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While I frequently pretend to be many things – yesterday, I spent half the day pretending to be a cat, and the whole day pretending to be a kindergarten teacher – I would never pretend to be an expert on anything. Except for hippocatamuses, because I just made them up a second ago.
They actually have the gatroentestinal tract of a cow, but that doesnt show up so much in the image.
Ah no, Simone de Beauvoir was the famous philosopher, Marge Bouvier is the maiden name of Homer Simpson’s wife…geez.
However, if someone were to ask me if I were a feminist, then I would meet that with an emphatic yes.
Mostly because, I think, if you’ve ever met or seen a woman and you liked her, how could you not be? I do believe it’s the negative labels that have later been attributed to feminism that have made people shy away it, as I did myself as a high school student. But at it’s essence, I think that very few people would say they weren’t a feminist – because all feminism is about, is gender equality.
I think there is a lot of problems with modern feminism, but today I only really want to talk about one. It’s easy to speculate on why the cause isn’t as attractive now as it once was: Perhaps it is unfortunate that it has a gendered name, and furthermore, a name that has been attached so regularly by critics to negative qualities.
Despite this, I believe that the message remains that feminists believe in gender equality. And to me (at this meeting, speaker, as the hippocatumus expert) is what feminism is.
I don’t think, that if people thought of feminism in this way, that many people would say that they weren’t feminists. Nearly all of the men I know (because I kick un-decent men out of my life) would agree that they believe in, and want gender equality. To me, the men who oppose feminism have more of an insecurity about their masculinity than they have a problem with women.
Recently, my housemate told me that he was at a game with a group of men that were friends of friends, and people he didn’t already particularly like. On this occasion, one of the men said ‘If we’re being honest, we all wish that women’s rights had never happened,’ – which to me, is just bizarre! I can only imagine what kind of insecurities you must have as a man if you wish that women were just sex toys who only came to and stayed with you because it was expected, and really, there were little other options.
Surely relationships and sex are much more enjoyable because the other person chose to be there with you, of their own free will and is capable of leaving at any point, but doesn’t? I think that men who really believe this need to look more about how they feel about themselves as a man, and less about how they feel about women’s rights. This is part of, but not all, of the reason why feminism has to be about diminishing gender stereotypes for both genders. Firstly, because that’s the right thing to do, and secondly, because the interplay between what’s expected of a ‘man’ and what’s expected of a ‘woman’ mean that each side, in conforming to what’s expected of them, means they have equal expectations of ‘oppositeness’ from their other gendered counterparts.
Anyway, I’ve digressed. The point is, outside of these people who mask their own insecurities about love, relationships and sex behind sexist statements, I think that most of the people I know are for gender equality, but not all, like my high school self, would call themselves feminists. And I think (apart from it being more difficult for a man to adopt this gendered term in the current political and media environment) part of this is because we’re shooting ourselves in the foot.
I was recently watching a documentary called ‘Miss Represented.’ It was a good watch, and I do recommend it with a few caveats – firstly, if you’re a woman, I don’t think much of the information is going to come as a surprise to you. And secondly, it really lost me when it started talking about violence in the media leading directly to violence in the community – I think that’s a very simple understatement, and they misrepresented some of the studies they mentioned. (And as I’ve blogged about before, if you’re on the side of the good guys, you’ve gotta tell the truth and nothing but the truth, or you risk your whole argument being discredited).
But the main problem I had is a problem that I see a lot of women, whether they identify as feminists or not, contributing in. And I’m certainly not pointing the finger, I do and have done it, myself. At two or three points in the movie, jokes were made that discredited the abilities of men and placed the abilities of women above them.
I know it’s something that usually slips under the radar, but I think turning men into objects of comedy does the cause of both women and men damage.
In one scene, a female member of Congress said that “We often joke in the bathroom that if all the men went home, we’d have this health bill through by the weekend.” (well, thats a slight paraphrase because it was over 24 hours ago that I watched the film) But in making jokes like this, and similar, we are removing all of the tenets upon which feminism is based. I know it’s just supposed to be funny, but in accepting jokes which place women above men, we are saying that it’s okay to make comments like this, in public, in the role as a public official and that they should be accepted as jokes. It also alienates men from joining the cause of gender equality, and makes it OK for men to make similar jokes with women at the butt because they have latitude to say “Well, women do it about men!”
Obviously, this woman didn’t think it would be okay for 1/2 of the country’s population to not be represented in an important debate, but the fact that this is the underlying message of a joke that is coming from someone who is part of the gender equality cause discredits her argument and I wouldn’t accept it as a joke had it been something that a man said.
Moreover, I believe it discourages not just young men, but young women from feeling strongly about gender equality. It means that the term ‘feminism’ is more easily associated with ‘bitchy’ and ‘man-hating’, which is what makes young women shy away from this kind of debate. Many young women who believe in social justice, but have not yet been exposed to feminist debates (see: my high school self) don’t want to be involved in a cause that discredits men or appears to have double standards that allow women to discredit men in the form of jokes but not the other way around. And unfortunately, feminism has been painted as such by it’s opponents, and comments like these just provide them fodder to do so, and evidence for their arguments.
Right towards the end, a similar comment was made that really jarred me, because it’s such a common phrase.
“A woman has to work twice as hard as a man to be thought of as half as good. Luckily this is not difficult.”
I fucking hate this phrase, and how common it is. It seems to have problems two fold.
A) That firstly, again, it discredits men and allows people to say that feminists want more than gender equality, that they are all extreme separatists that see men as the enemy.
B) Actually, yes. It is hard. I can’t see the point in joking that it isn’t.
I know exactly what kind of criticism I’m going to get from this post, so let me say: yes, I hate jokes and I never laugh. But I all seriousness, I find it very hard to critisise people because I don’t like to hurt people’s feelings, so to write this post has been exceedingly difficult. I’m not trying to make anyone feleing bad, or to say that I know better than anybody, I just think that we need to think about what we are really doing, when we, as feminists, discredit men.
All this longwinded talk is just trying to say, that in promoting feminism, we should be mindful that we are asking for removal of gender bias and stereotypes for all, and not allow ourselves talk (even as a joke) that discredits or forces stereotypes upon either gender.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: companies, kindergarten teaching, living in Tokyo, mismanagement, novelty hair ties
As a kindergarten teacher, I’m frequently asked to make the professional personal: How would you like YOUR own child to develop, what would you hope that your own child would learn at kindergarten, how would you protect these children from danger if they were your own.
“So….what you’re saying is…DON’T use real lava in the paper mache volcano?”
So lately I’ve been daydreaming a lot (not while watching the kids, I swear!) about how I would treat the personal if it were professional. Basically, how would I restructure my life is it were a company.
Firstly, I’d severely reprimand the CEO for mismanagement of funds and strip her of her responsibilities as CFO. These responsibilities would be handed over to someone who had several vicious Alsatians and an aversion to someone singing ‘Come on Eileen’ as a negotiation tactic.
I usually stop if they’re not convinced by the kickline, but sometimes I’ve gotten so into it I’ve forgotten why I started.
The CEO would also be reprimanded for seeing this as a valid negotiation tactic.
You spent HOW MUCH on novelty hair ties?
So while upper management is receiving strict retraining (not dissimilar to Cesar Milan’s click dog training)
Okay, okay! I promise no more using my credit card while intoxicated, just take off the leash!
Long suffering middle management would receive bonuses and a retroactive pay increase for years of supporting what can only be described as the CEOs ‘schemes’ and emotional outbursts.
The same thing we do every night Pinky, try to save money by not replacing the car where you have to get in and out by climbing through the boot.
Some sort of holiday benefits or ADO would have to be implemented. Overtime would be disallowed.
IT in particular would be rewarded for going over and above by teaching the CEO to use microwaves, stoves, VCRs, DVD players and taking the blame for upper management’s user errors.
They would also be allowed to retire after being kept on forced tenure for many years.
I would write a witty related caption here, but since I let IT go, I really don’t get this.
The position of Managing Director would remain vacant until someone with the skill equal to or greater than middle management was found. To this end,
HR would be rewarded for it’s excellent middle management hiring practices and savagely rebuked for frequently contravening company policy in hiring new Managing Directors.
“I don’t CARE if he says Catch 22 is one of his favourite books too, he is not suitable.”
A slap dash morally ambiguous marketing team would be called in to reinvent the company’s image and enact a big coverup campaign of the CEOs past mistakes the likes of which could have gotten Watergate to blow over.
“Okay, so, hear me out on this one: how about a ‘Scamper’ speech?’
Waste management would be left alone to do their thing, because nobody should mess with that shit.
Internet department would also be left as is, given that the internet is being used frequently and therefore I can only guess that they are doing their job.
Relocation close to one of the parent companies would be considered for the purposes of resource sharing, and the company would be asked to permanently select one country as a home base for it’s operations.
The Panda Acquisition Scheme team would be immediately disbanded.
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I dont usually use this blog to get information out to people I actually know, but I thought that I would just write a quick post to try and calm some of the fears that my decision to stay in Tokyo for the time being has created.
I have decided to stay in Tokyo because this is the place that I feel the most comfortable, psychologically speaking, and given the initial terror, drawn out fear and indescribable sadness for those in North, that is something that is a great drawcard for me. I have made a lot of friends here, and if I were to evacuated, given that I have no family in the country, I would most likely be by myself, a state that I have never really warmed too. Considering I also have the new nuance of being terrified of being on the train (who knew I could get MORE highly strung) staying where I am is very favourable to me right now.
The following is an email from my brother, a Physics PHD candidate, that should help dispel some of the fear around me staying in Tokyo.
“As I understand it, the troubled power plants are quite some distance to the north of Tokyo (a hundred km or more) (ED: They are around 250kms away) , you shouldn’t be within range of any ‘direct’ exposure, even if the containment systems fail.
The only way you are going to get exposed to significant radiation is if 2 things occur together.
(1) The containment systems fail at the plant (IE. a full meltdown)
(2) The prevailing winds are blowing toward Tokyo and carry some light radioactive particles in that direction (The winds in the region are primarily westerlies at this time of year, carrying the particles out into the pacific, but sometimes there are othres which would blow particles toward Tokyo.
If these 2 things do occur, yes, being inside will make a substantial difference, because what you are trying to do is avoid the small radioactive particles from passing into your body (ie, inhaling them, getting them on your skin, eating them etc). So what you would want to achieve is to get inside and seal yourself off from the outside as much as possible (turn off air conditioning if you can as well as that often draws in outside air).
These are all big “If’s” right now, its not even clear if a full meltdown or a breach is going to occur. These are just things to keep in mind if the situation deteriorates further towards a worst case scenario.
As of right now, you will not have been exposed to any significant radiation, and the risk that you will be is very low. I read that story about ‘increased radiation’ in Tokyo. Yes, there was an increase over the normal amount by about 10 fold, but even at the highest it was still only 1/20 of the radiation you would get from a single X-ray. To put it in perspective, you would have got a far higher dose of radiation on the flight to Japan than you did from the hour or so when the radiation levels in Tokyo were raised. (Being at higher altitude exposes you to significantly more radiation from cosmic rays, long distance flights is how most average people get their highest radiation doses).
The media makes such a mess of this because they report every little thing that happens without putting it in perspective, making hard to figure out what stories are meaningful and which aren’t.
A Nuclear Meltdown is a very serious event, but the distance from the plant, and your location relative to what are usually the prevailing weather conditions means that even in the worst case scenario the risk to you is very low.
You shouldn’t be too worried. Be alert, not alarmed, as Mr Howard would say (Ha!).
I am following the stories fairly closely, I’d let you know if I truly felt that you should get out of there. Is there still plenty of basic commodities (food, water etc) on the shelves in Tokyo?
Apparently 75% of Americans believe that their life is interesting enough to feature in a reality television show. At first glance, you’d think that 75% of Americans are really quite up themselves, but the more I think about it, the more I realise how life is crazy (Candy, baby).
I’m quite often late to work, I’m complaining that I’m tired, or that I’m feeling a little behind the eight ball. I think if you have an employee showing up late every week, it’s hard to go on believing that stuff is continuously happening. But it really is.
I know that I really do live an incredibly privileged, perfect life, but sometimes it really does seem ridiculous. And it never hurt anyone to have a little sook. So if I were a baseballer, here would be the stats of the last week in my life:
1. My beautiful, waist-high vintage pinstripe skirt unravels at the seam up to my waist while I’m on the train. I have to walk, pantless, through Melbourne Central Train station at peak hour to buy a new one so I can go to work.
As my skirt slowly unravels, I send a series of more desperate sounding text messages to my manager (fortunately, this work is on a volunteer basis):
”Do we have any safety pins at work?”
”Umm..do we have a sewing kit at work?”
“It was either going to be show up to work late or naked, and I chose late. You’ll thank me later.”
All my father had to say about this occurence was, “It pays to advertise.”
2. A very good friend of mine ends up in hospital incredibly unwell.
That’s all I have to say about that. She’s fantastic, and she’s not well, and it’s horrible.
3. While staying the night with said friend at the hospital, I pass out. When I come to, they spinal board me down to the emergency department with possible spinal injuries from the fall.
And then I need to pee. Which, they tell me, will take 5 people rolling me on and off a bed pan. I decide to hold it. For four hours, during which time, all I can do is stare at the ceiling. Ladies and Gentlemen, for my next invention, I plan a book that can be projected onto hospital rooves.
4. I meet (the day of aforementioned spinal boarding) and receive a lovely rejection text (four days later) from a boy
5. The weather is so that I concurrently have a sunburn, and my house floods.
6. My mother returns from New Zealand, complains about all the work I didn’t do around the house (where I don’t actually live, but have been dropping by to do my Grandma’s grocery shopping) and finds my ipod which was lost a year ago. She calls to ask me if she can keep it, the first time I have heard from her since she left, a month ago.
7. My phone gets stolen on the train.
8. I get a new phone and drop it on the road. Then a car hits it.
9. My shoe falls apart while I’m waiting for a train. Which isn’t coming, because all of the trains on my line have been suspended indefinitely for the rest of the evening.
If I then expand the time frame to two weeks, I can include:
10. My car billowing smoke, and then refusing to ever start again.
11. My final ever honours university exams
12. Finding out a boy from my work has thought, for the past six months, that I’ve been in love with him.
This is quite hilarious, really, as I do like to think of all the times we’ve talked where I’ve felt fine, and he’s felt incredibly awkward.
13. I see someone at a party who I used to be quite good friends with, and they don’t speak to me.
14. In the space of 14 days, I attend 8 parties. Go to one of three jobs (one of which they pay me for, two of which are volunteer) 10 times and drink 16 coffees. I go to the beach twice, attend concert orchestra twice, go to a protest and watch an entire season of Gossip Girl.
Tell me about your crazy weeks. What are the ridiculous things that happen to you?
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I have always thought that I was relatively good with dogs. I’ve always considered myself a “dog person.” And I don’t mean that I prefer dogs to cats (what a cheap false dichotomy!), I mean that I am a dogperson. In any given situation, its is almost always possible to predict with 100 per cent certainty, what I am going to do by asking yourself “What would a puppy do in this situation?” For instance, I was recently told that I need to, “Seriously rethink how friendly you are,” after I jumped out of a moving car to say hello to people because I was so excited that I saw someone I knew on the street in the middle of nowhere unexpectedly. And I know I’m not the only one. I have friend who, when delayed from something fun, dances about akin to Homer’s “We’re missing the chili cookoff” dance.
Speaking of the whole W(hat) W(ould) franchise, I really think that we could make our fortunes, and the greater community a better place, by selling WWBGD bracelets. WWBGD obviously standing for What Would Bear Grylls do. Although, I would politely ask you to remove these bracelets when naming your children (for your own safety).
Anyway, I have always been relatively able to get on well with dogs (within reason. I’m looking at you, primary school best friend’s dog who bit me on the thumb unprovoked. You: Warm, hairy, friendly looking and cute. Likes: affection. Me: Has opposable thumbs for purpose of patting… What went wrong?), to the extent that I used to work in a Kennel and Cattery as my first job. (Incidentally, how hard is it to worm a cat against it’s will? Furthermore, how hard is it to convince a cat that it should will to be wormed?)
And we used to have the BEST DOG EVER. Now, I know everybody says that about their dog, but my dog was like the Sea Biscuit of house pets. He was great at all the usual dog stuff (accounting, calculus, documentary film making. His grammar was average though, having to start every word with an “R” and all) as well as being an excellent referee in sockbacksetball (a game where you sticky tape a wastepaper basket to each players back, and the aim is to get a pair of rolled up socks in the other person’s bin. If you’ve ever wondered what your housemate/partner might look like if they were to suddenly have to move around the world using only the movements available to crustaceans, this might give you some idea. Also, it’s pretty fun. While we’re on the subject of sockbacksetball and dogs, they are both fantastic ways to tell if you should be dating someone. First of all, ask yourself, “Can I imagine this person walking a puppy?” Secondly, “Would this person play sockbacksetball with me?” For two reasons, this is an excellent question. 1. Are they fun? 2. You may as well be single if they won’t play sockbacksetball because it’s a two player game, so where the advantage in having a non-sockbacksetball playing boyfriend?
Anyway, it’s all a bit, “I’m a puppy, you’re a puppy, we’re all in this together plus I’m not even covered in fur so do what I say or I’ll do that to you as well.”
But not today. I have been asked to look after two dogs while a friend of mine is away. One is fantastic, and the other is SATAN.
I will document the movements of the doggy-antichrist in the desperate phonecalls I made to my dog expert, my Father.
Phone Call #1:
“Hey Vicki, What’s up?” (This is actually not the very first line of the conversation. My father answers every single phone call with his full name. Every single time. Every time. You might be thinking, “Oh nah, he probably forgot once.” Then you’d be thinking wrong. Every time. Got it? Even though my name comes up on the caller id.)
“Oh nothing much.”
“How was last night?”
“Oh good. We went out to Taco Bills for Mexican food for my friend’s birthday.”
“How was it?”
“Well, you know how Mum always told me not to eat anything bigger than my head?”
“Well, she never said anything about drinking…”
“They had fishbowl Margheritas! ”
“The size of your head?”
“How do you know that?”
“Well, we played, “How big is your head?” at the dinner table and we measured everyone’s heads.”
“That sounds fun.”
“Yeah, there’s even a theme song. It’s “How Big Is Your Head,” to the tune of “How Deep is Your Love.”
<< Astute readers may notice that this post was meant to be about a weirdly nasty dog and that so far everything seems to be going fine. I’m just trying to lull you all into the same sense of security I was lulled into, heady with, well, heads. Also, you’re not that astute because this dog isn’t weirdly nasty, it’s SATAN.>>
“How’s the dog?”
“A bit naughty. He keeps going into the places where he’s not meant to go, and I find it really hard to get him to go into the places where he’s meant to go, because he knows I’m going to shut him in there and makes me go in first.”
“Try walking in there with him and then quickly running out.”
Phone call #2
“HELP!!! Now every time I walk somewhere, the dog bites me on the Achilles!”
(Ever the pragmatist) “Stop walking around then.”
“Okay, I’ll try that.”
Phone call #3
“EVERY TIME I STAND STILL THE DOG TRIES TO PEE ON ME!!”
“Take him outside, maybe he needs to pee.”
“The door’s open! I don’t want to walk there because he’ll bite me again.”
“Try going outside with him.”
Phone call #4
Whispering: “I’m calling you from the house landline.”
“Because the dog has my phone, and he’s taken it outside in the rain and he’s playing with it, by throwing it up in the air and dropping it in the wet grass.”
“Go get it!”
Yes, that’s right folks. The dog STOLE my means of getting access to help with him while I was just about to take a shower, meaning that I had to run out into the backyard in my underwear and chase him around in the rain in full view of the neighbours.
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I’ve always had a soft spot for people who go on believing things long after everybody else has started thinking they’re mad. For those of you who have seen ‘Under the Tuscan Sun,’ you might remember them talking about the Semmering Pass, that was built before there were powerful enough steam trains to complete the journey, with the belief that one would obviously be built.
My father also displays this belief in the text message conversations that we have.
Me: “Do you think it will be possible for me to go to uni in Bundoora from Sorrento? How long would it take?”
Dad: “That would depend on how you’re planning to do it.”
Me: “Well, this is a plan for two years in the future.”
Dad: “Check the hovercraft timetable closer to the date.”
I’m COMING bitches!! You BETTER believe it, Papa Vicki.
Whenever I’m unhappy, I read archaeology and international relations magazines. And also The Australian Book Review.
It’s just one of those things.
Actually, people always ask me what made me want to be an archaeologist (which I am not yet, but I will be. I AM going to study a Graduate Diploma in Archaeology upon my triumphant return from Japan. This is the only thing of which I am certain.) Most people I know who are interested in Ancient History tend to credit some amazingly cool adventurous story of either Indiana Jones or Cairo Jim. I have basically tried to keep the beginnings of my obsession with Ancient Egypt under wraps as long as possible. When I was a child I wanted to be a anthropologist because of the unbelievably knowledgable and cool Daniel Jackson from Stargate SG-1. I try not to tell that story too much. CRAP! Where is the delete key?!
I’m sorry, did you call me? I couldn’t hear you over all the loads of stuff that I know.
Sometimes people ask me why I don’t have a boyfriend. I can only suggest that it’s either because of this embarrassing truth, or that I squeeze from the top of the toothpaste tube. Either/or.
What the fuck? How tight is your toothpaste budget?
But, since I have made this embarrassing admission, before turning to the topic I attempted to start earlier, I would like to take a few moments to defend my choice of childhood love. He wasn’t my first crush (most probably Hawkeye from M*A*S*H, what a dude) nor did he unconsciously guide my later dating choices (there was a while there that I was only romantically interested in people who bore a resemblance to Neil Finn. EXCEPT for Neil Finn.)
First of all, Daniel Jackson is a total dude. Sure, he doesn’t have the sex appeal of Richard Dean Anderson, nor is he the token girl. He didn’t have the effortless cool of Teal’c, which comes from being of an alien race.
He just knows a whole lot of shit. Like, a whole lot. They’d find something and be all “WHAT DOES IT MEAN?!?” and he’d tell them. It’d be kind of like:
Rest of SG1: Please Daniel, we need some exposition in the plot and we’re not sure how else to explain the facts to viewers.
Daniel Jackson (DJ): Don’t worry, I got this.
And he was really quite diplomatic and peaceful. Jack always just wanted to kill loads of people, but Daniel wasn’t cool with that. No way!
Did you say, “Kill loads of people?” “No, no, I said, put twill on that Beagle.” “That’s okay then, I’ll put my serious face away for now.”
And he knew so much stuff about the Goa’uld even though they were an alien race. Incidentally, what a cool alien race they were. They had genetic memory implanted in them for the entirety of what their species knew. Kind of like:
You: Hey Grandma, do you want me to show you how to operate your iPad?
Glassy-eyed Grandma : No…I’m already genetically programmed to know how.
Now step into my sarcophagus, dear.
His only downside was that he wore a REALLY STUPID FUCKING HAT!! Everyone else in the team wore those ordinary baseball caps, but no, Daniel Jackson had to wear a stupid legionnaires hat! ARGH, I HATE THAT DAMN HAT.
Boy, do I feel silly. And I don’t think you were telling the truth about that Beagle thing.
And then there was this episode I LOVED with Hathor (the Egyptian fertility god, but in this case, a Goa’uld) and she had this purple breath that made all the men in the base fall in love with her. She’s basically this amazing Sex Goddess, and who did she choose as the most genetically fit to carry on her Goa’uld children? What sort of man would be fit for a sexy goddess who could have any man she wanted?
Yeah, that’s right. Fucking Daniel Jackson. Boy, was I jealous.
Don’t forget that time I ascended and became omniscient!
Anyway, what the hell was I talking about? Oh yeah – people who belief stuff against the odds.
In my most recent reading of the Australian magazine ‘Archaeological Diggings’ I came across one of these amazing belief stories that, according to the text, is ignored even by the museum that displays the findings. A quick search of google found it was a difficult topic to research, but I have managed to glean what appears to be the correct story (however, I am open to corrections.)
(Once upon a time) There was an Israeli archaeologist named Yigael Yadin who headed an excavation of the biblical city of Hazor, following his military career. The story of Hazor is that it is one the Canaanite towns that Joshua (following the Exodus from Egypt) went to and demanded ownership of. When they refused, he quite reasonably burnt the entire city to the ground. (So the story goes.)
So during this dig of Hazor led by Yadin, in the 1950s, a basalt lion was uncovered.
40 years of wandering in the desert, and nothin’ but stone cat.
After discovering this stone cat, Yadin was convinced that it was part of a set of two. He wrote this in his research reports on the area and continued to dig for another 4 expeditions searching for it. He consistently claimed, throughout his career, that there was another stone lion identical to this one, buried nearby.
After 4 expeditions, nothing was found and the dig site was closed. The idea that there was a second stone lion still waiting to be discovered was abandoned.
Except by Yadin, who, based on his knowledge of the area and his examination of the one lion, maintained that there there was no other reasonable explanation except that there were two cats.
“You can haz second stone lion to save your reputation?” “Shut up.”
I can’t find much (any) information on how Yadin took this abandonment of his speculation. I know how I would have taken it.
Vicki-Yadin would have wasted away slowly, my face becoming similarly ashen and grey as my eyes sank into my hollow face. I would spew gravel from my own mouth. I’d eat, sleep, live and love dead, cold basalt. I’d see that cat in my dreams, it’s little stone mouth turned up in a smirk, amused at it’s own unattainability.
“I know there’s another lion, I just know it!” I’d say, my eyes glassy and distant. I’d verbally chase my tale, telling anyone who came near the reasons why it must be so. I would drive myself crazy searching for another explanation, dreaming of letting it go. I’d send myself to financial ruin looking for this second fucking lion. I would beg the people who knew me to make me let it go, tie me down and flush the stone from my veins.
When I died, they’d find my body replaced by a silent, smirking sphinx-like stone lion with a smiling tomb-like mouth, covered in my tattered clothes that had no answers to give.
It reminds me of a quote from a book named The Stone Carvers, from Walter Allward, who found the stone for, and sculpted the Vimy Memorial to the lost Canadian soldiers in France: “I’ve been eating and sleeping stone for so long it’s become an obsession with me. And, incidentally, a nightmare.”
Yadin went on to become a politician. I don’t know how he did. I don’t know how he managed to walk away from a hole in the ground.
But a dog that sits and waits for a master that never comes is not a story. Wasted obsession is never where the best stories end.
In 1990, Yadin’s former student A Ben-Tor went back to the site to begin another dig.
Six years after Yadin’s death in 1984, a second basalt lion was pulled from the ground in Hazor.