We were discussing gender and its downfalls in class and it spawned the following. When one says, "Why does it (an ambiguous person) have to be masculine?" one cannot mean it has to be also or equally feminine, or even that there has to be a sense of ambiguity. What has to happen is the removal of the "meter stick" (the Wittgensteinian standard meter in Paris). How to do this is problematic. One way might be to multiply the number of categories of genders since it seems that we cannot escape them. Humans process information in packets, and thus to reduce the amount of individual judgments, connections are made in the neural pathways of the brain that fire automatically when presented with the associated stimulus.

Perhaps a slackening of the neural-networking around an individual (the stimulus), as in a slackening of social expectations that link, say, Sally with "dress", and Sally with "wife", and Sally with "mother", etc. What is desirable is to not establish these neural-net pathways so strongly with a child. Expectations about the future is what leads to the strengthening of the connections between concepts (such as "dress" and "female anatomy") in the brain.

What has to be done then? It seems like when one tries to diminish the importance of gender differences one undermines the importance of the project itself.

Title: “I don’t really like olives.”

So it striking me how people just don't have it together lately. Everyone is pulling in different directions, but trying to maintain old norms, or break out of them.

Me personally, my philosophical grounding for life has been shook like a fine martini, and I'm left sucking on an olive skewered with a plastic sword. It's like I'm watching the bartended blend my life, but I'm totally fascinated with the ease and skill with which she does it, but I'm helpless to say "No, I didn't want it shaken." I've just got to accept this drink and watch the swirls of vodka and melted ice/water as they play with each other and pretend to mix, but in reality could never be more separate. I'm glazed over, and every time I try to ask for a drink straight, she just walks away, and my mouth falls open, empty...wanting another olive, and I don't even like olives. Sometimes sucking on something so bitter seems like the only thing to do when your bartender won't listen for your requests. I'm left sitting on my barstool, turning lazily from side to side, slowly, and being bemused by my helpless state. A coy, wise smile creeps across my lips, as my neighbor notices my laughter at my predicament. And I just go back to sucking on my now vacant plastic sword.

~Soc