Gasping For Breath

Today is a bit of a lazy day. My brain is fried and it's only mid April.

I'm in the middle of a 3500 words psychophysiology proposal due in 10 days.
I'm looking at measuring EMG corrugator supercilii and zygomatic major responses to happy/sad facial expressions from Black and White dynamic avatars after priming participants to develop a greater negative bias towards Black people. It's a cruel setting but it's a test of how empathy towards outgroups can be negatively manipulated by the media, especially in times of war. I'm three quarters through the Introduction of this proposal. I still have to write my method and my predictions. Method will be a little difficult as I have to describe the electrodes...oops, the "sensors"... and the EMG process in details, something a little different from the other reports I've written. Effectively I'm looking at a 2 x 2 x 2 mixed quasi-experimental factorial design so I'm still overwhelmed with the predictions and how to formulate my hypotheses.
That's why I'm happily taking a break today. Woohoo!!
It's not easy to avoid feeling like a mad scientist. Blogging helps.

Actually on that topic, I'm still smiling at what my psychophysiology lecturer said in the first lecture:

Today we don't refer to electrodes as "electrodes". In front of the participants we tend to call them "sensors" instead. It's because we are trying to get away from the whole Milgram thing...

Anyway I thought it was funny.

So now onto a mental reckoning of the other uni subjects... I'm due for a Neuroscience Quiz in two weeks, the second in a set of three. This is where I'll have to remember all the charming names of neurotransmitters among other things. After that, I still have another Behaviour Analysis and Modification lab report assignment to complete, two workbooks to hand in, at least 4 psychophysiological lab practicals to complete (although that part is quite fun) and an oral presentation on the Prefrontal Cortex to prepare for. All this to be completed by the end of May while I continue to attend classes and try to have a life. And then it's exam period...

This is the hardest semester I've had for a while and so when it's completed, I'll feel great.

Burgen For Men

Times are definitely changing and the grocery shelves are one setting for this quiet revolution.
The Burgen Revolution.

Burgen, for those of you familiar with the brand, is more than bread. Think: wholesome designer slices, sordid combinations of grainy goodness, customised dough.

We women had it good when Burgen introduced its Soy & Linseed slices. Phytoestrogens in a slice...We women felt special. Phytoestrogens are marketed towards women as cancer fighting and PMS vanquishing agents. Visions of demure menopausal Japanese women come to mind. Youth in a slice. (Or so we thought until phytoestrogen was recently linked to potential tumor growth for women with a history of cancer. Research continues...)

I personally feel flattered whenever a company caters especially for women's needs. Oh, really, wow, for ME! Always a pleasure to differentiate oneself from the male crowd. Vive la différence! When I wheel into the bread aisle with my trolley, I usually check around me to see if other male shoppers are in the vicinity and once I'm assured of an audience, I proudly reach out for a packet of Burgen Soy & Linseed slices. Makes me feel like part of an elite group.
Well it's not quite like sanitary pads and tampons but it still feels special...

I think men must have secretly envied us for quite a while. What with all these products marketed especially for women.

And now, because all you metrosexual men threw a sissy fit, Burgen relented and unveiled its latest product: "Burgen For Men".

You heard me.

I'm looking at one now, it's on my lap as I type. I'll read the label to you.

"Grains with Barley" - For Men's Wellbeing.
Ooooh, that's nice!

Apparently, it includes "Protein for Muscle Strength". OH YEAH!!!!
See, all you guys could soon be ditching steaks and having bread instead to ensure you get your protein fix! Think about it.

I was in the stores today when I first saw the glorious "Burgen For Men" product. There it was, king of the shelves, already bullying the other Burgen breads. At first I had a bit of a knowing chuckle. Typical males, I thought. Hard Yakka crap.

But then, I had a change of heart. I parked my trolley in front of the "Burgen For Men" packets and contemplated for a while. A nauseating feeling of relative deprivation had now begun to torment me. There were some urgent questions I needed answered.
What do they have in THEIR bread that we're not getting???
What secret ingredient are MEN getting in THEIR bread that the producers think WE WOMEN are too wussy to digest????

Feeling a tad indignant, I reached out for one of the packets.

Then it gets ugly. I took a calculating glance at the Nutritional Information. Conspiracy! There was some solid dough richness there! I took an offended look at the mineral count for 2 slices of bread. Hell, they even have an entry for Zinc! How come the Soy & Linseed Nutritional information doesn't even include Zinc? No wonder my acne and skin condition is so bad. I notice that for 2 slices of "Burgen For Men", the Zinc intake constitutes 29% of the recommended dietery intake. That sold me.

So I snobbed the marketers and I ended up buying my very own Hard Yakka packet of "Burgen For Men". That's why it's on my lap right now. I've already eaten 2 slices and I feel stronger and more powerful already. So there.

I can take it.

My Re-invented Feminism

Beware, I wrote this blog post while in the throes of marital uncertainty, during a period where my beliefs to not have children were dismissed, criticised and questioned by my family and by all the social norms I examined around me. Being different when you are surroundered with so much social conformity is difficult. Excuse my bluntness. Good journey to you.

I often think of those mothers who gently mock other women with condescending remarks such as "you like kids but you'd like to be able to give them back."

This would be about the moment where people like me can lower their head in shame and admit to their own foibles and selfish preoccupations. Yet, having considered everything, I'd like to proudly state that, yes, that description would fit me perfectly.

I do indeed like to give them back.

I have no interest in cooing, playing dumb games, wiping bottoms, changing nappies and cleaning up vomit. Who honestly enjoys this?
I'd much prefer to go shopping, read a book, go out for dinner, challenge my brain at work or university or watch a thought-provoking movie. I'm honest about my complete hedonistic approach to life.

If I were to choose to nurse or help someone or to play good Samaritan it would be an impulsive act. My pro social behavior won't arise as a need to justify my procreation decision or in order to appear selfless and all loving - in other words, in order to dispel the uneasiness of cognitive dissonance.

Still, I can't help thinking about that sort of statement. "You like kids but you'd like to be able to give them back." I can sense the implied understatement that I must be a self-interested, career focused woman who resents getting her manicured hands soiled. The statement fascinates me in as much as it seems totally oblivious to the facts concerning the other half of the population.
Because most men who have children do indeed love them and happily give them back, at least in the first years leading up to schooling.

If women have battled for years for equal opportunity in the work place and in the social fabric of Western society, it worries me that where parenthood is concerned, there is no equal opportunity to speak of.
Why is it ok for men to "give them back" and not ok for women to do so?
That this formula would be uttered by women raises even more concerns since these women are actually more sexist than they realise.

The truth is, if I ever decided to have a child, I'd like to be able to behave like a man. Is that possible? Because that's what I really really want. Equal opportunity!

I want to be able to yes, literally, "give the kid back". Because that is precisely what men do.

Better still, let's go for the full gamut. I don't want to be physically encumbered for 9 months, I want to continue having an uninterrupted, fulfilling education and career, enjoy life, and go home to a loving partner who has likely taken care of a bub for a good part of the day and cooked dinner for me. Then, having plonked myself on a sofa and raised my feet up, I want to get all chummy with my baby for a good couple of hours and then give it back and go out the next day like most men do. Bliss!

To hell with it, let's be frankly demanding. I want a man with a uterus who is happy to carry a child for 9 months for the joys of becoming a parent, who is selfless about giving up his career for a couple of months (at least) or perhaps years and who will then work hard at this unquestionably loving, selfless child raising task for the benefit of the family...all this, without a salary!!! Yes! Now we're talking emancipation. Anyone interested?

Where do I find these men?

Mylord - English Translation

Since I seem to be on a roll with translating Edith Piaf's songs, I thought I'd do the honours for one of my favourites. I mentioned a while ago that I've always enjoyed singing Mylord during broody moments.

Basically this song tells the story of a young girl from more seedy areas of some French port who falls in love with a high society gentleman or lord (my lord = mylord with a French accent!) She has probably stalked him enough but he's never really payed any attention to her. One day, the man's heart is broken when his equally well-bred lady leaves the port to never return. This is our young girl's opportunity to cheer up Mylord and hint to her infatuation without any hope for anything in return.

I love this song because it hints to quiet, unrequited love and yearning. It also highlights the girl's complete self-oblivion in tending to her lord's broken heart with scant attention to her own.

Here it is!

Mylord by Edith Piaf

Alez, venez, Milord!
Vous asseoir à ma table;
Il fait si froid, dehors,
Ici c'est confortable.
Laissez-vous faire, Milord
Et prenez bien vos aises,
Vos peines sur mon coeur
Et vos pieds sur une chaise

Come along Milord!
Take a seat at my table;
It is so cold outside,
It's cosier in here.
Just relax Milord
And be sure to make yourself comfortable,
Let my heart share your pains,
And place your feet up on a chair.

Je vous connais, Milord,
Vous n'm'avez jamais vue
Je ne suis qu'une fille du port,
Qu'une ombre de la rue...

I know about you, Milord,
But you, you've never seen me.
I'm only a girl from the port,
A shadow in the streets...

Pourtant j'vous ai frolé
Quand vous passiez hier,
Vous n'étiez pas peu fier,
Dame! Le ciel vous comblait:
Votre foulard de soie
Flottant sur vos épaules,
Vous aviez le beau role,
On aurait dit le roi...
Vous marchiez en vainqueur
Au bras d'une demoiselle
Mon Dieu!... Qu'elle était belle...
J'en ai froid dans le coeur...

Yet I brushed past you
When you were passing by yesterday,
You were not just a little proud,
Hell! The heavens had blessed you:
Your silk scarp
Floated on your shoulders,
You were in the limelight, (literally "you had the best role")
One would have mistaken you for a king...
You walked like a conqueror,
A young lady under your arm
My God!....How beautiful she was...
It gives my heart such a chill...

Allez, venez, Milord!
Vous asseoir à ma table;
Il fait si froid, dehors,
Ici c'est confortable.
Laissez-vous faire, Milord,
Et prenez bien vos aises,
Vos peines sur mon coeur
Et vos pieds sur une chaise


Come along Milord!
Take a seat at my table;
It is so cold outside,
It's cosier in here.
Just relax Milord
And be sure to make yourself comfortable,
Let my heart share your pains,
And place your feet up on a chair.

Je vous connais, Milord,
Vous n'm'avez jamais vue
Je ne suis qu'une fille du port
Qu'une ombre de la rue...

I know about you, Milord,
But you, you've never seen me.
I'm only a girl from the port,
A shadow in the streets...

Dire qu'il suffit parfois
Qu'il y ait un navire
Pour que tout se déchire
Quand le navire s'en va...
Il emmenait avec lui
La douce aux yeux si tendres
Qui n'a pas su comprendre
Qu'elle brisait votre vie
L'amour, ca fait pleurer
Comme quoi l'existence
Ça vous donne toutes les chances
Pour les reprendre après...

And to think that often
All it takes is a ship
For everything to be ruined
When the ship leaves...
It takes away with it
The sweet one with eyes so tender
Who could not understand
That she was breaking your heart.
Love, it makes us cry
Such that one's existence
Gives one all the chances
Only to take them away afterwards...

Allez, venez, Milord!
Vous avez l'air d'un mome!
Laissez-vous faire, Milord,
Venez dans mon royaume:
Je soigne les remords,
Je chante la romance,
Je chante les milords
Qui n'ont pas eu de chance!
Regardez-moi, Milord,
Vous n'm'avez jamais vue...
...Mais... vous pleurez, Milord?
Ça... j'l'aurais jamais cru!...

Come along Milord!
You look like a kid!
Just relax Milord
Come into my kingdom:
I heal all remorse,
I sing all romances,
I sing for those milords
Who never had any chance!
Look at me Milord,
You have never seen me...
...But...You are crying, Milord?
That...I would never have believed it!...

Eh ben, voyons, Milord!
Souriez-moi, Milord!
...Mieux qu' ca! Un petit effort...
Voilà, c'est ca!
Allez, riez, Milord!
Allez, chantez, Milord!
La-la-la...
Mais oui, dansez, Milord!
La-la-la... Bravo Milord!
La-la-la... Encore Milord!... La-la-la...

Well then Milord!
Smile at me Milord!
...Better than that! A little effort...
There you go, that's it!
Come on laugh Milord!
Come on and sing Milord!
La-la-la...
Yes, dance Milord!
La-la-la...Bravo Milord!
La-la-la...One more Milord!...La-la-la...

Tran Tien Family Genealogy

Two of my Vietnamese relatives who I've actually never met and who happened to stumble on this blog, kindly contacted me with some information on our family name. I have been so busy (distracted) of late that I could not make adjustments to this blog following their recommendations.

According to my relatives, after the assassination of Regent Tran Tien-Thanh, my family changed its name from "Tran Tien" to the more common Tran so as to avoid negative repercussions and protect the family members. My grandmother also explained to me that the dropping of the "Tien" removed association with the imperial family since that title had been conferred by Emperor Tu Duc.

However in recent years, my family has begun to use its rightful name once again. I guess that now, we are well and truly safe from the Co-Regents' wrath!! Naturally I was very excited to learn of this because it lends even more interest to the family history.

So to avoid further confusion, all references to the Tran genealogy in this blog are in fact alluding to the Tran Tien Genealogy.

All my humble thanks to Van Nghi Cong On and Brent Hung Tien Tran. Apologies for the delay with this as I am swamped.

L'Homme a La Moto - English Translation

Remember that sinister Piaf song I was singing a few months ago? With my deep, tenebrous voice echoing against the shower walls...that song I sing regularly when I'm down, without knowing why...but it gives me such a lift!

Well it's about a delinquent and his effect on a small village.
It's this dude on a motorbike who treats his girl and all those around him carelessly. He meets his death in the end, during a violent accident.



I love this song. Amusing and terrifying at the same time! I think this song was socially relevant in the 50s or 60s when machinery and noise became the dread of previously quiet French villages (or towns)! The song has a warning quality and seems disapproving of loud noise, speed, machinery and youth's newly found freedom. It relies on stereotypes of the time, associating leather and tattoos with violence and disrespect for society. It includes what, at the time, was probably a befittingly retributive ending in response to the chaos raised by modern delinquents. I can understand why this song was so popular! The mood created by Piaf's urgent, blasting delivery is unbeatable. And what's not to like about those steamtrain sound effects and those dramatic drum rolls.

Here is my personal English translation, with French lyrics sung by Edith Piaf.


Chorus:

Il portait des culottes, des bottes de moto
Un blouson de cuir noir avec un aigle sur le dos
Sa moto qui partait comme un boulet de canon
Semait la terreur dans toute la région.

He wore motorbike pants and boots,
A black leather blazer with an eagle on the back.
His motorbike went like a cannonball
Spreading terror in the entire region.

Jamais il ne se coiffait, jamais il ne se lavait
Les ongles pleins de cambouis mais sur les biceps il avait
Un tatouage avec un cœur bleu sur la peau bleme
Et juste à l'intérieur, on lisait: "Maman je t'aime"
Il avait une petite amie du nom de Marie-Lou
On la prenait en pitié, une enfant de son âge
Car tout le monde savait bien qu'il aimait entre tout
Sa chienne de moto bien davantage.

He never combed his hair, He never washed himself,
Sludge filled his fingernails but on his biceps he had,
A tattoo featuring a blue heart on pale skin,
And inside it one could read "Mother I Love you".
He had a girlfriend, Marie-Lou was her name,
They all took pity on her, a child of her age...
Because everyone knew well how much he loved
His bitch of a motorbike above all things.

Il portait des culottes, des bottes de moto
Un blouson de cuir noir avec un aigle sur le dos
Sa moto qui partait comme un boulet de canon
Semait la terreur dans toute la région.

He wore motorbike pants and boots,
A black leather blazer with an eagle on the back
His motorbike went like a cannonball
Spreading terror in the entire region

Marie-Lou la pauvre fille l'implora, le supplia
"Dit Ne pars pas ce soir, je vais pleurer si tu t'en vas"
Mais les mots furent perdus, ses larmes pareillement
Dans le bruit de la machine et du tuyau d'échappement
Il bondit comme un diable avec des flammes dans les yeux
Au passage à niveau, ce fut comme un éclair de feu
Contre une locomotive qui filait vers le midi
Et quand on débarrassa les débris,

Marie-Lou, the poor girl, implored him and begged him
"Say, do not go tonight, I will cry if you leave".
But the words were lost, her tears also
In the noise of the machine and of the exhaust pipe.
He lept like a demon with flames in his eyes,
At the crossing it was like thundering fire
Against a steamtrain that sped towards the South.
And when they came to sift out the debris,

On trouva sa culotte, ses bottes de moto
Son blouson de cuir noir avec un aigle sur le dos
Mais plus rien de la moto et plus rien de ce démon
Qui semait la terreur dans toute la région.

They found his motorbike pants and his boots
His black leather blazer with an eagle on the back
But nothing left of this motorbike and nothing left of this demon
Who once spread terror in the entire region.