Should Breasts Be An Open Source Project?

Will programmers even understand?

While I’m rather technologically challenged at times, I have developed a love for open source projects. I can usually find programs to do exactly what I want, instantly get it on my computer, and when I break it there’s tons of help in the form of wikis, forums, and devoted developers. Therefore, it was no wonder that the following blog title caught my attention: Open Source Boob Project.

That’s right: Open Source + boobs

Okay. My imagination scrambled. Could it be software for porn? For plastic surgeons? Did Boob stand for big object-oriented barnacles? Bran Oreos or beans?

Nope, boobs meant breasts. The mammary glands of mammals.

It seems that at the recent PenguiCon a group of people (I can’t figure out if they were all men) decided to ask attendees (not necessarily just women) if they could feel his or her breasts for the following purpose:

“It was an Open-Source Project, making breasts available to select folks. (Like any good project, you need access control, because there are loutish men and women who just Don’t Get It.) And we wanted a signal to let people know that they were okay with being asked politely…”

People were given buttons saying “Yes, you may” (feel my breasts) or “No, you may not” (feel my breasts). Accounts on exactly how these exchanges took place seem to vary wildly from simple, quick question sessions to groups of men descending on helpless breasts. Needless to say, there are a number of blogs and resulting comments that are dissecting the event with opinions ranging from stupid but harmless fun to no women will ever feel safe at a conference again.

I can’t tell you how I would have felt if these people had come up to me at a conference and asked to feel my breasts. It really would depend on my mood. The one point I’m getting stuck on is the people who have declared that it was a terrible question to ask in the first place. That I don’t agree with. Why can’t people ask any question they want? A question is a search for knowledge. Is some knowledge taboo to ask for?

Now that person you’re asking the question of doesn’t have to give you the answer you think you want to hear. You may ask me if you can feel my breasts anytime you want. I might say yes, no, none of your business, or this isn’t the appropriate time/place/audience to discuss/feel this topic. But I don’t think it is right that people censor their questions. Questions are good. I like to think questions bring truth, knowledge, and justice to the surface.

Now, there are others that feel such a question objectifies women. That men are reducing females to body parts with no minds. I have to admit I don’t really understand what objectifying women means. If it means that some man only thinks about me as a pair of breasts, pale thighs, or as a blond bimbo and not as an educated woman who likes sushi and French films…well…so what? I don’t care what he thinks about me. Why? Because frankly, it would never cross my mind that someone else is thinking about my breasts and ONLY my breasts. I don’t think of me as only my breasts. And the only thoughts that matter about me come from me (self-absorbed, I know). I’m probably naive and myopic for having that point of view, but well, this is my blog darnit. I definitely have to send this issue on to my sister though. She’ll have a field day (ranting at me) and actually understand the points about patriarchy.

My sister says women get objectified constantly-advertisements being a huge culprit-but everything she hates, I seem to just think as pretty, funny, or art. She would say I’ve objectified myself since my breasts are right here on this page. *sigh* Really, the breasts were just a good place to stick the mouse. I don’t take my breasts that seriously, I don’t take men or women staring at them seriously. I don’t really take anything seriously, which may be why I’m having difficulty relating to the people who are angry and disgusted at this situation. Many of the other bloggers speak of fear and horror.

kate_nepveu writes:

“If you are a stranger, especially a man, perhaps especially in a group of other strangers who are men, and you come up to me and say, “You’re very beautiful. I’d like to touch your breasts. Would you mind if I did?”:

You will put me in fear.

Because you could be someone who will go away quietly if I say no (which I will). You could be the exiled gay prince of Farlandia, cursed to wander this Earth looking for the key to his return that can only be revealed by touching the breast of a willing stranger, and who isn’t enjoying this at all. You could, in short, not be a danger to me.

But how am I supposed to know that?”

Suzanne Reisman writes:

“Personally, I’m not sure what I would do. I honestly think I would be frozen, shocked and horrified that some stranger would randomly approach me and ask to paw me. I’m sure I’d be embarrassed, creeped out, and feel like crying and/or puking. Yet this is what many women who attended PenguiCon were faced with during this year’s conference, which took place from April 18-20.”

I admit that I have never been in a situation that has caused me this type of fear. However, I’m very sure this fear does exist for other women and men, so please, don’t smack me, I’m not dissing this feeling at all. In reaction to the campaign groping at conferences (and groping in general seems to be a long term problem at these events), there is now a new open source project: Open Source Women Back Each Other Up Program.

While I don’t understand all the hubbub about the right to ask this question, the ethics versus the morals, or how it objectifies women, I can see that this was a bad idea. Was an open source and science fiction conference a good place to have a study about breasts? It might have been better at a gender roles or psychology conference. Announcements of the experiment should have been posted prior to the event, perhaps with legal disclaimers and such (because this is America and I just betcha, somewhere, a lawyer is getting all excited about this discussion (think lawsuit, not sex, people)).

So should breasts and the quest to demystify how they feel be an open source project? No. And the answer about why not is far simpler than morals, men and womens’ relationships with each others’ body parts, and the quest for knowledge.

I told the programmer there was an open source project about breasts while his fingers caressed the worn black keys of his laptop. His cha-cha typing stopped and he looked up at me, his brow slightly wrinkled.

He said, “how can you code a boob?”

Ahh, the straightforward simplicity of a programmer. Trust me, he doesn’t know what objectifying women is either.

The Programmer and Perfectionism

I read an article this morning about women and their quest for perfection. To me, this quest is unattainable (can we say Don Quixote but without the moral innocence) and frankly, why do we want to be perfect in all aspects of our lives? That and then the scientist part of me gets nitpicky:

1.  How do we measure perfection?

2.  What is the definition of perfection?

3.  How do we know when we’ve become perfect?

4.  What do we do when we achieve perfection? (fall over an die because there’s nothing more to do? get cryogenically frozen and put on display in a museum for posterity?)

Too much analysis for me.  While I think I understand the causes that launched today’s phenomenon of women attempting to be perfect (the perceived pressure for a pristine house with perfectly coordinated upholstery; gourmet yet home-cooked meals; smiling, happy, healthy, genius children; the right cars; the right neighborhood; a handsome, smart, sensitive spouse; an airbrushed body that competes with the models on magazine covers; an intellectually challenging, progressive work environment where you’re on the fast track for promotion every six months, and family and friends in the same stratosphere), I don’t have any desire to join the ranks of tired, unhappy, dissatisfied women striving for an ideal that someone else made up (of course maybe there are women who have achieved this supposed perfection and are therefore ecstatic-we just only ever hear of the people who aren’t quite making it).

I’m about as far from the above definition of perfect as one can be, and I have no interest in achieving it. I’m not in an up and coming neighborhood (but I adore my neighbors), I don’t have a car (I’d have to wash it and put gas in it), dinners are often soup and sandwiches, dishes get left in the sink over night (and ignored through the day), nothing in my house matches (because, frankly, I have zero fashion sense), I don’t have kids, well-adjusted or otherwise (and am on the receiving end of ‘you’re not getting any younger’ looks), I will never get a corner office unless I pay for it myself (since I’m self-employed), and even if I workout for two hours everyday and just eat lettuce, I’ll still have an ass. And I wouldn’t change any of this to have a ‘perfect life’. My house feels like home, my career goals are to be self-sufficient and to be able to pick and choose my clients, I can still fit into my jeans from college, and I love my friends and family though they’re strange, quirky, and sometimes just plain weird. In the end I’m happy with me, happy with where I am in my life, and can’t quite think how it can get any better than this.  (That does not mean I want this moment to last forever.  I have goals: I’d like to have more time to read books, I’d like to run a 5K a few minutes faster, I’d like to be part of an archaeological dig some place warm and exotic but not break any nails or sweat…)

Maybe why I’m able to deal with or ignore the pressure society/media/women put on women to be perfect is because I see the quest for perfectionism and its consequences numerous times a year. I am married to a programmer. Programmers can be absolutely obsessed with perfection. Learning the perfect language, finding the perfect framework, writing the perfect code, making it all perfectly clean and concise, having the perfect coding and testing environment on their computer(s)…and I could go on. In the programming facet of his life, my husband strives for perfection often-TO THE EXCLUSION OF ALL ELSE. Forget food, bathing, sleep, everything…about all he does is get up to use the bathroom.

To me this translates into: ‘If I try and have a perfect life, I won’t have any life to speak of‘.  Damn, that sucks.  And I promptly throw the idea of perfection out the window.

The other thing I’ve observed about the quest for perfection: IT JUST NEVER HAPPENS-the perfection part that is.  My husband has never found the perfect programming language, framework, working environment, etc. for a project (and I don’t think this is because he’s not smart).  Then he just gets upset.  Why is a project never perfect?  Well, because there are other people involved, budget constraints, time constraints, psycho clients with crazy request…the list goes on.  All the same factors will affect your ‘perfect life’; money, time, wacko children, family, and co-workers.  Let go, honey, you can’t control it all (and do you really want to?).

So while I may not be on a quest for perfection, how do I deal with a programmer who does desire perfection in at least one facet of his life?

Fact: I don’t understand his quest/obsession for programming nirvana, BUT I ACCEPT IT. I understood what he was like before I married him and had no delusions that he would change after we got married. So my advice to you, don’t try and be society’s vision of perfect (like we could define it any way) AND ALSO don’t expect your programmer to be perfect (in his programming or the rest of his life). You know how I listed the spouse as being handsome, smart and sensitive. Well, mine is handsome, smart in programming but not all that sensitive when his nose is pressed up against a monitor. But this supposed flaw doesn’t bring my life to a grinding halt. Programming is my husband’s life but my life is centered around a multitude of other things (and not my husband). He wants to spend Saturday programming, great! I’ll spend the day hiking, visiting friends, or pursuing my own work. My life doesn’t revolve around him nor does his revolve around me. We are companions, lovers, friends…not dependents. Sure, there are days where I try to persuade him out of his chair or nag at him to shave, and he’ll usually listen to me, but I also recognize when he is in his perfection mood and leave him alone.

Oh, and on the flipside, my husband doesn’t expect me to be ‘perfect’ either.  He point blank told me that he’ll never ever clean a toilet, even if his life depends on it, but he’s also never said anything to me when the bathrooms become tiny toxic waste pits…or his feet stick to the kitchen floor…or my outfit doesn’t match…or he’s out of underwear…or there are no clean glasses and if he wants dinner he better pick it up on his way home.

Now that’s love (and my definition of a perfect relationship).

Puke Kills Or What Not To Say In Bed

Programmers’ minds can be convoluted. Their thought process abstract. I think I’ve learned to follow most of my husband’s leaps from one topic to something seemingly unrelated without batting an eyelash after so many years of marriage.

But sometimes, he still makes my eyes cross and my brain hurt.

Last night as I snuggled into bed, my programmer came in to kiss me good night and wish me an early, happy Valentine’s Day. We cuddled, shared a few cute kisses…and then he said it:

“I almost threw up on you last night. “

Needless to say, I pulled back a little and blinked while he continued to natter on about whether this gross episode had been part of his dreams, bleary, late night code-induced reality, or something in between. While he’s mulling over this fuzzy zone of his memory, my freshly awakened hormones are involved in a thirty car pile-up. With a hazardous waste tractor trailer and a truck full of rabid chickens that pluck the eyeballs from the few survivors. Finally, a plane drops from the sky and squashes the few remaining feel good sparks flat as he muses about why he felt like throwing up on me.

I’m not a squeamish girl. I’ll actually do disgusting things that my husband won’t touch with a ten foot pole. But when you talk about vomit when we’d been working up to a session of cooing, moaning and toe-curling? Bleck. Yuck. Get away. All I could think about was changing the sheets because god only knew what he actually had done since he couldn’t remember anything but the desire to puke.

Romantic Tip #1 (I would have thought this tip was obvious, but now I feel it is worth reiterating.):

DO NOT. EVER. TELL YOUR LOVER YOU THINK YOU ARE GOING TO THROW UP ON THEM IN BED. NEVER EVER.

Now that’s the most important bit of Valentine’s Day advice. Ever.

Please, Don’t Creep Your Lover Out On Valentine’s Day

My programmer has a hard time remembering dates…anniversaries, major holidays, and birthdays. Lucky for him, I have this affliction also, so there are no tears or screaming if the appropriate cards, kisses, and gifts aren’t supplied right on time. I only remember my own birthday because I have a much younger sister who delights in telling me and everyone else how ancient I am and also how my life is over since I’m married. (She only continues to live because her quick death at my hands would upset my mother, something I really strive not to do. Plus, one day I figure my mother really will get fed up with my sister’s abominable cleaning skills and sell her to a desert sheik-a favorite threat in my family’s household. But this is a whole other story). Long and short of it, if it weren’t for my sister, and the super-saturation of marketing that retail stores do around a holiday, my husband and I would live in oblivion to such events.

When I do realize it is Valentine’s Day, I get all soft and gooey. I have a serious girly-girl fetish for all things pink and heart-shaped. But this doesn’t mean I want roses and a cardboard box of chocolates. Flowers die-this makes me sad. Bring me a live plant instead, say an African violet, a funky cactus, a palm tree. The symbology behind giving your lover something that dies in a week creeps me out. Does this mean you won’t love me when all the petals fall off the roses?

As for chocolates, don’t get me wrong, I like chocolate. But in this house, chocolate is a necessity, not an indulgence. I’ve already got bowls of high-end dark chocolate in just about every room. My programmer goes bonkers if he doesn’t have a couple pieces a day. So I’m certainly not going to feel special if you show up with a cheap box of drugstore milk chocolate. Give the love of your life something they don’t get everyday, no matter how much they like it. Try for something unusual, unique…something new.

Now let’s talk about lingerie. I LOVE lingerie. But I don’t want you buying it for me. Why? Because it isn’t going to fit. Let’s be frank. I don’t have a Victoria’s Secret model’s body and never will without major plastic surgery and leg extensions. I have difficulty buying myself silky little bits of naughty. I’ve got to try it on first. Case in point: there was this frilly, super-temptress corset I adored. Picked out my size and slinked back to the dressing room just knowing I was going to look awesome in it and my panting programmer was going to melt to the floor in a puddle of lust.

Got the corset on and was truly horrified. Jaw dropped to the floor. The corset should have been called the Magic Boob Evaporator. No boobage what so ever. I kept stuffing my hand down the front thinking I just needed to plump up the packages. Nope. Instead, it just flattened my hand. You would have thought this miraculous slimming garment would have also flatten my tummy.

That would be a no.

I’d been shaped into a green and black lace bedecked pyramid. Narrow at the top and bulging at the bottom. Not attractive. So if I can’t even pick out my own lingerie without spending hours in the store, you’re probably not going to be able to either. Oh, and another tip. If she’s not in the mood, and you present her with lingerie, it’s probably just going to piss her off more. The fight will start something like this: “All you ever think about is sex…“

However, men, feel free to buy sexy little things for yourself. My programmer once bought a very skimpy piece of underwear and then surprised me with a striptease. He’s still recovering from the rug burns…

Finally, let’s talk about jewelry. This one is hard (no puns or innuendos intended-get your mind out of the gutter people!). I like jewelry and don’t mind getting it for Valentine’s Day. But don’t bring me the necklace or earrings that have been hawked on TV since before Christmas. I’ll know you didn’t think about the gift; you let the marketers pick it out. And what if I don’t like diamonds or rubies? I’m a semi-precious stone kinda girl. Once again, make sure you cater to your significant other’s tastes. Don’t get her silver if she hates silver. This will just upset her more than if you didn’t get her any gift at all. It shows that you don’t pay attention to what she likes and dislikes. Also, if your girl (or guy) does like jewelry and you have her tastes down pat, don’t get her jewelry ever year. This is like scheduling sex for every third Saturday of the month. BORING. Gifts should be a surprise. A new experience. Most of all, they should show how much you care.

Pursued by a Lusty Programmer (aka Dating)

I mentioned in my first post, What is a Programmer, that dating a programmer is very different from cohabitating with a keyboard-caressing code maestro. Programmers typically possess terabytes of focus. And let me tell you, having that all-consuming mind directed at you is wonderful, ego-inflating, and possibly love-inducing. He/she pursues you, hangs on to your every word, sends gifts (and ten emails per day), and devotes days, nights, and weekends to spending time with you. Sure, they may be a little unfashionable (the first time I met my future husband he was wearing too-short, faded navy dockers his mom had bought him in middle school-the boy had been out of middle school for a good ten years), those gifts are sometimes a little strange (T-shirts touting computer companies and products), but they remember the things you like, research them, and then take you to a new French restaurant (your favorite kind of cuisine) and get those coveted Broadway tickets.

Programmers LISTEN - when they’re dating you.

However, on the most basic level of the programmer’s mind, you are a problem to be solved. They want you. They NEED you. Therefore they are going to allocate all their resources to getting you. Once they’ve acquired you (project objectives: complete), they’re moving on to the next problem.

They still love you. They still lust after you. The relationship has just shifted into the maintenance phase. The programmer only checks back when a bug is filed (i.e. you’re having a hissy fit about the dirty socks hanging off the stairway railing).

Don’t worry. If you decide to let your programmer catch you, I have tons of tips I’ll share later on how to live (and stay sane) with your programmer.

What is a Programmer?

If you’re in a long term relationship or married to a man or woman of this career species, you know what a programmer is-though you probably define the word programmer differently than your code-obsessed significant other. For all you lovelies in the first blush of lust or love with a programmer, let me enlighten you…because dating a programmer is far different than living with one day and night.

A programmer is a person who lives for developing and/or using software languages (think Fortran, C, C++, Java, PHP, and other acronyms you’ve heard from your spouse’s mouth but are quite sure you’ve never seen in Glamour or Men’s Fitness). If you want a formal definition of programmer, check out Wikipedia’s entry. The problem with dictionary definitions or the programmer’s own description of what they are and what they do is that most of us don’t know half of the other words they use-but geek speak is for another post.

I define a programmer by the character traits he or she has in spades (and I’ve been swimming in programmers for almost ten years now). Programmers are people who are extremely focused, solution-oriented, and opinionated. These are great qualities! Don’t get me wrong. My husband wouldn’t be the wonderful man he is if he didn’t possess these traits. But every trait has a tipping point and programmers seem to tip frequently. Focus becomes obsession. They won’t let a problem go until they solve it (to the exclusion of everything else, including food and sleep). And while they have opinions on the latest and greatest framework or scripting language, they probably don’t know anything about the President’s latest decision, what’s new at the theater, or that it’s Saturday and you’d really like to have a night on the town (because the last time you went out, together, for pure fun and touchy-feely in the back seat of the car was when you were dating).