The arbitrage opportunities with food

also

Give me liberty or give me death

I did not grow up in an eating-out house. When I was a freshman in college, my dad made $32,000 a year. When Mr T started his first job out of college a few years later, he made $30,000 a year.

Think of that.

Someone 25 years into his career being paid only a little bit more than someone starting his career.

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We almost never went out to eat when I was a kid.

My mom and dad took me out for my birthday once. Another time, we went to a pizza restaurant with a family we were visiting. And I remember going to Wendy’s when it first opened and to a Burger King once, but other than that, I honestly cannot remember eating at a restaurant with my family.

On road trips, my mom packed a cooler and we ate sandwiches. She would get milk at the store and we would have cereal for breakfast. Our family vacations, when we weren’t visiting our grandparents (and staying with them), were camping trips where we took food with us.

For my college graduation, my family drove to Houston from San Antonio, attended the ceremony, took me out for ice cream, and drove back that night.

My uncle visited us when I was in high school and took us to the Golden Corral. My siblings and I were in high heaven. He even let us order soda. I know my mom and dad would have been thinking, “That costs almost as much as a gallon of milk!” I know they thought that because I think that now. I never get soda at a restaurant. Water is free.

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Even now, when I have a bit more money than my parents ever did, I have a super-practical view of eating at restaurants, which is, “Why would I pay a lot more money for something I can do myself?”

That is, I am willing to pay only for items I can’t or won’t make at home. Those items include pho, which I made once and now am very very willing to pay for because it is a ton of work, Thai food, Hawaiian food, and some Mexican foods. I could probably figure all this stuff out, but I am too lazy and I would need to get a lot of specialized ingredients and it probably still wouldn’t taste the same.

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We visited some friends who are of Indian heritage. They took us out to eat at a really nice restaurant and it was lovely, but somehow, it came up in conversation later that we would love to cook Indian food with them.

They were shocked.

But that’s so – ordinary! they responded.

They had thought that cooking the food they eat every day would be kind of boring for us and not special at all.

ARE YOU KIDDING? we answered. A HOME-COOKED INDIAN MEAL WHERE WE GET TO LEARN HOW YOU DO IT?

Ever since then, when we visit, we cook together.

It is so much fun. And so delicious.

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One of my favorite things to do is to cook with friends.

Many of my friends are done done done with cooking – their kids are out of the house and they are thrilled at their newfound freedom, but I’m always a little sad when they want to go out to eat instead of cooking. I know they want to share their favorite places with us and I am honored at that, but I don’t really enjoy the restaurant experience and I worry about who’s paying and really, I miss the days when we cooked together. Those are truly some of my happiest memories with my friends.

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Mr T and I rarely eat out. Most of it is because of covid, but also, we are sort of retired. Or unemployed. Not sure which. But neither of us want to go back to work and we are very willing to make sacrifices to keep from having to.

That is, I would happily never eat in another restaurant again as long as it means I never have to return to the soul-crushing existence of a low-paying corporate job where I am the flunky who gets stuck doing stuff I hate, including creating and sending mass emails at the last minute on the Friday before a three-day weekend.

Restaurants are a luxury I can happily forgo if it means I can have my freedom. I would rather have time than money at this stage of my life. So if any of you ever visit me, I will be cooking for you! Mostly because I love to cook for and with friends, but also because I want to spend my time with you, not at work.

Women can’t do any worse than men have done for all of recorded history

I swear if women ran the world, there would never be another war.

There would never be another hungry child.

There would never be another maternal death.

There would be no more suffering from PMS, cramps, endometriosis, interstitial cystitis, or hot flashes and female pain would be taken seriously.

There would be enough provision in public restrooms so that women wait no longer than men do to pee.

There would be pockets. Pockets deep enough to actually hold things.

There would be comfortable temperatures in common spaces.

Pay disparities? Gone.

Sexual harassment at work? Taken seriously.

Rape? Straight to prison with none of this “Oh but what about the future of this promising young man?”

There would be so many things.

How do I know this?

Two reasons:

Women create legislation to support these goals.

In her proposed apprenticeship bill, Senator Tammy Baldwin has included funding for child and elder care so moms (and dads) can attend school. When a friend got her master’s degree, her two little girls also got diplomas – because they had sat next to her in every class. There was no other way for my friend to attend night school.

Robyn Vining, a Wisconsin state legislator, proposed and got passed legislation about universal changing stations – places in public restrooms where caregivers can change the diapers of someone who is not an infant.

Women cooperate when there are scarce resources

I was in the ladies’ at a music festival. The lines were long (of course) and everyone wanted to get in and get out as quickly as possible so they could get back to the music.

But some of the soap dispensers were out.

Some of the towel dispensers were out.

And some of the stalls lacked toilet paper.

But rather than rush out after they had finished washing their hands, women were directing other women to the soap that worked and helping other women tear off paper towels from the giant rolls of paper that had been placed on top of the towel dispensers.

They were gathering toilet paper from the stalls that had it and waving women in line down to the stalls without paper, handing them the paper as they passed.

Women in stalls without paper were yelling, “I need toilet paper!” and other women were delivering it to them.

Instead of saying, “I got mine so screw the rest of you,” there were women delaying their own happiness and cooperating to make sure that everyone got what she needed.

If nobody has ever written a dissertation called “The Ladies Room: A Model of Community and Cooperation that the Rest of the World Should Follow,” they need to do it now.

I guess if The Patriarchy isn’t The Boss of Us, we regret it?

I posted a photo of a line for the women’s room on facebook and made this comment:

This is one of the many reasons we need to elect more (non-misogynistic) women (who reject the Patriarchal Bargain) into office.

A college friend replied,

they keep expanding the number of bathroom space for women compared to men in Texas. Still doesn’t matter. But yes, it absolutely has everything to do with deep-seated sexism in combination with the self-hatred of an emancipated women.

And I don’t understand his points at all.

In his first point, he says, “they keep expanding the number of bathroom space for women compared to men in Texas. Still doesn’t matter.“

To which I suggest, then expand the bathroom space more as clearly there are still not enough restrooms for complete potty parity.

I mean, obvious, right?

His second point confuses me, though. “it absolutely has everything to do with deep-seated sexism in combination with the self-hatred of an emancipated women.“

Yes, it totally has everything to do with deep-seated sexism! WE KNOW THAT!

But what is this “self-hatred of an emancipated woman?”

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I just noticed this – why can’t it be an “ewomancipated woman?” Why on earth does the word “man” have to be in everything?

It turns out that the “man” refers to hand, not to males.

emancipate (v.)

1620s, “set free from control,” from Latin emancipatus, past participle of emancipare “put (a son) out of paternal authority, declare (someone) free, give up one’s authority over,” in Roman law, the freeing of a son or wife from the legal authority (patria potestas) of the pater familias, to make his or her own way in the world; from assimilated form of ex- “out, away” (see ex-) + mancipare “deliver, transfer or sell,” from mancipum “ownership,” from manus “hand” (from PIE root *man- (2) “hand”) + capere “to take,” from PIE root *kap- “to grasp.” Related: Emancipated; emancipating.

Not used by the Romans in reference to the freeing of slaves, the verb for this being manumittere. The English word was adopted in the jargon of the cause of religious toleration (17c.), then anti-slavery (1776). Also used in reference to women who free themselves from conventional customs (1850).

also from 1620sOnline Etymology Dictionary

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Do you hate yourself?

Now that women have the vote, do you hate yourself?

Now that women can own property, do you hate yourself?

Now that women can get credit cards in their own names, do you hate yourself?

Now that women have options and don’t have to stay with husbands just because they need someone to pay the rent, do you hate yourself?

Yeah.

Me, neither.

GO BIG and TAKE UP SPACE

Mr T, our friend Danielle, and I went to a concert (Earth Wind and Fire and they were FABULOUS) at an outdoor venue. We didn’t have seats and were standing in the back with dozens of other people. It was very very crowded.

Very crowded.

But we could still hear so that was fine.

A young woman behind us started talking to us. She asked Mr T if he had gone to Woodstock.

No. No, he did not.

Mr T laughed. “No, I was a little kid!”

Even if his parents hadn’t held contemporary music in deep disdain (Mr T’s father once said “if only Paul McCartney could sing”), they would not have taken a little boy to a rock festival.

A lecture on global warming, yes.

A music festival, no.

“My parents were born in 1970 so they didn’t go,” she said.

I guess Mr T looks old enough to be her grandfather? 🙂 Although everyone under 40 looks the same to me, so I guess I get it.

This young woman was lovely, though, and curious about our music experiences. She wanted to know how we had first gotten to like EW&F – she was there only because her friend had majored in music in college and wanted to see the band – and was a bit surprised when we explained that in our generation, almost everyone was listening to the same music because you just didn’t have access other than the radio.

“Look at them!” I said. “They are old school – they have the costumes that match and that great choreography!”

“I can’t see,” she answered.

“WHAT?” Danielle asked. Danielle is also a woman of a certain age.

Danielle grabbed the young woman’s hand and I put my hand on her shoulder and we steered her to the front of the crowd.

“You go to the front!” we told her. “You take up space! You are allowed to take up space! TAKE YOUR SPACE!”

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I play a lot of Patriarchy Chicken. Even when I didn’t know that it was a thing and that there was a name for it, I played it.

Patriarchy Chicken is when you don’t move out of the way of men who are walking toward you without paying attention, expecting the waters to part for them.

I will move if I am in the middle of a sidewalk and someone approaches me. I don’t own the entire sidewalk. My part is the part to my right and of course I will yield the left side.

I will always yield the space to my left.

I will not yield the space to my right.

Why should I?

In this culture – in the US, we walk on the right.

If a man is approaching me on my right and his left and his head is down and he’s not looking and he is just expecting everyone to move out of his way – I do not move.

I will stop and stand still rather than move.

I will let him run into me rather than move.

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Mr T and I argue about a specific application of Patriarchy Chicken. He agrees on moving to the right to accommodate approaching walkers on the sidewalk, but he also thinks we should be aware of who’s behind us.

Nope.

I do not have an obligation to the people behind me.

I do not have an obligation to be aware of what’s happening behind me and to adjust my space to make it easier for them.

My space is the right side of wherever.

I don’t have to be extra vigilant just in case someone behind me wants to get past me.

I get to take up space.

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We women are taught to make ourselves small.

We are taught that our bodies are not welcome. (At least, that’s how I interpret the long lines for the ladies while the men waltz in and our with not waiting.)

That we should not be at the front of the line.

That we should be anticipating the needs of those around us and putting those needs before ours.

That we do not get to take up space.

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I’m done with that.

I’m done with that for me and I’m done with that for other women.

Take your space. It’s yours. It’s ours.