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Because it Seems That I Can't Stop Posting Today
I am so pleased: my Christmas gift(s) from my Lovely Aunt Julie(tm) arrived today!
The first is a second bowl for my Kitchen Aid mixer. This means that if I'm making something that needs two things beaten (like, say, cake batter with beaten egg-whites) I don't have to shuffle things from one bowl to the next in order to do it. So: YAY!
The second is a book I saw reviewed and decided at once I had to have: The Big Necessity: The Unmentionable World of Human Waste and Why It Matters, by Rose George. By the end of the third paragraph I knew this was going to be a fun, and useful, and illuminating book. She discusses trying to find a bathroom in the Ivory Coast (she is escorted to a small, white tiled room with "no toilet, no hole, no clue," and the young guy who guides her to it seems to find some schadenfreudean pleasure in her confusion). Then she talks about finding the "Ladies" in the British Museum, where there's a clean toilet on every floor.
Given the discussions that have been flying around LJ for the last couple of weeks, I expect to find myself slapped up side the head with my privilege as a westerner, a middle class, educated, white woman. It will be good for me, and more likely, it will be good for my writing.
Plus: factoids! YAY!
The first is a second bowl for my Kitchen Aid mixer. This means that if I'm making something that needs two things beaten (like, say, cake batter with beaten egg-whites) I don't have to shuffle things from one bowl to the next in order to do it. So: YAY!
The second is a book I saw reviewed and decided at once I had to have: The Big Necessity: The Unmentionable World of Human Waste and Why It Matters, by Rose George. By the end of the third paragraph I knew this was going to be a fun, and useful, and illuminating book. She discusses trying to find a bathroom in the Ivory Coast (she is escorted to a small, white tiled room with "no toilet, no hole, no clue," and the young guy who guides her to it seems to find some schadenfreudean pleasure in her confusion). Then she talks about finding the "Ladies" in the British Museum, where there's a clean toilet on every floor.
I do what I have to do, then flush the toilet and forget it, immediately, because I can, and because all my life I have done no differently.
This is why the Liberian waiter laughed at me. He thought that I thought that a toilet was my right, when he knew it was a privilege.
Given the discussions that have been flying around LJ for the last couple of weeks, I expect to find myself slapped up side the head with my privilege as a westerner, a middle class, educated, white woman. It will be good for me, and more likely, it will be good for my writing.
Plus: factoids! YAY!