Thanks to everyone who attended this morning’s ShEquality talk about predicting bias in decentralized environments.
I know some people who use GitHub’s Gist feature like a blog. I myself have only written one public Gist in my life. Here it is, first published on May 2, 2017:
Project Eva was for a worthy cause — evangelizing open source.
“The chief Gnostic error is to believe that the rest of the world can remain in Hell.”
“The world cannot survive half slave and half free.”
If the tone seems a little bombastic, bear in mind that I had recently left Christianity behind. Or to be more accurate, taken a several years hiatus. Considering that I once wrote a book on the topic, that was kind of a big step. It’s not surprising I looked to something else to fill the void.
Five years later, I believe that while FOSS is powerful both as a practice and an ideology, it is not the be-all and end-all of solutions, for three reasons:
I have written at length about numbers two and three, and experienced number one firsthand. That is not my point today. I am not sure that every system needs to be open source, or that the model translates across disciplines to areas such as engineering or the arts. I am not sure that it doesn’t.
I am also in a different place theologically than I was a few years ago. What strikes me now are the similarities between the communitarian principles and values of FOSS, and those of early Christians. I would love to start a coding organization for people of faith — but it’s going to have to wait until my body recovers. Right now it’s all I can do to work and cook myself meals.
I wrote an article last week about living with fibroids. Please read it if you get a chance. It amazes me that 26 million women live with this serious illness, yet many people don’t know what they are. My best friend, whom I’ve known for 11 years, had never heard of them.
Bleeding is getting worse every day. It’s worse than it was when I first wrote the article. Based on the supplies I’m consuming, I’m losing somewhere in the neighborhood of 75 ml of blood lost per day. For perspective, typical blood lost during a menstrual cycle is 60 ml per week. This means I am losing blood at 5-7X the normal rate. And I am losing this much every week.
This alone won’t kill me. Human body has to lose 2.5 liters of blood to die directly from blood loss (anemia could theoretically produce heart failure at an earlier stage, but we won’t worry about that). If I keep drinking fluids, resting, and taking iron supplements I’ll be able to last until surgery. Whether it’s in 2 weeks or in 6 months. I’ll even be able to keep working at my current job.
What concerns me is that the rate of blood loss has accelerated dramatically. I have experienced bleeding since Friday, April 22 of this year, on all but approximately 3 days. This past week has been by far the heaviest since Saturday, April 23 — the day after this “never-ending period” began.
So I ask myself, “what if it gets worse?”
Could I actually hemorrhage?
That can happen with miscarriages. How different is my condition?
What if I lose consciousness and never wake up? Could that happen?
Seems unlikely but not impossible. I’m still waiting for a referral to see a specialist. Realistically, I am ready for surgery — more ready than I was two weeks ago — but it will be several months at least before my life goes back to normal again. Had a Zoom call with my doctor this morning and he doesn’t have any clear idea how to stop or decrease the bleeding. We are just going to keep trying things while we wait for the procedure to get scheduled.
If I die before I wake, please know that the US health care system has some problems. But I am guessing you may already know that.
What else do you need to know?
An individual by the name of Spencer Gusick wants me to keep silent. According to the federal FBI definition, he is guilty of the crime of rape.
More at https://rosecheval.wordpress.
Gusick went to high school with the current U.S. Director of National Intelligence, Avril Haines. She looks a lot like me. It is possible they knew each other. It is also possible they have kept in touch.
Just over 14 years ago, on July 7, 2007, my life changed forever. What happened?
In the space of fifteen minutes, an unusual weather pattern took down three trees in the backyard of our home in Charlotte, North Carolina. One of them landed on a neighbor’s truck.
It seemed like every other summer thunderstorm. We didn’t even lose power. Until we ventured outside and saw the damage. Until we talked to the neighbors. Who were not happy, to say the least.
I generally avoid trying to befriend or even casually get to know my neighbors, and these people were the reason why. They seemed like the ultimate cool couple: the guy was a musician (although he worked for a bank) and his wife was a freelance photographer. She had accompanied me on my regular restaurant review column, to Meskerem, the new Ethiopian place in town. We had hung out a little bit socially and I was hoping they would get to be our new “couple friends,” in our neighborhood, instead of a 40-minute freeway drive away, like my in-laws and most of the book club that formed our core social group.
She was livid at the demise of her pickup truck.
“You should have taken better care of your trees!” she told me.
What could I say? They were alive and healthy. Until they weren’t.
One of the unique features of the property, and one of the reasons we’d bought it, was the patch of forest at the back of the lot, bordering on a stream and a right-of-way. In theory, we could have built an artists’ studio or a mother-in-law apartment out there. In practice, we were happy to just let the woods be woods.
That was the last time I talked to those neighbors. After that, they built a spite fence (homemade, out of chicken wire) to divide our properties. I was left to deal with the insurance claim situation — and the expense and logistics of removing the debris. My husband was a busy corporate lawyer. I managed all of our finances, all of the taxes, all of the household issues — from ascertaining that the copper wire had been stolen out of our exterior HVAC units and getting it replaced to putting pressure on the Kingsdown Mattress Company to fulfill their warranty after documenting that our California King pillowtop mattress had sagged measurably in the middle (the dreaded “taco” effect).
I did all of this cheerfully, until 7/7/7.
I used to read a lot into the significance of that date.
Now, not so much.
The angry neighbors. My feelings of isolation and abandonment. My husband’s affair.
I wanted to believe that there was a higher purpose in our separation — that everything happened for a reason.
If you are a recruiter or a prospective employer, this is the reason that my Career in Tech didn’t really get started until Age 32. Up until that time, I was freelancing and homemaking — expecting to be a full-time mom, announcement in the next family holiday newsletter.
Sometimes plans don’t go as expected. I always thought there was beauty, meaning, and purpose behind that. Maybe there still is. I don’t know. Maybe my husband was meant to be with the woman he left me for. She was beautiful. Jet black hair. Trim physique. Yale Law School grad. A coworker. Also married. She lured him with a Margaret Atwood novel. My command of Dan Simmons and William Gibson could not compete.
The affair started a few months earlier, while they were traveling in Alabama together, on business. The hotel accidentally sent them the “couples package” — roses, wine, and chocolates — even though they were were staying in separate rooms.
Ten or eleven years ago I would have told you that everything happens for a reason. That I was destined to be an entrepreneur. Or raise children with somebody else. Now I really don’t believe in destiny — or if I do, it’s not the type that you can read from a three-digit sequence.
Now I think we find our meaning and purpose elsewhere. Namely, in how we react.
The wisdom to know what we can change and what we can’t. The courage to act if we can.
That’s the only meaning that endures, after the acid bath of time has stripped away the rest. I think somebody made that into a poem. I think they called it the Desiderata.
Sexism is old news. Nothing special, right? We know what women are supposed to do. We are supposed to stick together. We’re supposed to have each other’s backs. But what happens when other women don’t do their part? What happens when our sisters betray us?
Some would accuse me of falling into the “Cool Girl Trap” because I have male friends. Huffington Post defines this conundrum as “the one who goes out of her way to say that she gets along with men better than women. The one who considers herself one of the guys.”
The problem with this rhetorical “trap” is that not all of us fall neatly into the gender binary. What is wrong with liking kickboxing, fast cars, and electric guitar? I consider myself genderfluid — which means I possess some stereotypically male traits as well as traits culturally accepted as female.
To be clear, I think sexism is less of a problem than racism. But it is still a huge problem. In 2021, women make 82 cents for every dollar that a man makes (NBC News). I work in the male-dominated tech industry, which brings unique challenges. One of these challenges is gender presentation.
I generally present as “femme,” or feminine. This makes me a target of partner jealousy — a situation that occurs when men’s wives or girlfriends act as gatekeepers, controlling access to women that they see as a threat.
On one occasion, I was trying to recruit a male programmer for my new company. I wanted to share a demo that contained proprietary information, but he insisted that his girlfriend attend too. The end result was that the demo didn’t happen.
Many men allow their significant others to police their relationships and forbid them from getting too close to other women. This arrangement is known colloquially as being under “lock and key.”
In theory, this should be no problem for women in business. We should simply connect with other women and kick ass.
Sort of like that Ghostbusters remake. Or something.
The problem is, separate but equal is not equal.
I had a prominent mentor and member of the tech investing community beg off from advising me because, he said, “Most of the entrepreneurs I work with are older dads, like me.”
COVID-19 and school closures have increased our isolation, as more women stay at home and take on increased responsibility for housework and childcare. “Cosmos with the Girls” and “Craft Night” become distant memories instead of something helping us get through our week.
Partner jealousy can affect both men and women. All that I can say is that I prefer to believe in a world where people trust each other — and see each other as people first, and sexual objects second or not at all. My personal belief is that if you can’t trust your partner, you shouldn’t be with them at all.
I do not say this lightly.
I lost my husband to infidelity more than a decade ago. He was tall and handsome, a Harvard Law grad, and a “catch” by anyone’s estimation. He always had more female friends than guy friends. Many of these were colleagues at his firm or friends from college. We planned backpacking trips in the Sierras with our mutual female friends. Another single female college friend, who is now married and a rabbi, flew to North Carolina one spring to visit us. These friendships were part of the tapestry of our community. I wouldn’t give them up for anything.
Rigid gender apartheid demarcations are a great way to isolate people and keep them from finding genuine common ground. Partner jealousy and mistrust of other women keeps women isolated and focused on the basic survival tasks of caring for themselves, their elders, their children, and in many cases their husbands or boyfriends. We are not taught to look beyond gender or to recognize each other’s basic humanity.
Trust, boundaries, and clear expectations are what form the ties that last. This holds true for business and creative partnerships as well as dating and romance. I want to envision a world where all people are free to interact with each other as equals.
“Divide and conquer” won’t work on women for much longer. We’re too smart to keep being fooled.
“Sinéad O’Connor has been admitted to the hospital, one week after her 17-year-old son was found dead. The “Nothing Compares 2 U” singer told fans on Thursday night that she was heading to hospital to receive help after sharing in a series of disturbing Twitter posts that she planned to take her own life…” Read full story on CNN
Not only is Sinead O’Connor an artist and a mother, she is an outspoken critic of misuse of power, institutionalized racism, and fascism. Take a moment to listen to her song:
I first heard “Black Boys on Mopeds” performed by Katrina, Nerissa, and Dave Nields at a live in-store performance in a Borders Bookstore in Farmington, Connecticut. It was an unforgettable moment. The Nields were a regional favorite and I had gone to a few of their concerts and stopped to talk with them and buy a CD. They knew me by sight. Not so with a megastar.
There is no way that this message will reach Sinead O’ Connor and I am saddened by that. But if I could, I would ask her to please stay in this world—in this universe—because we need artists just as much we need programmers and scientists. Sinead, yours has always been one of the loudest voices in the fight against authoritarian, fascist, and evil regimes.
Stay with us, if you possibly can.