Gillian Polack's Blog, page 144
October 20, 2012
gillpolack @ 2012-10-21T17:51:00
Today turns out to be not-so-good. Chronic illnesses flaring up and some interesting weather. Nothing exciting at all, except from within my body, when it's wildly exciting in quite the wrong ways. I've read a bit more for the Aurealis awards and I've thought more about the Big Theory stuff I was pondering at unholy hours this morning, but that's all. I was up half the night with the precursor pain for today, but the pain hadn't actually arrived, so I used the time to do big contextual thinking for my article rewrite, for I have an article to edit and the edits are the most interesting ones I've had in about two years and I'm having a ball. I had so much fun last night that I forgot the reason why I had to get out of bed and I forgot I'd just taken painkillers and that I couldn't really see straight.
Let me focus on the ball rather than on the aches.
I'm a media res person. I love launching into a tale and long introductions are not something I relish. This mostly works for fiction, because long introductions aren't currently terribly popular. For a book chapter where I'm only writing that chapter, I'm reasonably good at starting things simply but not in media res because I tell myself firmly "Need to give intellectual contexts otherwise readers will be lost." For the article I'm working on right now, on the other hand, I needed broad theoretical contexts as well as the ones for the specific study I'd done and I was fighting giving them. This is because I had problems with how the big theory interfaced with what I was doing. It was as if we didn't fit in the same universe.
What I did last night was go back to one of the great theorists in this area and work out why I didn't feel as if he and I belonged in the same universe (which is why I left him out entirely in the first place and the editor, being a wise editor, had pointed this out, as had one of the peer-reviewers). This was awesomely cool and fun and one of the many reasons I probably should get that academic job.
I have three more articles by the Great Author to re-check and I'll use them to revisit my understanding from last night and to work out how they fit with my study in a more detailed way. Then I get to give my work this intellectual framing and send it to the editor and hope I've nailed it. I love this moment, when my inner world grows because someone has found a place where I needed to think more.
I'd read all the right writers and understood what they were saying from their own perspective, but I hadn't quite made the connections with the sorts of narratives I've been examining recently. No-one has. That's the whole point. I get to interpret and make sense of a whole bunch of things in relation to each other so that readers of my article will have their 'aha' moments.
This is what the historian side of me does. This is why I never stopped being an historian, throughout all the oddities of the last twenty-five years. It's odd to move from teaching all these breakthroughs to writing them into academic articles, but it's exciting, too. Even on a high pain day, when the weather grudges me my contentment, it's exciting.
I adore writing fiction and I love readers of my fiction, but I love equally breaking new intellectual ground and the funfair excitement of sharing it.
Let me focus on the ball rather than on the aches.
I'm a media res person. I love launching into a tale and long introductions are not something I relish. This mostly works for fiction, because long introductions aren't currently terribly popular. For a book chapter where I'm only writing that chapter, I'm reasonably good at starting things simply but not in media res because I tell myself firmly "Need to give intellectual contexts otherwise readers will be lost." For the article I'm working on right now, on the other hand, I needed broad theoretical contexts as well as the ones for the specific study I'd done and I was fighting giving them. This is because I had problems with how the big theory interfaced with what I was doing. It was as if we didn't fit in the same universe.
What I did last night was go back to one of the great theorists in this area and work out why I didn't feel as if he and I belonged in the same universe (which is why I left him out entirely in the first place and the editor, being a wise editor, had pointed this out, as had one of the peer-reviewers). This was awesomely cool and fun and one of the many reasons I probably should get that academic job.
I have three more articles by the Great Author to re-check and I'll use them to revisit my understanding from last night and to work out how they fit with my study in a more detailed way. Then I get to give my work this intellectual framing and send it to the editor and hope I've nailed it. I love this moment, when my inner world grows because someone has found a place where I needed to think more.
I'd read all the right writers and understood what they were saying from their own perspective, but I hadn't quite made the connections with the sorts of narratives I've been examining recently. No-one has. That's the whole point. I get to interpret and make sense of a whole bunch of things in relation to each other so that readers of my article will have their 'aha' moments.
This is what the historian side of me does. This is why I never stopped being an historian, throughout all the oddities of the last twenty-five years. It's odd to move from teaching all these breakthroughs to writing them into academic articles, but it's exciting, too. Even on a high pain day, when the weather grudges me my contentment, it's exciting.
I adore writing fiction and I love readers of my fiction, but I love equally breaking new intellectual ground and the funfair excitement of sharing it.
gillpolack @ 2012-10-21T13:12:00
I'm just a bit tired today. This would be because I had a fine time yesterday and then did a bunch of work from 10 pm until midnight and then had insomnia for the work kept turning over in my head. I had all my best insights at 3 am and I wrote them down and I read them this morning and they're still useful (for a wonder). But I'm tired.
I'm also tired of people who imply "You have to think like me" in their articles. I intend to think like me. It's perverse of me, I know, to refuse to become scholar-Borg.
I'm also tired of people who imply "You have to think like me" in their articles. I intend to think like me. It's perverse of me, I know, to refuse to become scholar-Borg.
October 19, 2012
Elections 2012
My mile and a half walk (the shortcut a friend recommended) to the polling booth turned out to be a very pretty walk. Lots of gum trees.
There are no "Vote here" signs, but there is clear indication that the booths are down the path after the sign that says "Zed." I wanted 26 candidates, purely so that I could claim to have placed Zed alphabetically (for he is standing in my electorate) but there were only twenty candidates and there were better people to put last.
I always vote from the bottom up and there's always a ratbag who really deserves to go last. In the ACT system I don't have to number every space, but it makes me happy to make my wishes clear (even if it makes not a jot of difference to anyone but me), so I do.
One of the joys of Australian elections is the sausage sizzle. We've advanced to the stage where there is often a vegetarian alternative and there is rarely pork, and here there was also a fruit box for those who couldn't eat gluten. The teacher-in-charge said "Don't take a picture of me, take a picture of my beautiful children." She explained that the beautiful children all had special projects and that this was a fundraiser specifically for those projects.
The kids were enthusiastic and helpful and totally trying to one-up each other at every turn. The boy in the foreground was entirely chuffed when I said, "Of course I want my onion first" and turned to the others with a triumphant look. I chose a herb and garlic sausage. "Good choice" said the girl, serving. They're much nicer teenagers than I ever was.
Here is my purchase, just in case any of you aren't entirely certain what beautiful children sell at a sausage sizzle. It cost me $2.50.
As you can see, in the land of compulsory voting the polling area is tiny and cramped and uncomfortable. The lady in charge and I discussed taking a picture of the long, long queue and we decided it was far too difficult. You see, I was the entirety of that long, long queue. Instead, I took a picture of the official sending me in to vote and, next to her, the box in which our ballots are placed.
I hope you enjoyed my minimal election coverage. At least it included eucalypts!
As a reward for reaching the end of it, the first person who waves their hand wildly in the comments will get the three leaflets thrust upon me by the hordes of party volunteers (all five of them) 100 metres from the polling booth. The Labor ones were handed to me as I walked past, but the young man giving out the Liberal how-to-vote card raced after me and asked, plaintively, "Don't you want one of these, too?" I said, "That would be fair, wouldn't it?" And so someone can have paper from the two major parties, if they so desire. First in gets the leaflets. You don't have to be in Australia. In fact, I'd be very surprised if anyone in Australia wanted them at all.
gillpolack @ 2012-10-20T12:18:00
I'm a policeman in The Pirates of Penzance today. In my mind I keep thinking "I must go to vote." But I don't go. I keep doing other things. Like finding you this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o8JcIAV5wms
Yes, I'm going. I just need to do a couple more things...
Yes, I'm going. I just need to do a couple more things...
gillpolack @ 2012-10-19T20:43:00
I've been sarcastic and sad, in turns, all week. I think I might owe you all a picture, to make up.
A rural railway station (I love rural railway stations).
Not quite enough, is it? How about...
My moustache cup. I don't intend to develop a moustache in order to use it as it should be used. It's very cheering, however.
A rural railway station (I love rural railway stations).
Not quite enough, is it? How about...
My moustache cup. I don't intend to develop a moustache in order to use it as it should be used. It's very cheering, however.
October 18, 2012
gillpolack @ 2012-10-19T16:35:00
Poor, poor charity caller. He asked for "Mrs Polack." When I said "There is no Mrs Polack here," he apologised and said he must have the wrong number.
"Wait," I said. "You might want a Mrs Polack who lives somewhere else, or you might want Dr Polack, who lives here. Who did you actually want to speak to?"
"G. Polack," he read.
"Then you want Dr Polack." This totally, totally dumbfounded him. He lost track of what he was doing. I explained about not liking being called Mrs when I was not married and that really didn't help him at all. His total confusion saved him from polemic.
The charity was one I've supported before and might be one I support again, but the title thing was very fresh in my mind and the implications of being asked for as "Mrs" for the purpose of charity were just a bit in-my-face. So, no money.
When we'd worked out that I wasn't going to donate to his charity, I suggested that if he hadn't asked for "Mrs Polack" we might have got off to a much better start. Poor guy sounded very distressed. When I feel that strongly about something I tend to railroad a bit.
Still, the timing was hilarious.
And now I have to return to the rather urgent work he interrupted.
"Wait," I said. "You might want a Mrs Polack who lives somewhere else, or you might want Dr Polack, who lives here. Who did you actually want to speak to?"
"G. Polack," he read.
"Then you want Dr Polack." This totally, totally dumbfounded him. He lost track of what he was doing. I explained about not liking being called Mrs when I was not married and that really didn't help him at all. His total confusion saved him from polemic.
The charity was one I've supported before and might be one I support again, but the title thing was very fresh in my mind and the implications of being asked for as "Mrs" for the purpose of charity were just a bit in-my-face. So, no money.
When we'd worked out that I wasn't going to donate to his charity, I suggested that if he hadn't asked for "Mrs Polack" we might have got off to a much better start. Poor guy sounded very distressed. When I feel that strongly about something I tend to railroad a bit.
Still, the timing was hilarious.
And now I have to return to the rather urgent work he interrupted.
gillpolack @ 2012-10-19T12:00:00
It's Friday morning*. I've been catching up on my review reading. I do this every couple of days, for academic reviews abound and there a bunch I need to know about. A series of them this morning, though, have left me rather sorry about life and needing to vent.
The sixteenth century keeps throwing itself at me, even though it's not my century at all. I studied it as an undergraduate, and now I keep getting depressing reviews of depressing books. It seems that sixteenth century anti-Semitism isn't that different from Medieval anti-Semitism. Scholars had to defend all Jewish books (defined in some places apparently as 'all books owned by Jews') from being burned because they corrupt. I look at my library and think "Yep, Andrew Lang's fairy books definitely corrupt. Especially the Crimson Fairy Book." I would be too sarcastic to make a good defence of my library. Thank goodness there were Christians who were good at defending Jewish books, for otherwise we'd be even shorter on written heritage than we are.
Also, the Papal Inquisition mainly wanted to harry Protestants, blasphemers and witches, but took care of Jews as well (very thorough in its nastiness, the sixteenth century Inquisition - much more so than the early Inquisition), for we were Infidels and appalling. I don't mind being an Infidel (since in that context it basically means someone who is not Christian, which fits) and I myself am capable of being quite appalling, but I do object to my ancestors being harried. Again. More.
I do wonder what happened when an Inquisition representative met a Jewish witch? Did it implode his sad persecutorial brain? Anyhow, the depressing insight was that the Inquisition and the development of ghettos are far more closely linked than I had realised.
The most common offence that Jews were guilty of was employing Christians as servants. Presumably it perverted the natural order? (I do need to read this book.) Also, the Inquisition made requisitions of Jewish books because, as we know, Bob, they corrupted. Hebrew might have been considered the language of Heaven, but those who read using Hebrew script on Earth were dangerous.
One thing that has struck me in other contexts and does again is that the Early Church's attempt to de-Judaicise Easter by changing the way its date is calculated has led to an awful lot of persecution of Jews. Without the clear link between the festivals, popular explanations for the festivals have replaced the real ones, even in some quite learned circles. The misinterpretation of Passover has led to blood libel, more than once.
I want to sing the worm song, but not everyone hates us, and besides, worms aren't kosher. My next lot of books reviewed will be more cheerful. I've already taken a quick look, and they're all about the Middle Ages in France and England and so will be full of simple joy.
*Today is a day for the obvious
The sixteenth century keeps throwing itself at me, even though it's not my century at all. I studied it as an undergraduate, and now I keep getting depressing reviews of depressing books. It seems that sixteenth century anti-Semitism isn't that different from Medieval anti-Semitism. Scholars had to defend all Jewish books (defined in some places apparently as 'all books owned by Jews') from being burned because they corrupt. I look at my library and think "Yep, Andrew Lang's fairy books definitely corrupt. Especially the Crimson Fairy Book." I would be too sarcastic to make a good defence of my library. Thank goodness there were Christians who were good at defending Jewish books, for otherwise we'd be even shorter on written heritage than we are.
Also, the Papal Inquisition mainly wanted to harry Protestants, blasphemers and witches, but took care of Jews as well (very thorough in its nastiness, the sixteenth century Inquisition - much more so than the early Inquisition), for we were Infidels and appalling. I don't mind being an Infidel (since in that context it basically means someone who is not Christian, which fits) and I myself am capable of being quite appalling, but I do object to my ancestors being harried. Again. More.
I do wonder what happened when an Inquisition representative met a Jewish witch? Did it implode his sad persecutorial brain? Anyhow, the depressing insight was that the Inquisition and the development of ghettos are far more closely linked than I had realised.
The most common offence that Jews were guilty of was employing Christians as servants. Presumably it perverted the natural order? (I do need to read this book.) Also, the Inquisition made requisitions of Jewish books because, as we know, Bob, they corrupted. Hebrew might have been considered the language of Heaven, but those who read using Hebrew script on Earth were dangerous.
One thing that has struck me in other contexts and does again is that the Early Church's attempt to de-Judaicise Easter by changing the way its date is calculated has led to an awful lot of persecution of Jews. Without the clear link between the festivals, popular explanations for the festivals have replaced the real ones, even in some quite learned circles. The misinterpretation of Passover has led to blood libel, more than once.
I want to sing the worm song, but not everyone hates us, and besides, worms aren't kosher. My next lot of books reviewed will be more cheerful. I've already taken a quick look, and they're all about the Middle Ages in France and England and so will be full of simple joy.
*Today is a day for the obvious
October 17, 2012
gillpolack @ 2012-10-18T12:29:00
I've been thinking about
fjm
's post on titles. While I respect someone's choice of title (if they wish to be called Mrs, then that's what I shall call them - I would like to see a marital-staus-for-men title to match it, since it's not going to go away and the change fo names certainly affects some types of career) I thought it's about time to remind people about my own personal preferences.
I prefer being called 'Gillian' but not if the other party insists I call them by their title and family name. If you insist on my calling you 'Mr Flintstone,' then you may call me 'Dr Polack.'
I hate being called 'Ms' (because it's ugly to my ears, not because it's a poor idea), but I accept it when I need to. I have been known to explain that one of the chief reasons I actually submitted the thesis for my first doctorate (given the rather interesting conditions I was facing: glandular fever, a dying father, scholarship running out and no jobs of any variety in my field, anywhere) was to avoid being called Ms. I do actually select it above Mrs, Miss and Mr in places where my marital status is of no concern to the parties asking.
'Miss' is entirely irrelevant to my life and to the life of most adult women I know. I loved it in my early twenties, for it suited me then. I am no longer in my early twenties. I will use it to stir people who refuse to let me be called 'Dr Polack' and who refuse to use my first name, for I am of an age where 'Miss' looks downright peculiar when applied. Each time I give someone the option to call me 'Miss' they suddenly discover within themselves a capacity they had previously lacked and call me 'Dr.'
I don't care how respectful you think it is to call me 'Mrs Polack,' I do not answer to it. If I get a phone call asking for Mrs Polack, I assume it's for my mother and inform the caller that she changed her name when she remarried. If I'm in a pleasant mood, I offer to pass on a message. When they then say "I wanted the lady of the house" I will say that if they actually wanted the owner, they should say so. Mostly they then say "No, the lady of the house - I may have the name wrong." I've now taking to saying "I'm Dr Polack and the owner, so you don't want me. I hope I haven't wasted your time." I then say goodbye nicely and hang up.
The only other times I've been called 'Mrs' are by middle-aged made students who didn't want to call me 'Gillian' and couldn't face 'Dr.' I explain the situation gently and offer to call them 'Master' if they continue to call me 'Mrs.' Mostly this defuses the whole thing and they find it within themselves to call me 'Gillian.' Once it led to a massive sulk. "I was respecting you," he said. I couldn't see what was respectful about assigning me a false marital status and ignoring the title I had earned. I made a Hunting of the Snark joke and suggested he avoid calling me anything, if he couldn't call me 'Gillian' or 'Dr Polack' and this he did.
I hate being called 'Mr.' Some organisations see the 'Dr' and change it to 'Mr,' which is wrong in far too many ways. I will attempt to get them to fix their error and see the light of their ways. If they don't, I will ring them and explain that I am still female and could they please cancel my subscription.
So now you know.
ETA: I ought to qualify - all the above refers to me addresses as an individual. If a group of people are introduced on a panel or at a conference or in a meeting and the others are introduced by their titles and surnames, then if I am introduced as 'Gillian' I shall not be best pleased, especially as this only seems to happen when I'm the only woman in a group. If Fred is 'Professor Flintstone' and Barney is 'Dr Rubble' then I am "Dr Polack.' Otherwise I will assume a power differential and will act accordingly.
fjm
's post on titles. While I respect someone's choice of title (if they wish to be called Mrs, then that's what I shall call them - I would like to see a marital-staus-for-men title to match it, since it's not going to go away and the change fo names certainly affects some types of career) I thought it's about time to remind people about my own personal preferences.I prefer being called 'Gillian' but not if the other party insists I call them by their title and family name. If you insist on my calling you 'Mr Flintstone,' then you may call me 'Dr Polack.'
I hate being called 'Ms' (because it's ugly to my ears, not because it's a poor idea), but I accept it when I need to. I have been known to explain that one of the chief reasons I actually submitted the thesis for my first doctorate (given the rather interesting conditions I was facing: glandular fever, a dying father, scholarship running out and no jobs of any variety in my field, anywhere) was to avoid being called Ms. I do actually select it above Mrs, Miss and Mr in places where my marital status is of no concern to the parties asking.
'Miss' is entirely irrelevant to my life and to the life of most adult women I know. I loved it in my early twenties, for it suited me then. I am no longer in my early twenties. I will use it to stir people who refuse to let me be called 'Dr Polack' and who refuse to use my first name, for I am of an age where 'Miss' looks downright peculiar when applied. Each time I give someone the option to call me 'Miss' they suddenly discover within themselves a capacity they had previously lacked and call me 'Dr.'
I don't care how respectful you think it is to call me 'Mrs Polack,' I do not answer to it. If I get a phone call asking for Mrs Polack, I assume it's for my mother and inform the caller that she changed her name when she remarried. If I'm in a pleasant mood, I offer to pass on a message. When they then say "I wanted the lady of the house" I will say that if they actually wanted the owner, they should say so. Mostly they then say "No, the lady of the house - I may have the name wrong." I've now taking to saying "I'm Dr Polack and the owner, so you don't want me. I hope I haven't wasted your time." I then say goodbye nicely and hang up.
The only other times I've been called 'Mrs' are by middle-aged made students who didn't want to call me 'Gillian' and couldn't face 'Dr.' I explain the situation gently and offer to call them 'Master' if they continue to call me 'Mrs.' Mostly this defuses the whole thing and they find it within themselves to call me 'Gillian.' Once it led to a massive sulk. "I was respecting you," he said. I couldn't see what was respectful about assigning me a false marital status and ignoring the title I had earned. I made a Hunting of the Snark joke and suggested he avoid calling me anything, if he couldn't call me 'Gillian' or 'Dr Polack' and this he did.
I hate being called 'Mr.' Some organisations see the 'Dr' and change it to 'Mr,' which is wrong in far too many ways. I will attempt to get them to fix their error and see the light of their ways. If they don't, I will ring them and explain that I am still female and could they please cancel my subscription.
So now you know.
ETA: I ought to qualify - all the above refers to me addresses as an individual. If a group of people are introduced on a panel or at a conference or in a meeting and the others are introduced by their titles and surnames, then if I am introduced as 'Gillian' I shall not be best pleased, especially as this only seems to happen when I'm the only woman in a group. If Fred is 'Professor Flintstone' and Barney is 'Dr Rubble' then I am "Dr Polack.' Otherwise I will assume a power differential and will act accordingly.
gillpolack @ 2012-10-18T11:43:00
I'm finally on the mend. None of the cramps for hours, and I actually ate a normal lunch just now. This morning I still needed to sleep (and sleep and sleep and sleep) but my dreams were technicolour and fun rather than being technicolour and worrying.
One dream had a full orchestral score attached, which was unexpected. Both dreams were about my PhD - in the orchestral one, a friend had offered to help with proofreading and booked a theatre (for they intended to act it out) and a wildly big audience turned up and my friend had set it to music and reinterpreted it and got it all wrong. All my humour was turned to badly-delivered slapstick and my delicate rendition of cultural differences was reduced to someone singing "The Moon" in two languages. If any of you were actually intending to do that, it's too late, as I'm so close to final. So very close to final. This explains the dream.
I managed to read two books for Aurealis yesterday, but that's about all I did. I was not well. I keep on telling myself this, to explain the amount of work I now have to do today and tomorrow. I'm about 1/3 through the novels nominated for the award, now, which has to be worth something.
I'm confining myself to the home today in case I'm not as well as I think I am, and also to catch up a bit.
One dream had a full orchestral score attached, which was unexpected. Both dreams were about my PhD - in the orchestral one, a friend had offered to help with proofreading and booked a theatre (for they intended to act it out) and a wildly big audience turned up and my friend had set it to music and reinterpreted it and got it all wrong. All my humour was turned to badly-delivered slapstick and my delicate rendition of cultural differences was reduced to someone singing "The Moon" in two languages. If any of you were actually intending to do that, it's too late, as I'm so close to final. So very close to final. This explains the dream.
I managed to read two books for Aurealis yesterday, but that's about all I did. I was not well. I keep on telling myself this, to explain the amount of work I now have to do today and tomorrow. I'm about 1/3 through the novels nominated for the award, now, which has to be worth something.
I'm confining myself to the home today in case I'm not as well as I think I am, and also to catch up a bit.
October 16, 2012
gillpolack @ 2012-10-17T12:09:00
I'm not well today at all. I postponed everything outside the home and feel more than somewhat sorry for myself. Some years I get gastro illnesses in cycles that last for weeks. Every fifteen years or so only, but this is one of them.
It was not the right day for a charity organisation to ring saying "We work for Australia's great charity" without naming an organisation. I told them they had rung a workplace (which is true) and they said, blithely "This will only take a few minutes." This is when I could have said "I might put down the phone at any time and race for the bathroom, for I am ill." I didn't. I told them I was very busy and quoted my highest hourly rate at them. It makes me look like a stingy rich pig (I lack the riches for this, but I can pretend), but it means I got off the phone in time. So there. If they ring back, I'll ask them about a cure for the stomach troubles (which were getting better yesterday and I suspect are a combination of the earlier gastro and stress).
The more random calls I get from charities, the more annoyed I am. I only give where I know exactly the path of the money, for too often in my childhood I discovered big charity organisations that wanted to convert or demand the accepting of condescension as well as help. I try to donate to places that do the work without adding such baggage to it. I do not generally discuss it, for there's too much "Aren't I good - I donated to charity" currently, which is also just a bit condescending to those in need. One thing I truly hate is when someone who has received help at a time of need has to then thank an organisation effusively and publicly and prove they are the right sort of person. I know people who won't accept charity because of the humiliation factor that is often attached. I try very hard not to add to this.
If an organisation rings out of the blue and won't give a name and demands my time as if it's their right, well, I shall continue to react negatively. Although maybe next time I should get the telephone person to receive the principles of tzedakah back at me, so that I know we're talking the same language of giving.
It was not the right day for a charity organisation to ring saying "We work for Australia's great charity" without naming an organisation. I told them they had rung a workplace (which is true) and they said, blithely "This will only take a few minutes." This is when I could have said "I might put down the phone at any time and race for the bathroom, for I am ill." I didn't. I told them I was very busy and quoted my highest hourly rate at them. It makes me look like a stingy rich pig (I lack the riches for this, but I can pretend), but it means I got off the phone in time. So there. If they ring back, I'll ask them about a cure for the stomach troubles (which were getting better yesterday and I suspect are a combination of the earlier gastro and stress).
The more random calls I get from charities, the more annoyed I am. I only give where I know exactly the path of the money, for too often in my childhood I discovered big charity organisations that wanted to convert or demand the accepting of condescension as well as help. I try to donate to places that do the work without adding such baggage to it. I do not generally discuss it, for there's too much "Aren't I good - I donated to charity" currently, which is also just a bit condescending to those in need. One thing I truly hate is when someone who has received help at a time of need has to then thank an organisation effusively and publicly and prove they are the right sort of person. I know people who won't accept charity because of the humiliation factor that is often attached. I try very hard not to add to this.
If an organisation rings out of the blue and won't give a name and demands my time as if it's their right, well, I shall continue to react negatively. Although maybe next time I should get the telephone person to receive the principles of tzedakah back at me, so that I know we're talking the same language of giving.
