with them. My mom and aunt and I had more time, and we put it to good use. It's kind of fun being a sight-seer in your own city, particularly when you're new to it. We made it to see the seals in La Jolla Cove, to the gliderport up Torrey Pine Road and to hiking in Torrey Pines State Reserve, to the San Diego Zoo, to lunch at Harry's diner and fish tacos at Oscar's, and to shopping at more places that I knew were good including my favorite eclectic jewelry shop in La Jolla, a very girl shop in Pacific Beach, and the tourist-y yet diverse shops of Old Town.

In the midst of all of the chaos my mom managed to squeeze in a business meeting and I managed to finish writing a paper on methodologies in language research, take a final exam on behavioral genetics, have meetings in both labs (EEG and eyetracking) that I'll be working in next quarter, and (briefly) have a visit with a friend who was in San Diego from Boston for an interview. Not exactly a full work week, but it's spring break now so I have decided not to feel too guilty about it all.

Now it's off to Boston for some more reuniting. Not quite the confluence of people that so serendipitously occurred in San Diego this past week, but it does involve the arrival of another friend from Spain nearly simultaneously along with the return of yet another from Atlanta and yet another from a conference in South Carolina. As lucky as I am to have folks come visit me, it's fair enough that I should repay the visit once in a while.

Meanwhile, back in the lab...

 
Wednesdays are by far my favorite day of the week this quarter. Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays are filled with classes, meetings, and talks, but Wednesdays I can have pure, unadulterated time in the lab. Typically, this means I schedule a participant for the morning and take longer than most people doing things like running calibration pulses / cleaning up after / transferring and checking data / etc.  And sometimes it means I try my hand at data analysis afterward, which it did, today.  Around 4pm, I was about to leave to go study for an exam in a behavioral genetics class I'm taking this quarter, when I decided to try to catch our lab manager before he left for the evening. The reason why is a bit of a long story, but it wound up leading me to be in the lab until around 7:30pm, and it goes something like this...

1. There is a short, squat cabinet in the lab. In it is a key to a tall, typically-shaped filing cabinet. In the filing cabinet are documents that are relevant for the institutional board of review of our university with confidential information about participant identity, potentially linking individuals to code numbers. It is important to keep this kind of information under lock and key, but unfortunately, the cabinet in which this particular key resides is fussy.

2. I am particularly poor at opening said cabinet and today it became jammed while I was trying. I therefore ended up with two documents that needed to go in the locked filing cabinet, but could not get to the key in the short squat cabinet to unlock it.

3. Our lab manager is a bit of a magician (i.e., good at making things work), and so I knew he could get the door open. It turns out that an hour, a lab manager, and two graduate students (including one with some twine and paperclip skills), and some dislodging later, we finally got the cabinet open.

4. Whew!, thought I. Papers in filing cabinet, filing cabinet locked, key back in the original cabinet, home free. Yes? No.

5. In the meantime, I had noticed that the calibration files I had so painstakingly recorded earlier had some abnormalities. Namely, "Channel 18 cals are might weenie," according to our home-grown lab software. So I re-ran the calibration pulses and this time they came out perfectly.

6. However, just as team Us had finished with the filing cabinet fiasco, a senior member of the lab walked in and immediately witnessed our "up-to-no-good" looks.

7. This led to a conversation with said senior member involving the wonky cal pulses. And he suggested attempting to find the root of the problem, which honestly seemed pretty reasonable. So I ran the cals with the channel 18 headbox pin on a couple of different settings, neither of which ended up being to explain the original wonky results.

8. However, in the process of finishing up the second test set of cals, I managed to jerk my hand into a very fragile wire in the process of pulling out the cable for the calibration box. Meaning that it broke. The very fragile wire, that is. It was of course connected to a rather spaghetti-like configuration of rainbow wires that all had to be replaced at once and re-configured to their appropriate places in the headbox.

9. ...and the replacement happened to be in the original short squat cabinet which (thank goodness!) we again had access to.

10. And after much fretting and breathing deeply and double checking, the rainbow-ribbon-y array of channels was re-mapped, I learned several lessons about the magic of EEG, and my handwriting now resides upon channels #18-29 (+ iso ground, the original culprit) in the white room of this particular lab at UCSD. Best part? Adviser's response to my email detailing all of this was that she was glad I saw it as a learning experience. Yes, yes indeed.

Return to their unnatural coasts

The last month, in addition to featuring Christmas, Hanukkah, other-holidays-some-of-which-might-include-a-flying-spaghetti-monster, and a whole new year, also featured a whole bunch of zooming around the country for me. Unlike Paul Simon, neither my first or final destination would I call my "natural coast" (see also this album). I, in fact, have no natural coast, and that point was destination #2.

First off was some time spent in Bostonia. Rather than trying to convey the slew of emotions that being back evoked, I will just say that it was really lovely to just be in the city again, and of course even lovelier to see so many wonderful familiar faces. There was a lot of walking around in the cold rain (even that part was kind of refreshing, honestly), many tasty meals shared with good folks, multi-night B11 live band karaoke madness, hot chocolate and bananagrams, A Christmas Carol AND the Nutcracker, an apple-fetching excursion, and some hair-slaying (I now have a bob).

And then it was time for my natural un-coast, or rather, the place where I'm from, Indiana. This trip definitively marked the longest period of time I'd spent at home since moving away nearly nine years ago -- I was back in Kokomo for nearly two and a half weeks. The trip feature some work (more than I had expected; less than I had hoped), some reading, a lot of hanging out with my sisters, some game-playing, some old-friend-seeing (including some folks I hadn't seen in many a moon), the viewing of a spectacular Indiana-grown independent film made by some friends called The Legend of Green Sock, a touch of karaoke on New Year's Eve, and a great deal of time spent in the presence of my cat. I was feeling a bit stir-crazy toward the end at times, but it was utterly relaxing and really nice.

Since being back in California, courses have resumed (best quote from a neuroscientist yet this year: "we may  have some issues, but at least we're not out of jobs, like physicists"), labwork has resumed (including the fairly successful running of a participant in an EEG experiment), I have talked about twin studies to a class of would-be geneticists, and I have learned about a project in Senegal educating women about the dangers of not interacting (read: speaking) with their children at early stages, i.e., not taking advantage of all that young brain plasticity!

In other news: life continues on the other coast and a part of the other coast is coming to me in February! Hopefully before then some serious chunks of science will happen. More on that later...