This is the best blog entry ever. Even if The Bloggess, amazing though she be, is not your cup of strange taxidermy, you should read this entry. It is, without hyperbole the most important message you will read in your lifetime of “most important message you will read today/this week/this month/this year”s. It’s long, it’s rambling, but there’s not a word wasted. Okay, some of them are only there for the laughs and giggles, but important should be sprinkled with laughs and giggles more often.
Now go read it, I’m serious. Read it!
Originally posted on The Bloggess:
The greatest gift in the world is to grant a kindness to another. The amazing thing though is that the aforementioned gift is one you give yourself. It may be a small thing. Leaving a flower for the tired woman at the coffee shop. Telling a stranger that they have such kind eyes. Listening happily to a story told by an elderly friend or relative who has told you the same story a million times. Nodding in solidarity even when you don’t completely understand. Letting a friend or a stranger yell hurtful things at you because you hope it will help them let go of a small part of that anger…that it will open up room in them for the greater things that they deserve.
This is the way the world goes. Small, mean acts affect the next person who in turn amplify that anger or sadness and take it out on others who suffer…
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I’m a rich, white, cis- male in a homogenous affluent community in one of the easiest countries to live in in the world. I’m not a linguist, just an opinionated exaggerateur, in case the blog’s title and tagline doesn’t make that sufficiently clear. I am however 100% correct in calling my idea the perfect solution to the issue of gendered pronouns, not just in English, but in any language with gendered pronouns. It’s time to abandon the singular they and zhe, xe or whatever your preferred alternative is. Let’s instead
just ungender he and she.
Gendered pronouns are problematic. Historical and current reactionary use mirrors old fashioned assumptions about the sex and gender of actors, with generic references to doctors, engineers or dock workers always using he, nurses and secretaries always being she, and roles with no stereotypical gender defaulting to male. Not the worst feature of a sexist society, but an obvious one, with subtle influence on our perception of the world, as well as being a symptom of the perception of the writer.
Less obvious to many is that their use, not just the overuse of he, cements the importance of the binary gender world view, which, although a natural result of the dominance of binary sex, leads to an exaggerated, harmful and unnecessary polarisation of the “feminine” and “masculine” in our various cultures. (If criticism of the binary gender “paradigm” seems silly to you, I recommend this video: On Gender.)
And in addition to these problems with bias in gendered pronoun choice in generic references (An engineer should be aware of her biases) there’s the problem of their use for specific references (Alex forgot his/her boots). Partly this is the same issue as the one described in the previous paragraph, and partially this is about individuals not wanting to be referred to by the wrong gender or by gender at all.
Use of gender-neutral pronouns are often promoted to solve some of these problems, but not all. Several failed drafts of this paragraph have showed me that this limitation is almost entirely due to people having a more limited goal in mind though. Expand the use of any suggested gender-neutral personal pronoun to replace he and she entirely and you’ve solved all of the problems, but you’ve also increased the resistance against acceptance significantly and you’ve made a system with complete lack of backwards compatibility. There is only one solution to this: Ungender the current pronouns.
Hillary Clinton announced his running mate for the 2016 presidential election today. Cheng Bai is a virtual unknown, but Clinton believes she will be a valuable asset in his run for the presidency.
Sure it will seem clunky for a while, but many languages manage without gendered pronouns and the benefits are many.
- No new words need to be introduced. The fact that it’s a completely new word is a significant barrier to gender neutral pronouns such as zhe.
- Suggested system works for all languages with gendered pronouns.
- Old or reactionary writings are 100% compatible with the system, even if the use of a strict 1:1 relationship between biological sex and linguistic gender will seem a bit quaint in 100 years time, when everyone does it the new way.
- In a transition period you can reverse the traditional use completely and overuse she to your heart’s content, which will also seem quaint to people 100 years from now, but will make your intentions obvious and help acclimatise your readers to the concept.
- The pronouns can always be different in a two person scenario, regardless of the genders involved. Not the most important feature in the world, but it makes he and she more useful than they are today.
- No need to figure out the actual or preferred gender of a person you write about. Now this might be a barrier if it’s important for you to take that person’s preferences into account, an admirable priority, but I think you should weigh that against how many reactionary malety males you could annoy by randomly referring to half of them as she. And for those of you with a preferred pronoun, won’t you please think of the children?!
Now read the fake quote about Hillary Clinton above. Once you’ve gotten over your brain’s insistence that referring to Hillary as “he” is wrong, what gender is Cheng Bai? And should it matter?
Dreams are weird. There are lots of hypotheses on their purpose or lack of such, but they’re hard to test, and some are so seductive they stay in public consciousness despite being stupid. (Prophetic dreams anyone?) But it’s not just the act of dreaming that’s weird, the contents of dreams are weird as well, and they show first hand some of the mind’s power of rationalization.
Dreams come in various levels of weirdness, but if you try writing some of it down immediately after dreaming, you’ll find a lot more discontinuities than if you recall them the next day. Evidence of the mind’s powerful ability to edit your memories to make sense of them, a power that’s also in play during the dreaming, helped by the “what the fuck!”-part of your brain being dampened. Or maybe everyone else dreams clear and sensible narratives and I’m just generalizing based on the weird stuff I dream. Like the following dream I had last night.
So I have cold (that’s not a part of the dream, I’m just following up the theoretical lead in to the dream recital with a personal lead in) and feeling crappy and sorry for myself I fall asleep on the couch in the evening and I wake up around 10 pm with a dry mouth, a sore neck from the messed up position I’ve slept in, and the memory of the tail end of a dream where I’m trying to scrape some unpleasantly sticky food gunk off my gums. And so I head off to bed and fortunately I fall asleep easily, despite my long nap.
But I wake up at 3:33 from a weird dream.
I’m in some sort of game or Ninja academy or fantasy novel, and the dream has been going on for a while, but that’s how far back I remembered when I woke up. I’m looking at objects on a dark wood bookshelf. And as I realize an invading search party is spreading through the building I pick one of the hardwood stair finials lying on the shelf for a weapon. As one of the people enter the room I hide behind the door and smack him in the head with the finial as he enters.
It’s super inefficient, so I have to run. By running and jumping down stairs I escape past half a dozen people not trying all that hard to catch me. My escape is nearly thwarted though, when my co-conspirator locks the door behind her/him. I think with the motivation «If they catch him/her, that’ll be more time for me to get away», but the pursuit is so slow I escape anyway. Oh, and I’m sure at this point in the dream there’s two of us, and we’re Bart and Lisa Simpson. Although I’m not confident if I’m Lisa or Bart or an external observer.
Whoever is first reaches a fence and pulls the same «lock the gate behind me» stunt, and I curse as the other person with me twists the locking knob right off forcing us to climb the fence instead. Yeah, there’s three of us now, and I think the two others are my brothers, that’s definitely who they are in a later scene.
Climbing the fence is easy just up the embankment next to the gate where the fence is just waist high. And right past the fence we engage in some creative running in loops on an incline to gain speed and distance on our two pursuers, who’re women, but if I had an idea of who they were at the time, that memory is gone now.
We exit stage left (or stage right actually, if it were an actual stage) and approach the brook that ran past my childhood home, now following a path/road that my uncle has made with a harrow straight through his property and onto our neighbour’s. Right by the brook though my youngest brother, and the two women, fall into a sink hole that suddenly opens up in the path.
I tell my other brother to grab a branch or something and pull us out, because despite not having fallen into the hole I’m now in it. Our befuddled female pursuers are left in the hole and then edited out of the narrative completely as my brothers and I, following the harrow path, are now running away from home and I wonder if my instigating brother has really thought this through, and what mom and dad will think.
I’m not worrying about the fact that we’re all our adult selves or that my mom died several years ago or that what was all summery and green a couple scenes ago is now wintery all of a sudden. Or that the next couple of scenes are utterly bizarre.
We pass one neighbour’s fields and approach the cluster of houses belonging to the next farm over and walk past a greenhouse that definitely doesn’t exist out in the real world. As we pass it I’m thinking «so that’s the ‘textiles out of a greenhouse’ store I’ve been hearing about». And I think maybe we should see if there are some blankets in case we don’t figure out a place to spend the night. Only the guy who is outside moving stuff around seems to be packing up rather than opening the «store», even if one of my brothers thinks it’s the other way round.
I hate asking strangers for information but for a moment it seems my brother is going to, but then he doesn’t and I realize there are opening hours posted on the side of the greenhouse and I move around and further away from the building to see them properly, only I slide down a long hill in the snow. In hindsight this hill slants the opposite way of the terrain I’m certain we were just in, but there’s weirder to come so I won’t dwell on that. It’s a long hill and loose snow on slippery snow, and I cause a bit of an avalanche on the way down, but from the bottom it’s easy to read the numbers.
They don’t make sense at first but eventually I figure out what they say, possibly because the numbers changed, and I realize they close at 16 on Saturdays and it’s now just past. So I signal this to my brother using my hands, not wanting to shout or maybe it’s too far to shout, and start climbing back up the hill, which is now full of people and not even a hill for very long.
There are some conversations going on as I climb, about possible places to sleep suggested by the neighbour kids, who’re of course also grown up, but that’s not as interesting as how the snowy hill we’re climbing turns into the seatback of a hill-sized leather recliner without it registering as odd with anyone. As I, and a couple other climbers, reach the last, vertical, part of the leather seatback, our weight causes it to tilt forwards, which of course is backwards for us and lands us just at the edge of the giant glass table that goes with the chair. And that’s when I woke up. At 3:33. And wrote down as much detail as I remember.
Drukner en del rasjonell vurdering av Trygdekontorpornodebatten i inntrykket enkelte har av feminister generelt og Kari Jaquesson spesielt? Her er et leserbrev fra en parallell dimensjon der kjønnsrollene for akkurat dette innslaget er reversert, men det meste annet er det samme. Vel, kanskje bortsett fra at den fornærmede er bedre til å skrive.
For noen uker siden viste NRK i sitt program NAV.no utdrag fra en pornofilm laget spesielt for dem i anledning at temaet for sendingen skulle være porno. Dette avstedkom adskillig kritikk, men programleder Tanya Sprudelwasser valgte av en eller annen grunn, kanskje at jeg som mann er en ensom svale blant pornomotstandere, å respondere spesielt på mitt bidrag til det kommentariatet betegner som et ekstremfeministisk hylekor, ved å bestille nok en film, denne gangen inkludert en scene der en rollefigur som åpenbart er en karikatur av meg, oralt tilfredsstiller skuespillerinnen som representerer Sprudelwasser.
I følge programleder Sprudelwasser, prosjektleder Heyerdahl og underholdningsdirektør Condottieri, som i ulike former har respondert på kritikken, var dette ikke ment å krenke, men var “et satirisk skråblikk for å belyse en viktig debatt“. Siden man må anta at debatten i dette tilfellet er debatten om nivået for krenkelser, som var tema for programmet, er det vanskelig å se for seg at de ikke ser og så en mulig dimensjon av krenkelse i innslaget.
Videre har disse ansvarlige kun deltatt i den påfølgende debatten ved å kommentere de delene av kritikken de betegner som å ha mest potensiale til å opprøre noen og beskrive denne delen av kritikken som så absurd at den ikke ville ha opprørt dem selv om de hadde vært av typen til å la seg opprøre. Etter min mening en lite vellykket deltakelse. (Om ikke målet var å tilfredsstille det antifeministiske hylekoret i kommentarfeltet, for det har de klart.)
Condottieri skriver i den anledning “At noen mener at dette inngår i en ellers viktig debatt om hevnporno og kneblingen av kvinner i den offentlige debatten synes vi er veldig underlig.” I NAV.no’s verden er nemlig kontekst svært viktig, men bare den konteksten de hadde i tankene. Dette var et program om krenkelser, og da er det plutselig en irrelevant kontekst at det å fremstille meningsmotstandere i en seksuell sammenheng er en alminnelig form for latterliggjøring og hets i den skyggessiden av det moderne, utvidete mediebildet som Condottieri selv, i innledningen til samme innlegg, beskriver som et stort samfunnsproblem. Men det er klart, jeg er mann, og mange av disse taktikkene er mest brukt mot og mest effektive mot kvinner, (sarcasm warning) så da blir det jo helt forståelig at Condottieri ikke ser sammenhengen.
At disse trollene, når de ser behov for et annet forsvar enn at de er frontkjempere for ytringsfriheten, gjerne argumenterer som et ekko av prosjektleder Heyerdahl som skriver at “innslaget er såpass absurd og tullete at det ikke kan sies å ha injurierende kraft” er selvsagt heller ikke relevant kontekst. For Heyerdahl er det tydeligvis bare det som er ulovlig etter injurieloven man ikke kan tillate seg i media. Det er, i deres verden, irrelevant at innslaget ikke kunne eksistert uten den konteksten at jeg var og er i en meningskonflikt med dem. For på tross av Sprudelwassers utsagn om at hun og redaksjonen ikke “har noe som helst imot […] engasjement i kampen mot porno og vi har absolutt ikke noe ønske om å kneble [noen]” ser de ikke meningsmotstandernes argumenter som relevante. Dermed er det irrelevant at virkemiddelet er til forveksling likt det som brukes av de som faktisk har til hensikt å kneble motparten og at disse applauderer høylytt i landets kommentarfelt over at Sprudelwasser “setter feministene på plass”.
Andre argumenter fra Sprudelwasser har gått på at formen på min deltagelse i media og samfunnsdebatt ellers inviterer til et outrert tilsvar, og igjen hører jeg ekkoet fra nettrollene. “Han/hun fortjener ikke annet siden han/hun har sagt dette/kledd seg slik/mener dette.” Men (sarcasm warning) innslaget var jo ikke ment som et partsinnlegg i pornodebatten, så da blir det jo noe helt annet.
Og før Dagbladet starter en leserundersøkelse om hvem som blir krenket eller ikke, eller noen påpeker at det neppe blir en trend å bestille porno for mange hundre kroner for å hetse meningsmotstandere, det er faktisk irrelevant hvem og hvor mange som blir krenket, eller at nettrollene må nøye seg med barnlige skisser i paint sendt via twitter, Sprudelwasser alminneliggjør noe som hun og redaksjonen tydeligvis ser ville være uakseptabelt i andre kontekster og effekten av denne alminneliggjøringen er ikke kontekstspesifikk.
Men det er klart, noen vil jo alltids mene det er akseptabelt at jeg blir møtt av et kommentarfelt fylt med referanser til dette innslaget om jeg uttaler meg om Grønnlandsisen i neste uke og at jeg i samme anledning får innboksen fylt med kunst basert på skjermbilder fra samme. Trollene er jo også Charlie, må vite.
Trygdekontoret bestilte skreddersydd sexfilm til episode med tema porno. Til forargelse for mange, men kringkastingsrådet regnet det for innafor det akseptable. Personlig er jeg enig med dem, men jeg kan forstå de som er uenige. Det er mye som er problematisk med pornografi.
Mange mener alt er problematisk med pornografi og Kari Jaquesson gikk så langt som å si at hun vil politianmelde dette for brudd på sexkjøpsloven. Trygdekontorets respons, ny porno, denne gangen med innlagt parodi av Jaquesson. Jeg har lite til overs for Jaquesson og synes politianmeldelse er i overkant, men med denne responsen, og i sitt forsvar for responsen, viser Trygdekontorets redaksjon at de mangler grunnleggende folkeskikk og respekt for debattklimaet i samfunnet.
Innslaget var ment som satire, sier prosjektlederen for programmet og forsvarer seg med at det var et så tullete innslag at det ikke kan sies å ha injurierende kraft. Som om det er det de kritiseres for. Det finnes faktisk flere regler for hva som er akseptable virkemidler i media enn injurielovgivningen. Det norske pornoforbudet og en generelt avvisende holdning til pornografi er kanskje på kant med realitetene i et Norge der et internasjonalt usensurert internett gir alle enkel tilgang til den forbudne frukten, men det er fortsatt sånn at å parodiere noen ved å plassere dem i en pornofilm vil oppleves som en krenkelse av svært mange.
Legg til på toppen at dette ikke er en vanlig sketsj, men skreddersydd faktisk porno, og at Trygdekontoret ikke belyser en hvilken som helst medieoppstuss med sitt forsøk på “satire”, men en der de selv er part, og Thomas Seltzer og redaksjonen kan ikke annet enn å betegnes som klønete amatører.
So our assistant principal is taking early retirement and we spent the end of the day today eating cake and listening to speeches and songs showing how much everyone at school have appreciated his presence and efforts. One of those songs was Erik Vea by Norwegian group Di Derre, a song that can make me tear up at the best of times. Watching the soon to be retiree sing it with friends and colleagues definitely did, and then he sat down and they and we sang it again, this time with rewritten personalized lyrics. I admit I couldn’t get all the words out.
I’m not usually a sentimental guy. Admittedly I once cried watching the President’s speech in Independence Day just before they go out and kick alien butt, but I’d been awake for 30 hours and I was also 21 and on a plane bound for the US to hang out with people I only knew through the internet. But when it comes to songs there are some that just hit me in the feels every time, even when I’m not sleep deprived, and on my bicycle ride home from work I wondered if overdosing on them would lead to an increasing or a decreasing effect and decided to run the experiment.
The experiment I’ve just done is seriously flawed. For instance I didn’t properly establish a baseline, but relied on anecdotal evidence in the form of my memories of previous encounters with these songs, and I hadn’t set up the criteria for rejecting the null hypothesis, or even decided on a null hypothesis, ahead of time. But what I have learned is that attempting to sing along greatly enhances the effect, something I already knew, and that in a poorly designed experiment there’s no evidence of a reduced effect.
Here’s the list of songs I did emotional battle with today:
Let It Go – from Frozen, preferably the movie version, not the record version with a different singer. (Yeah, I know the name of that singer, I just don’t want to mention it, since I never remember the name of the singer on the version I do like.)
It’s of course the whole context of this song that gets to me. How Elsa’s been emotionally imprisoned all through adolescence, but is now freed by the unintended revealing of her secret. Even just reading these lyrics affects me despite the attempt at desensitization.
Conceal, don’t feel,
don’t let them know
Well now they know
American Pie – Don McLean. This one was getting to me even before I knew anything about the back story.
I can’t remember if I cried
When I read about his widowed bride
But something touched me deep inside
The day the music died
And not as powerful (I can sing this one without choking most of the time) but worth an honourable mention, Weird Al Yankovic’s rewrite of this song to tell the story of Star Wars Episode I – The Saga Begins. One of the best songs Weird Al has produced from someone else’s. (He’s written some great original songs as well.)
And the Jedi I admire most
Met up with Darth Maul and now he’s toast
Well, I’m still here and he’s a ghost
I guess I’ll train this boy
Seasons in the sun by Terry Jacks appears to affect me less now than 20-25 years ago, but it was part of this experiment, and it was probably the first song that I couldn’t sing along to.
Learned of love and ABC’s,
skinned our hearts and skinned our knees.
Goodbye my friend, it’s hard to die,
And finally, one of my favourites. Listed as number 23. on this list of the 30 Top 12 string guitar songs of all time by Guitar World and described there as a sci-fi masterpiece, Queen’s ’39 is the only song I know that involves Einstein’s relativity and time dilation. Written by astrophysicist / rock superstar guitarist Brian May it’s a brilliant song, with excellent use of the 12 string guitar.
Don’t you hear my call though you’re many years away
Don’t you hear me calling you
All your letters in the sand cannot heal me like your hand
For my life
And if you’re now thinking, but what about the song you mentioned first, well here’s a tiny little bit about Erik Vea by Norwegian group Di Derre. A song about a speed skater aiming for a way too ambitious result in the Norwegian national championships of 1973, and how watching this attempt and inevitable failure inspired the singer.
My translation of the refrain:
Does anyone remember Erik Vea
From the championships in ’73
Is there someone who can say where he is now
Did he go home?
Did he get his lap times down?
Et vanlig argument fra landets kose-rojalister, når det ikke holder med at de kongelige jo er så fine, er at kongedømmet jo ble demokratisk innført. Og for de fleste så er vel det noe de vagt husker. Nesten enstemmighet i 1905 for selvstendighet og stort flertall for kongedømme. Det er bare det at det ikke stemmer. Det var aldri noen avstemming som satte kongedømmet opp mot noen annen statsform og den avstemmingen som faktisk ble avholdt inviterte på ingen måte velgerne til å følge sine prinsipper.
“Den norske kongefamilien fikk sitt mandat i en folkeavstemming der statsform ikke var tema, der en sikkerhetspolitisk garanti lå i potten og der regjeringen truet med å gå av om den ikke fikk det ja-svaret den ba om.”
Kjetil Bragli Alstadheim Republikken Norge
Avstemmingen (der 20 % av de som stemte var mot) var ikke et valg av republikk vs. kongedømme. Det var “Støtt regjeringen i å spørre prins Carl for å raskt få stabilitet og for å få gode forbindelser og støtte fra England” vs. “Vet da faen, men noen må vel ta ansvar hvis dere trosser oss og vi tar våre hatter og går.”
Ikke at det betyr så veldig mye hva folk valgte og hvorfor i 1905 for noe som er et prinsippspørsmål og burde løses som ett i 2014, men det er jo greit å ha argumentene i bakhånd om man skulle diskutere med de prinsippløse.
Hell Yes, I’m a Feminist
Originally posted on Whatever:
A couple of years ago, I wrote a piece on my personal feminism, in which I noted that while I can be considered a feminist on the fundamental level of “women are entitled to the same rights and privileges as men, with everything that implies in terms of access to education, economic opportunity and personal liberty,” I usually didn’t call myself one, for various and what I thought at the time were perfectly reasonable reasons.
Then 2014 happened, and those reasonable reasons now kind of feel like careful, rationalizing bullshit to me.
So, as an update to my thoughts on my personal feminism:
Hell yes, I’m a feminist.
Mind you, I don’t think this declaration comes as much of a surprise. I think people are aware of my general feelings on feminism, and I’ve not been shy about the topic before, when it’s suited me.
Here’s the thing about that —…
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If you didn’t notice the slight kerfuffle about a particular shirt worn by an ESA scientist the other day, this post is mostly not for you, but feel free to read it anyway.
There are lots of misandrists out there. At least if you use the sensible definition of looking down on men, or a subset of men. It’s a real problem. It could be observed just recently when a scientist made the mistake of wearing a shirt with a tasteful tribute to beautiful women and twitter exploded with people expressing their profound disappointment with his choice of apparel and also dared link it to the general problem of women not staying in the STEM fields. The misandrists came out in force. They were the ones thinking it was a horrible offence to express the opinion that the shirt was offensive and thereby forcing a proper man, a man with a beard, to do the unmanly thing and apologise.
Note how these people, who thought the feminist twitterverse’s expression of disappointment was unnecessary, over the top* and downright mean and abusive to a scientist deserving of accolade, can’t accept his change of heart and apology. No, he was obviously forced and bullied into apologising. There’s misandry for you. The narrow view that the negative stereotypes about men are true and should be true. Real men like shirts like that, and real men don’t apologise, so if they do apologise it can’t be because they had a change of heart, or were embarrassed by a thoughtless choice of shirt, and realised this due to mild mannered, non-threatening tweets, it has to be because they were bullied by the PC juggernaut of feminist society.
*personally I think they have a point there. I think it merited the first couple of tweets and large scale retweeting of those tweets, but people should save writing more tweets of their own for bigger issues. But that’s an extenstion of my opinion that people other than me should shut up more often. Partly that’s because I’ve gotten quite good at keeping my trap shut over the years, and I dislike my occasional pearls of wisdom being drowned in the flood of not as eloquent utterings. And partly it’s about … no, I think people shutting up more often covers it.
For three years, neither the Food Babe herself or anyone she cared to listen to noticed that a post on air travel was a treasure trove of absolutely spectacularly stupid misinformation, some of it easily identifiable to a moderately scientifically literate high schooler. Then this week it was picked up and ridiculed by someone not a mindless sponge for misinformation and started on a path to going viral and all of a sudden it was gone. Unfortunately for the sneaky liars of the net, such as the Food Babe, there exists time machines such as Google cache which allows us to see that as late as yesterday there was an August 2011 post called Food Babe Travel Essentials – No Reason to Panic on the Plane! (revision: the page is no longer in Google cache, but it can be found elsewhere) with pearls of wisdom such as these:
When your body is in the air, at a seriously high altitude, your body under goes some serious pressure. Just think about it – Airplanes thrive in places we don’t. You are traveling in a pressurized cabin, and when your body is pressurized, it gets really compressed!
Yeah, except the pressurized cabin has a lot less pressure than regular old sea level atmosphere.
Remember your body is made up of 50% water
Okay, that could be an honest mistake, but the company it keeps makes one wonder.
The air that is pumped in isn’t pure oxygen either, it’s mixed with nitrogen, sometimes almost at 50%. To pump a greater amount of oxygen in costs money in terms of fuel and the airlines know this! The nitrogen may affect the times and dosages of medications, make you feel bloated and cause your ankles and joints swell.
Read that twice. This is a person a lot of people listen to, and she’s advising them their medication may be off during airplane travel because airlines aren’t supplying them with pure oxygen. Newsflash, plain old air is 78% nitrogen. Enough oxygen at a high enough pressure is toxic.
Would you take advise from a person such as this? Oblivious to the facts, without a support network able to point out basic mistakes (the post was up for three years) and ready to hide her stupidity when it finally penetrates her finely crafted defence against knowledge? How do your various sources stack up in comparison?