Carol's afghan

So, the colors are outside my comfort zone, and DDB helped me choose them, but I think they worked really well. Here's a somewhat close look:



I decided to improvise an edging, because the pattern called for fringe. I like the way fringe looks for the seven seconds before the cat discovers that it's a great cat toy. After that, not so much. Also, fringe doesn't launder for shit. So, this pic kinda shows the edging. DDB thinks that the edging should have been thicker, but I rather like it as it is.




Carol, drop me a line about when I can drop it by for you. I'm busy the rest of this weekend, but sometime between next Saturday evening and Tuesday evening would work for me.

Safety Dance -- I Mean, Rant

So, safety has come 'round again on the guitar. As it should. And I would just like to say that I vastly approve of being safe at science fiction conventions. But, you know, if my safety is being threatened, if someone is waving a knife or a gun or even a fist in my face, I really hope that the convention staff will immediately enlist the help of the nice men in the uniforms with guns and the power of arrest. I sincerely hope that they will not send some poor, kind volunteer with no training and no color of authority to deal with the situation. I don't like or trust cops, but honestly, for imminent violence, that's my choice.

Harassment? Harassment doesn't make me feel unsafe. It does hurt me, and it does make me angry. Spectacularly, incandescently angry. And yes, indeed, I think that as a community that we need to deal with it. But I hate the fact that we are framing this in terms of "safety." What that says to me is that, in fact, the only thing that I, as a female member of this community am entitled to, is my physical well-being. That the entire rest of my fucking existence is unimportant. That no one cares that I be treated with respect, that all of the other complicated ways in which I live my life within this community are of no interest or value to anyone, and the only, the single, the entire sum of my rights within my chosen community are that I not be assaulted. That the only time I am allowed to claim a position of equality is when I am afraid, when I am hurt, when I am damaged. When we describe it in terms of safety, we are demanding to see visible wounds, actual scars. That no one cares that about listening to what I have to say, that no one cares that I am enjoying myself, no one cares if I am respected, or accorded basic courtesy, that my preferences, skills, and knowledge are unimportant. In fact, no one actually cares about me. I am accorded the right of my body, but not my mind, not my position, not my reputation, not my joy, I am accorded a physical space, but that is it.

Honestly, I don't think that is the intent of the people using the term safety. But it is a bad frame, a poor representation of what we are actually trying to talk about. Women deserve to be full members of the community, and harassment is one way in which we are being denied that right.