Girl group night seems to have descended on me, as happens on occasion. It started on the nefarious FAcebook, that veritable eyesore of horrid grammar. I sometimes just ramble through the Fb bramble, landing where I may.
You might find that looking at pictures sends you to photos at an aunt's profile where she's posted a video that mentions a particular group by name.
You weren't necessarily interested in this band at that moment, but it's a band you've recently discovered, though your own birth happened seven-ish years after their heyday. It seems I should have known of The Shangri-Las at least a little, but I never did till . . . hmm . . . something else to blame on coming out. Maybe I'll write a little something about all that, but this isn't that sometime.
HERE is Give Him a Great Big Kiss, and if you saw me listening to this song you'd probably think I was gay. I can't help it. Also, I'm really falling in love with this group every time I hear them. And Mary Weiss is probably still just as hot.
Oddly enough, we run across another musical reference on the Fb courtesy of someone I know from blogland. Perhaps you already know, but apparently there's a movie about The Runaways. This is another band I was barely familiar with before recently, and it's only barely thanks to the movie.
I've run across a couple of references to a movie in my Google reader thanks to some of the gay centric feeds I enjoy. Apparently there's some lesbianity on display at some point in the film and all the usual anti-gay suspects are up in arms that any one should ever dare present gayfords as a normal every day part of human life.
Which is not to say that a movie about The Runaways is ever going to really represent the normal every day of human life for the most part. I've already mentioned my mostly not familiarity with the band. I have listened to them via our friend YouTube somewhat more than usual recently, and I still can't decide.
Were they a run of the mill band that just happened to be girls? Were they an awesome band that broke stereotypes? Maybe it just takes me listening until I hear the song, that one song that makes me get it. Mama Weer All Crazee Now, apparently, is the name of the song that finally sucks me in. I really do hate it when people intentionally misspell things, but there's really nothing I can do. The song is still amazing, or maybe I just love a great sing-a-long chorus.
I haven't really got much more that stems directly from this line of reasoning. I've run into The Bangles because somebody in one band was in another and eventually whatever. I'm hearing them right this moment, but I'm not really feeling The Bangles right now. You can google them yourself if you want.
So where do I go? Well, we could end up with a video of a 78, its slow spin and an earlier musical revolution that allowed Mary Ford to sing backup for herself doing Tennessee Waltz, a song I truly love. I'm not entirely convinced it's a Tennessee thing, and I'm not entirely convinced it's not. Either way, HERE it is.
So, who are your favorite women in rock? Or better yet, who in rock and roll do you think did their part to tear down gender based nonsense that allows or even necessitates the need to point out when girls rock?
Friday, February 05, 2010
Wednesday, February 03, 2010
hat racks
Some combination of my alarm clock and the chainsaws next door woke me up around the time I needed to be up, while an insufferable need to urinate finally dragged me to remove myself from lying down with the blanket pulled up to my chin.
The neighbors lost a big limb on their nearly/mostly dead tree recently, and they've decided today was the day to get rid of the whole thing. We also lost a tree recently but never did lose a branch really until the whole tree and all the branches fell across the driveway.
One thing these trees shared was that they'd both been topped at some point in the past. If you aren't aware, topping a tree involves removing everything from the tree above a certain point. You can read about it HERE.
I can't say that I noticed so many trees treated in this way in other places I've lived, but it's all too common in my little town. And I'd never considered it too much, but I've grown to hate the sight of them, and I decided long ago that it can't possibly be healthy. Now, according to the views expressed in the link above I have some justification for my ire.
These two yards should have nice healthy trees still growing. One of those two trees should be in this yard, shading the big windows in the front when the summer sun sets in such a way as to shine right in, making this part of the house a greenhouse and making the ac work that much harder. I don't plan to be here by that point in the year, but it's always going to be someone's problem.
I don't know the reason either of these trees were topped. It isn't a question of power lines. It shouldn't have been a question of safety.
I just don't get it.
The neighbors lost a big limb on their nearly/mostly dead tree recently, and they've decided today was the day to get rid of the whole thing. We also lost a tree recently but never did lose a branch really until the whole tree and all the branches fell across the driveway.
One thing these trees shared was that they'd both been topped at some point in the past. If you aren't aware, topping a tree involves removing everything from the tree above a certain point. You can read about it HERE.
I can't say that I noticed so many trees treated in this way in other places I've lived, but it's all too common in my little town. And I'd never considered it too much, but I've grown to hate the sight of them, and I decided long ago that it can't possibly be healthy. Now, according to the views expressed in the link above I have some justification for my ire.
These two yards should have nice healthy trees still growing. One of those two trees should be in this yard, shading the big windows in the front when the summer sun sets in such a way as to shine right in, making this part of the house a greenhouse and making the ac work that much harder. I don't plan to be here by that point in the year, but it's always going to be someone's problem.
I don't know the reason either of these trees were topped. It isn't a question of power lines. It shouldn't have been a question of safety.
I just don't get it.
Tuesday, February 02, 2010
corn bread
The thing that started life as an idea to make a white chili (chicken and white beans) turned into a reality that was more a brown (reddish) broth soup that was good nonetheless. It did get its share of both chicken and white beans, and it tastes unmistakably not unlike chili, but it doesn't meet my own criteria, so I'll just call it soup.
I did make cornbread to go with it. I have a square skillet, so my cornbread has corners. That seems to be a positive in the "creates crustiness" category. There's also bacon fat in the refrigerator, so it was that much better.
An easy assumption would be that, by my age, my mother had cooked way more corn bread than I have currently. It never became as much a part of my repertoire as hers, but then my eating habits have changed drastically, and often for the worse, and my general familial style is also quite different that how I was raised.
My whole point here is that, while Mom very likely didn't, I needed a recipe for cornbread. The last one consumed in this house was made by Momma. She used on odd cookbook, one with a title containing any of the words ladies, church, society or settlers. I could be wrong, but I'm not.
There several recipes in this book, a book put together by having a bunch of ladies, probably members of some group or society, send in recipes they felt best represented themselves and their reasons behind putting together a cookbook. Often, several pages in a row will contain very similar recipes, such as we find for corn bread.
I glanced at the book after finding my way half way through putting together the Joy of Cooking's recipe for Southern cornbread. I'm not sure what Mrs. Joy thought she was up to, but some of what she suggests about Southern cornbread do not ring true when one reads recipes by actual southern people, people with a desire to be and remain as true as possible to some ideal of southern-ness.
None of that is actually the point. I liked it well enough as something to go in a bowl of soup that happens to be not entirely unlike a white chili, and I have enough left for something else. Maybe a little molasses and butter for breakfast in the morning is a not at all bad idea.
I did make cornbread to go with it. I have a square skillet, so my cornbread has corners. That seems to be a positive in the "creates crustiness" category. There's also bacon fat in the refrigerator, so it was that much better.
An easy assumption would be that, by my age, my mother had cooked way more corn bread than I have currently. It never became as much a part of my repertoire as hers, but then my eating habits have changed drastically, and often for the worse, and my general familial style is also quite different that how I was raised.
My whole point here is that, while Mom very likely didn't, I needed a recipe for cornbread. The last one consumed in this house was made by Momma. She used on odd cookbook, one with a title containing any of the words ladies, church, society or settlers. I could be wrong, but I'm not.
There several recipes in this book, a book put together by having a bunch of ladies, probably members of some group or society, send in recipes they felt best represented themselves and their reasons behind putting together a cookbook. Often, several pages in a row will contain very similar recipes, such as we find for corn bread.
I glanced at the book after finding my way half way through putting together the Joy of Cooking's recipe for Southern cornbread. I'm not sure what Mrs. Joy thought she was up to, but some of what she suggests about Southern cornbread do not ring true when one reads recipes by actual southern people, people with a desire to be and remain as true as possible to some ideal of southern-ness.
None of that is actually the point. I liked it well enough as something to go in a bowl of soup that happens to be not entirely unlike a white chili, and I have enough left for something else. Maybe a little molasses and butter for breakfast in the morning is a not at all bad idea.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
impatiently waiting
If I were a better blogger I'd have been posting more than bimonthly lately, but we've already discussed that, and I can't go back in time. Let's just leave that one alone.
However, there is a subject somewhat near and dear to me that I've neglected to discuss, and that is a certain trial that is happening right now in San Francisco. Saying it's happening right now isn't really as accurate as it could be.
Today is the last day that the two opposing sides will call or question witnesses at which point the judge will take a few weeks to mull it over. Apparently then there will be closing arguments and then at some point a decision by the judge.
Do you remember when California legalized same sex marriage? Yeah, I don't really like the term either. I prefer marriage equality because that's a more accurate desciption. Either way, you either remember or you don't. If you don't remember then you may also not remember that, soon after, Proposition 8 was introduced because the "will of the people" needed to be heard. Of course that meant leaving the rights of a minority to the whims of a majority.
Yes, those are scare quotes around "will of the people." There's a point at which the will of the people erodes civil rights and makes things worse. You may not remember, and I am certainly not old enough, but there was a time when a certain group of people in this country were treated like absolute shit. Because of the color of their skin they were assumed to be lesser people. They were not allowed to use the same facilities or eat in the same dining rooms as white people. The language many white people often used to describe this other group was inherently demeaning and dehumanizing.
It took a huge court case and a lot of blowback from racist whites, but eventually the laws were changed to allow all people to recognize that they were equal and deserving of the same rights, protections and responsibilities. There was a whole nother trial years later in which laws were finally changed that allowed people of different colors and racial backgrounds to get married. Of course the people opposing this also didn't think of themselves as racist or bigoted or prejudiced, but they fought it just as they had every single piece of legislation that attempted to enforce the idea of true equality.
It wasn't a huge percentage of people that got prop 8 passed, but they did, effectively taking away the right to marry for same sex couples, aka the gays.
The ongoing trial I mentioned above is actually known as Perry v. Schwarzenegger, but since the governor of California isn't soiling his hands with it, it's commonly known as the Prop 8 trial. Basically, the idea is that it wasn't cool for a bunch of religious types to decide that their ideals are allowed to trump civil rights in a nation in which we insist on a separation of church and state, that the church isn't allowed to use it's beliefs or doctrines or scriptures to set civil law.
The thing is, if it IS okay for religious organizations to decide what is or isn't civil law, then where do we stop? Do we take the Christian's word for it that the US is a nation based on the exact sect of Christianity of which he or she is a member, or do we incorporate all religious belief, giving as much credence to Hindu beliefs as we do Judeo-Christian?
Anyway, I'm sitting here, drinking my coffee, thinking about breakfast, and waiting somewhat patiently for today's updates. 10:19 here means 7:19 there, and the trial won't be starting for the day for at least another hour. It isn't televised, and you can't catch it on YouTube, but there are people liveblogging, and I've been keeping up at Courage Campaign's trial tracker.
It hasn't all been fun, but if you have a few free hours any time soon you might enjoy looking over the posts and updates that have been posted over the last couple of weeks.
However, there is a subject somewhat near and dear to me that I've neglected to discuss, and that is a certain trial that is happening right now in San Francisco. Saying it's happening right now isn't really as accurate as it could be.
Today is the last day that the two opposing sides will call or question witnesses at which point the judge will take a few weeks to mull it over. Apparently then there will be closing arguments and then at some point a decision by the judge.
Do you remember when California legalized same sex marriage? Yeah, I don't really like the term either. I prefer marriage equality because that's a more accurate desciption. Either way, you either remember or you don't. If you don't remember then you may also not remember that, soon after, Proposition 8 was introduced because the "will of the people" needed to be heard. Of course that meant leaving the rights of a minority to the whims of a majority.
Yes, those are scare quotes around "will of the people." There's a point at which the will of the people erodes civil rights and makes things worse. You may not remember, and I am certainly not old enough, but there was a time when a certain group of people in this country were treated like absolute shit. Because of the color of their skin they were assumed to be lesser people. They were not allowed to use the same facilities or eat in the same dining rooms as white people. The language many white people often used to describe this other group was inherently demeaning and dehumanizing.
It took a huge court case and a lot of blowback from racist whites, but eventually the laws were changed to allow all people to recognize that they were equal and deserving of the same rights, protections and responsibilities. There was a whole nother trial years later in which laws were finally changed that allowed people of different colors and racial backgrounds to get married. Of course the people opposing this also didn't think of themselves as racist or bigoted or prejudiced, but they fought it just as they had every single piece of legislation that attempted to enforce the idea of true equality.
It wasn't a huge percentage of people that got prop 8 passed, but they did, effectively taking away the right to marry for same sex couples, aka the gays.
The ongoing trial I mentioned above is actually known as Perry v. Schwarzenegger, but since the governor of California isn't soiling his hands with it, it's commonly known as the Prop 8 trial. Basically, the idea is that it wasn't cool for a bunch of religious types to decide that their ideals are allowed to trump civil rights in a nation in which we insist on a separation of church and state, that the church isn't allowed to use it's beliefs or doctrines or scriptures to set civil law.
The thing is, if it IS okay for religious organizations to decide what is or isn't civil law, then where do we stop? Do we take the Christian's word for it that the US is a nation based on the exact sect of Christianity of which he or she is a member, or do we incorporate all religious belief, giving as much credence to Hindu beliefs as we do Judeo-Christian?
Anyway, I'm sitting here, drinking my coffee, thinking about breakfast, and waiting somewhat patiently for today's updates. 10:19 here means 7:19 there, and the trial won't be starting for the day for at least another hour. It isn't televised, and you can't catch it on YouTube, but there are people liveblogging, and I've been keeping up at Courage Campaign's trial tracker.
It hasn't all been fun, but if you have a few free hours any time soon you might enjoy looking over the posts and updates that have been posted over the last couple of weeks.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
ouch
Did I tell you about my head? Yeah, I hurt the shit out of it.
You are probably not familiar with my house or my basement. It's not my house or basement, but the fact is that I do still live here for the time being. And the basement is accessed through a door on the outside of the house.
The door is a plywood frame with some old corrugated sheet metal covering. Open it to reveal a rather dangerous looking set of stairs. At the bottom is a doorway into a dirt and cinder block walled hole with a concrete floor. Right near the bottom of the stairs is the water heater, and past that in the far corner is the hole into which is sunk the pump that doesn't always work properly when enough rain falls to wash a bunch of shit into the hole and clog the pump. If you don't get to it soon enough and make sure the pump is working when there's enough rain you end up with a flooded basement and an extinguished pilot light.
None of that is the point. If you are my height and stand up in the door way you are quite likely to slam your head into the top. If you do that you will meet intense pain.
I did exactly the thing I've mentioned and met the exact pain I mentioned. I have a nice lump and bruise to go with it. It hurts now because I forgot what I'd done and scratched my head not so long ago. I aggravated the hurt and hurt all over again.
It's not even a little bit fun, but the basement is drained, and the water heater pilot is on, so we have hot water. That's good considering that the kids needed bathing tonight, and they did both get as clean as they tend to get themselves. I'm not willing to confront that issue, but I trust them somewhat.
It's all tied together, but really my issue is the pain. It's the opposite of fun. But, like most things, it'll heal soon enough. For now, however, my head hurts, and I'm tired, and it's bed time.
also
It used to be a shit ton easier to hit the "Publish Post" button. Lately I edit too much, and upon rereading I get scared. I tinkle my pants a little and decide not to click. I need to not do that as much. Here's hoping this is the end of that.
haven't even
I haven't even looked at this blog in nearly two months. That's a shit record, but it's a record nonetheless.
Chances are that I showed up tonight because I finally checked my email.
I haven't looked at Yahoo in even longer. I let it go a couple of days, and then another couple of days turned into a couple of weeks, and then I just didn't want to bother. I knew there was a backlog of nonsense waiting for me, so many bits and pieces from the random places I've attempted to keep up with.
I've let so many things gather in the bottleneck, and I've just ignored them. I ignored family requests that I visit for the holidays. I missed a couple of comments to this blog. I've just been so far into my own trying to forget that lots of things got overlooked.
It's not so much trying to forget, but I'm also not really sure what else to call it. It's at least some amount of just avoiding thinking about things so that I don't get depressed, and I've done a great job of not being depressed lately, and some of that is just not recognizing, just ignoring.
Am I about to come out of it finally? about to rejoin life in all its bitter yet sweet ups and downs? I find that doubtful. I don't seem to work that way.
I really don't know what it is. I went and started a new blog, but I haven't been any better about that than I have this one, and I've sort of let it go fallow as I've done this one. I didn't meant to or want to, but it's gotten hard to post. I fear sometimes I've run out of things to say, but maybe the truth is slightly worse, that I've grown scared to post.
There was a time when I was like any other anonymous blogger. Sure, there were the blogging friends that I'd made, and I still love that I was able to create this thing that some people seemed to enjoy, but then they all started getting in, started getting too close. I think that's part of a pattern, that if anyone gets too close I start to shut down.
I know that it's part of a pattern. I do in fact shut down when people start to get in. I don't want to be that way, but it's become a bit of a habit, and it's a hard one to break. It becomes a habit because I don't know what to do when people get in, when they start to get to know me.
There was a time when I knew exactly what to do, but that exact knowing meant that I turned into an ass and drove them right back out. It wasn't a conscious effort, but from where I am now I can see that that is what I did. I can see that that is what I do. I don't like people getting in, because then they get to know me and stuff.
Recognizing this pattern is hopefully the first step in fixing it. I'm not sure what fixing it entails, but I'm quite certain I won't like it. It's going to require that I find some comfort and an ability to accept that there are more people at the party than I'm quite okay with. It's going to take me doing stuff, and me doing stuff is not my happy place.
But then that's life in general. I need to do stuff. I've been quite comfortably not doing stuff for too long, and it's really about time that I do do stuff.
p.s. yeah, haha, I said doodoo, but not like that.
Wednesday, December 09, 2009
the shirt
The shirt that started it all is black, has long sleeves (the left one has in a line running horizontally down the side the name of a band, NOFX) and features on the back a picture of a bratty looking boy holding a lollipop and choking a chicken. Beneath that it says Tour 94.
It's very large on me, not the size I might buy now, somewhat later than 1994. But at one time, a time I may have been more concerned with fashion than I am now, I found myself wearing clothes slightly larger than was necessary. I never wore my clothes ridiculously large, but there were a couple of years before I realized that I really just didn't like clothes that didn't fit.
The cuff on the right sleeve has almost always been about to come off. I try to be careful with it, and when it gets bad enough I can always sew it back on.
Almost as old as the shirt is my jacket. It's leather, from a store you may or may not have at your mall, a store that tries to convince you that everything is better made out of leather, but really what you want is that end of season jacket that's on sale so you can be like the other punks, or so I was thinking at the time. It was a gift from Momma, giving it that whole other something for me personally. The jacket itself is only of minor importance to this story other than that I always wear an extra layer under this jacket, one of which tends to be the NOFX shirt.
So I get to work and take the jacket off and then the layer, or maybe I was leaving work and putting the layer on and then the jacket. It really doesn't matter, but a younger coworker complimented me on it as she saw what it was.
For whatever reason this led me to ask various coworkers what they were doing in 1994, which we'll remember as being the birth year of this shirt. My answers were as varied as "in school" to "I was seven." Someone else was as old as nine in 1994. I was twenty two. I could almost have parented them, but even in the south that's asking just a bit much.
What was I doing in 1994? As far as the shirt goes it's its own little story. I was on my way from Charlotte, NC to Atlanta to see NOFX. We'd smoked some amount of something as we got started, and the something seemed to reignite some past LSD I'd consumed. I don't remember now why I drove, but the whole drive down was like a free trip. I quite enjoyed myself.
I would not recommend that anyone use drugs and drive. I was a younger person then and did things differently. I can't deny that I enjoyed the trip very much. I enjoyed seeing a great show, and to this day I enjoy when the winter months roll around and this shirt once more becomes part of my wardrobe.
I'm sure I've told lamer stories, but I honestly can't remember. It couldn't have been so long ago, but this is the lame story for tonight. I have an old shirt and behind that shirt is an amusing story of youthful ideas that one is immortal. It's enough to make a girl fish the tissue out of her sleeve.
It's very large on me, not the size I might buy now, somewhat later than 1994. But at one time, a time I may have been more concerned with fashion than I am now, I found myself wearing clothes slightly larger than was necessary. I never wore my clothes ridiculously large, but there were a couple of years before I realized that I really just didn't like clothes that didn't fit.
The cuff on the right sleeve has almost always been about to come off. I try to be careful with it, and when it gets bad enough I can always sew it back on.
Almost as old as the shirt is my jacket. It's leather, from a store you may or may not have at your mall, a store that tries to convince you that everything is better made out of leather, but really what you want is that end of season jacket that's on sale so you can be like the other punks, or so I was thinking at the time. It was a gift from Momma, giving it that whole other something for me personally. The jacket itself is only of minor importance to this story other than that I always wear an extra layer under this jacket, one of which tends to be the NOFX shirt.
So I get to work and take the jacket off and then the layer, or maybe I was leaving work and putting the layer on and then the jacket. It really doesn't matter, but a younger coworker complimented me on it as she saw what it was.
For whatever reason this led me to ask various coworkers what they were doing in 1994, which we'll remember as being the birth year of this shirt. My answers were as varied as "in school" to "I was seven." Someone else was as old as nine in 1994. I was twenty two. I could almost have parented them, but even in the south that's asking just a bit much.
What was I doing in 1994? As far as the shirt goes it's its own little story. I was on my way from Charlotte, NC to Atlanta to see NOFX. We'd smoked some amount of something as we got started, and the something seemed to reignite some past LSD I'd consumed. I don't remember now why I drove, but the whole drive down was like a free trip. I quite enjoyed myself.
I would not recommend that anyone use drugs and drive. I was a younger person then and did things differently. I can't deny that I enjoyed the trip very much. I enjoyed seeing a great show, and to this day I enjoy when the winter months roll around and this shirt once more becomes part of my wardrobe.
I'm sure I've told lamer stories, but I honestly can't remember. It couldn't have been so long ago, but this is the lame story for tonight. I have an old shirt and behind that shirt is an amusing story of youthful ideas that one is immortal. It's enough to make a girl fish the tissue out of her sleeve.
ooh, baby, comments
I just published two comments from just over a couple of days ago. I keep forgetting to check my email, so I missed that I had comments. I should also blame it on not even visiting Blogger lately. I can't think of anything to write, and when I at least find a song worth sharing I find it so much easier to just click the Share on Facebook button.
Also, if you aren't my Fb friend you've totally been missing out on a wealth of Holiday music.
Yes, I didn't say Christmas, and I did capitalize Holiday. I think that's going to be my new thing. I will celebrate the Holidays as I see fit. I will purchase small trinkets and tokens of affection for a very few people. I will drink with you, raising our cup/bottle/flask/goblet/what-have-you in a toast to good tidings, to good cheer, to merriment, and most importantly, that ever unattainable yet always in demand, peace on earth.
I honestly don't care what or how anyone celebrates, but I was talking about comments and apologizing for having been so long in allowing them passage through the gates of my censorship. I'd have waved them through much earlier had I but noticed.
And then I mentioned the email checking I haven't been doing. At first it was just not having done it, and now it's the knowledge of all the things waiting for me, mostly Yahoo shit that I want to read and tend to enjoy, but it piles up if you don't stay on top of it. There are currently nearly a weeks worth of three homeschool groups, a local group based on a shared zip code, all Fb and Myspace nonsense . . .
I'm sure I'm forgetting something. I really don't want to bother, but apparently I must. And now, since I actually visited Blogger with a completely different purpose, I bid you farewell until completion of the next post.
I hope I didn't blow my blogging wad over this post. I really did sit down to write something else entirely, but upon arrival at the Blogger page I found the comments, and now we're back to that when I'm trying to stop so I can post and then start all over.
Shit.
I mean seriously!
Also, if you aren't my Fb friend you've totally been missing out on a wealth of Holiday music.
Yes, I didn't say Christmas, and I did capitalize Holiday. I think that's going to be my new thing. I will celebrate the Holidays as I see fit. I will purchase small trinkets and tokens of affection for a very few people. I will drink with you, raising our cup/bottle/flask/goblet/what-have-you in a toast to good tidings, to good cheer, to merriment, and most importantly, that ever unattainable yet always in demand, peace on earth.
I honestly don't care what or how anyone celebrates, but I was talking about comments and apologizing for having been so long in allowing them passage through the gates of my censorship. I'd have waved them through much earlier had I but noticed.
And then I mentioned the email checking I haven't been doing. At first it was just not having done it, and now it's the knowledge of all the things waiting for me, mostly Yahoo shit that I want to read and tend to enjoy, but it piles up if you don't stay on top of it. There are currently nearly a weeks worth of three homeschool groups, a local group based on a shared zip code, all Fb and Myspace nonsense . . .
I'm sure I'm forgetting something. I really don't want to bother, but apparently I must. And now, since I actually visited Blogger with a completely different purpose, I bid you farewell until completion of the next post.
I hope I didn't blow my blogging wad over this post. I really did sit down to write something else entirely, but upon arrival at the Blogger page I found the comments, and now we're back to that when I'm trying to stop so I can post and then start all over.
Shit.
I mean seriously!
Wednesday, December 02, 2009
there he goes again
Also, another commercial I hate is not a specific commercial so much as every single one that suggests that a home microwave and a bag of something from your grocery store's freezer aisle is comparable to something cooked by professionals in a restaurant.
They usually show a series of clips of chefs, and you know they are chefs because of the coats and the toques (the stupid ass hat that sits three feet off the top of your head and gets knocked off constantly) which suggests a certain quality one must assume. I can do the same job in jeans and a tshirt and busted old boots from Sears, but that isn't the point here.
We are slowly lead through a segment of that professional kitchen till we somehow end with a mother/wife/woman removing some sort of packaged product from her microwave. On some level we tend to imagine the corporate kitchen where all these chefs work tirelessly, creating each of these packages of foodstuff individually, putting great care and precision into each one. You open the freezer door and touch a piece of their soul in the process.
Or maybe we are merely led to believe that, without any real effort on our part at all, we too can attain a level of craft that a real chef works years to perfect, an unattainable goal that drives one to insanity at times.
I can't necessarily argue with buying food for convenience if you feel you need to. I get that some days the bag of pasta dinner just-like-in-the-restaurants-but-in-seven-minutes is the best way to go.
Just don't lie to yourself. And accept that the commercials are lying to you. It may not seem like a lie, and perhaps they don't come right out and say it as such, but you know for a fact that their food is not anything like what you could make or what you could order in a decent restaurant. And if your local favorite is serving shit that tastes equal to what you can purchase and nuke then for fuck sake find a new favorite.
They usually show a series of clips of chefs, and you know they are chefs because of the coats and the toques (the stupid ass hat that sits three feet off the top of your head and gets knocked off constantly) which suggests a certain quality one must assume. I can do the same job in jeans and a tshirt and busted old boots from Sears, but that isn't the point here.
We are slowly lead through a segment of that professional kitchen till we somehow end with a mother/wife/woman removing some sort of packaged product from her microwave. On some level we tend to imagine the corporate kitchen where all these chefs work tirelessly, creating each of these packages of foodstuff individually, putting great care and precision into each one. You open the freezer door and touch a piece of their soul in the process.
Or maybe we are merely led to believe that, without any real effort on our part at all, we too can attain a level of craft that a real chef works years to perfect, an unattainable goal that drives one to insanity at times.
I can't necessarily argue with buying food for convenience if you feel you need to. I get that some days the bag of pasta dinner just-like-in-the-restaurants-but-in-seven-minutes is the best way to go.
Just don't lie to yourself. And accept that the commercials are lying to you. It may not seem like a lie, and perhaps they don't come right out and say it as such, but you know for a fact that their food is not anything like what you could make or what you could order in a decent restaurant. And if your local favorite is serving shit that tastes equal to what you can purchase and nuke then for fuck sake find a new favorite.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
it would be
A woman is at the store stocking up on Tylenol when the voice over prompts her to wise up and take Aleve. See, if you take a shit ton of one kind of drug because you have such pain then maybe it's time to pare that down to a single much more powerful pill?
That's right, it's time for another commercial that I hate. I really do hate commercials for the most part. There are always a couple that I'm okay with or that make me laugh, but for the most part I just see a swamp of ridiculousness and pandering and making people think they are stupid or entitled.
I hadn't really considered the drug aspects of this commercial. No, what pissed me off is, as the woman realizes she can just purchase the one bottle of Aleve rather than the multiple bottles of Tylenol she puts down her basket in the middle of the aisle, still containing the Tylenol, and walks away.
Who does shit like that? Who leaves a basket of anything sitting on the floor and leaves it? She's created some minor hazard, but more importantly, out of sheer laziness, she's left extra work for someone else, tiny though it may be. Okay, maybe the hazard is the bigger deal than the fact that someone has to bend and reach more than he or she might have.
But then I think about the whole drugs thing and it raises questions. Well, raises questions isn't really where I'm going, because I've already posed similar questions in the past. For a country with such issues with drugs we sure seem to like them an awful lot. What if there was a plant that grows easily, was safe for human consumption, was useful for a large number of uses including some amount of easing of pain? That would be cool.
That's right, it's time for another commercial that I hate. I really do hate commercials for the most part. There are always a couple that I'm okay with or that make me laugh, but for the most part I just see a swamp of ridiculousness and pandering and making people think they are stupid or entitled.
I hadn't really considered the drug aspects of this commercial. No, what pissed me off is, as the woman realizes she can just purchase the one bottle of Aleve rather than the multiple bottles of Tylenol she puts down her basket in the middle of the aisle, still containing the Tylenol, and walks away.
Who does shit like that? Who leaves a basket of anything sitting on the floor and leaves it? She's created some minor hazard, but more importantly, out of sheer laziness, she's left extra work for someone else, tiny though it may be. Okay, maybe the hazard is the bigger deal than the fact that someone has to bend and reach more than he or she might have.
But then I think about the whole drugs thing and it raises questions. Well, raises questions isn't really where I'm going, because I've already posed similar questions in the past. For a country with such issues with drugs we sure seem to like them an awful lot. What if there was a plant that grows easily, was safe for human consumption, was useful for a large number of uses including some amount of easing of pain? That would be cool.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
for-like-ever
Via advocate.com I learned of this article/interview at latimes.com about Ian McKellen. He's seventy years old and has been out since forever. I'm only familiar with him due to his roles as Magneto in the X-Men movies and as Gandalf in the Lord of the Rings movies and hopefully soon as Gandalf again in The Hobbit.
I need to do something about that familiarity, because the man has been in movies since forever as well. He has of course done actual theater. I will likely never see him actually doing thus, so he's a movie actor to me.
I've had the two links from above in tabs for what seems like days, which it has been, fully intending to write something, but I haven't really known how to approach it. I think I'll just leave it here, and if anyone does read they can comment and tell me what they think.
Also, I wouldn't post it if it weren't interesting, but I'm not going to review it more than to tell you it's got great gay power of story as JJ would say, assuming I'm using the phrase properly, and he throws in a couple of stabs at religion while making some valid points.
I need to do something about that familiarity, because the man has been in movies since forever as well. He has of course done actual theater. I will likely never see him actually doing thus, so he's a movie actor to me.
I've had the two links from above in tabs for what seems like days, which it has been, fully intending to write something, but I haven't really known how to approach it. I think I'll just leave it here, and if anyone does read they can comment and tell me what they think.
Also, I wouldn't post it if it weren't interesting, but I'm not going to review it more than to tell you it's got great gay power of story as JJ would say, assuming I'm using the phrase properly, and he throws in a couple of stabs at religion while making some valid points.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
reject letter
If you know where I live then it would likely come as no surprise that there are around these hills people who believe that gay people are all evil, predatory perverts. It's part of the agenda you sometimes hear about that apparently makes us go out and recruit people.
This intractably held position is firmly rooted in scripture, ancient texts meant to exist for all time as the code to absolute right and wrong, assuming it's KJV.
I'm just really having trouble even finding a way to approach this. What I really want to tell people and make them understand is that they can disagree. They can have an abiding faith that gay people are going to totally ruin it for everyone when the plague of a week long endless rain of flaming frogs and hurricanes that only rip up chain link fence and ruin automobile paint jobs. Believe the shit out of it, but there's a line at which you can't make me do stuff because you believe something I don't.
All of this stems from a letter to the editor I read in the local alternative newsweekly, print edition. My first response when I read the letter earlier today was to wonder why they bothered printing it. I began a post about the letter before finding the online version. It kind of sucked the day out of my day a little. I was freshly home, finally off work, had the French press working its magic on a cup of coffee, and I was smoking, standing on the back porch ready to read a brand new edition of the local alternative newsweekly.
I began, as I sometimes do, with the letters to the editor. It's right there in front. My next response was just a general dismay that I'd bothered reading this particular letter. From the first paragraph you know what you're getting.
If you don't want to bother reading the letter it starts with a fervent call to pray away the gay, a longstanding and oft tried technique that still seems to have zero-ish percent actually working to make someone not gay. We're led then into the horrors of the gay agenda and the eventual comeuppance exacted by slapped in the face once too often god of justice.
People really are free to feel however they want. You can hate me and think I'm an awful person, but religion is for churches and for personal codes of conduct, not for setting civil equality standards. If you can't give me a reason for laws that do not in anyway rely on your ancient texts then it probably doesn't have much place in a document meant to govern a free people.
For blog purposes I then went and found the online version of the letter, linked to above. Of course having found it I then had to read the online comments. One comment, as of now, is a long series of quote from people one might consider to have been founding fathers, one is to question the newsweekly's decision to publish the letter, and one is from the editor not entirely justifying the publishing with a request for a more reasoned response worth publishing and suggesting it isn't right to reject letters based on disagreements with wingnuttery contained therein.
As gay people we shouldn't need to keep explaining why we should be treated as people. It really is just that simple. We are normal and a part of the human gender/sexual orientation continuum that so many people can only see as man plus woman equals the only thing that is okay, KJV version. They trivialize everything down to sex as being the ultimate query, can you and your partner perform sexing that can result in pregnancy? And then they won't accept our claim that what we are discussing is so much more than sex but is also on so many levels an issue about sex.
So my own question comes back to why the newsweekly felt any need or obligation to run this particular letter. I get not rejecting letters because of point of view issues. Certainly it makes sense, but when the other side is using such horrid arguments to justify discrimination I can't really see any reason to present them. We all know people like that. We get that we live where we do and that this is a fairly common sentiment regarding gay equals damnation. As important is that we see it so damn often that it's inescapable. Perhaps christians will find that acceptable, that their message is so pervasive that people are really less likely to listen or to take them seriously.
This intractably held position is firmly rooted in scripture, ancient texts meant to exist for all time as the code to absolute right and wrong, assuming it's KJV.
I'm just really having trouble even finding a way to approach this. What I really want to tell people and make them understand is that they can disagree. They can have an abiding faith that gay people are going to totally ruin it for everyone when the plague of a week long endless rain of flaming frogs and hurricanes that only rip up chain link fence and ruin automobile paint jobs. Believe the shit out of it, but there's a line at which you can't make me do stuff because you believe something I don't.
All of this stems from a letter to the editor I read in the local alternative newsweekly, print edition. My first response when I read the letter earlier today was to wonder why they bothered printing it. I began a post about the letter before finding the online version. It kind of sucked the day out of my day a little. I was freshly home, finally off work, had the French press working its magic on a cup of coffee, and I was smoking, standing on the back porch ready to read a brand new edition of the local alternative newsweekly.
I began, as I sometimes do, with the letters to the editor. It's right there in front. My next response was just a general dismay that I'd bothered reading this particular letter. From the first paragraph you know what you're getting.
If you don't want to bother reading the letter it starts with a fervent call to pray away the gay, a longstanding and oft tried technique that still seems to have zero-ish percent actually working to make someone not gay. We're led then into the horrors of the gay agenda and the eventual comeuppance exacted by slapped in the face once too often god of justice.
People really are free to feel however they want. You can hate me and think I'm an awful person, but religion is for churches and for personal codes of conduct, not for setting civil equality standards. If you can't give me a reason for laws that do not in anyway rely on your ancient texts then it probably doesn't have much place in a document meant to govern a free people.
For blog purposes I then went and found the online version of the letter, linked to above. Of course having found it I then had to read the online comments. One comment, as of now, is a long series of quote from people one might consider to have been founding fathers, one is to question the newsweekly's decision to publish the letter, and one is from the editor not entirely justifying the publishing with a request for a more reasoned response worth publishing and suggesting it isn't right to reject letters based on disagreements with wingnuttery contained therein.
As gay people we shouldn't need to keep explaining why we should be treated as people. It really is just that simple. We are normal and a part of the human gender/sexual orientation continuum that so many people can only see as man plus woman equals the only thing that is okay, KJV version. They trivialize everything down to sex as being the ultimate query, can you and your partner perform sexing that can result in pregnancy? And then they won't accept our claim that what we are discussing is so much more than sex but is also on so many levels an issue about sex.
So my own question comes back to why the newsweekly felt any need or obligation to run this particular letter. I get not rejecting letters because of point of view issues. Certainly it makes sense, but when the other side is using such horrid arguments to justify discrimination I can't really see any reason to present them. We all know people like that. We get that we live where we do and that this is a fairly common sentiment regarding gay equals damnation. As important is that we see it so damn often that it's inescapable. Perhaps christians will find that acceptable, that their message is so pervasive that people are really less likely to listen or to take them seriously.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
V, not for vegetarian specifically
Last week saw me once again making my newly famous mushrooms and dumplings. I forgot to get peas when I hit the grocery store, so they weren't part of the deal. And I'm not entirely certain that mushrooms and peas are an equal protein exchange for chicken, which isn't the point, but it is something to think about. I trust my vegetarian friends to take care of that themselves.
The occasion was that a friend needed a home cooked meal and some friendship. She was at a place, and I knew it, so I invited her over. She invited another friend who is in a long running place, a friend who also needed some friend and a good home cooked meal.
Apparently when you're me that's all it takes to end up with lesbians and a trans man at your house. And so, just maybe, Tuesday nights with V and a vegetarian meal are the new thing at my house.
I have to say that I'm not a planner. I'm not good at making things happen, not a professional instigator. I like doing stuff, but being the pussy that I am I just don't tend to go out of my way. I suppose that's part of why I sit around at home doing nothing so often. It's a thing that could use some work, but the shy part of me, the part that's obviously afraid of something intangible, is not happy with the change that needs.
This week was going to be chili, though I'll be the first to admit that whatever I made isn't really chili. It was good, but it wasn't the chili that I set out to make. And without trying I actually made a vegan dish, but vegans can suck it, and if I'd thought to buy cheese it wouldn't have been served as vegan.
Did I mention that we watch V? Yes, that V, the remake of the early '80's scifi series involving Marc Singer and aliens with somewhat less than benevolent intentions. I remember it to some extent as a nearly eleven year old child, though it seems the majority of people I've come to know lately either didn't watch it or weren't born or just weren't old enough. I actually tried to discuss the original series with a coworker recently. When he pointed out that he was a year old in 1983 I had to turn and walk away.
All that to say that you should swing by next week. I'm not sure yet who will be here or what I'll be cooking. I do ask that you bring your own beer, and if I get enough interest it might have to become a potluck. My only other request is that you shut up during V. It's no Saddle Cub or Top Gear but I do love it so already. Also dogs and kids are welcome, but there's no fence around the yard, so your dogs best not be the running off and acting crazy in the neighborhood types.
The occasion was that a friend needed a home cooked meal and some friendship. She was at a place, and I knew it, so I invited her over. She invited another friend who is in a long running place, a friend who also needed some friend and a good home cooked meal.
Apparently when you're me that's all it takes to end up with lesbians and a trans man at your house. And so, just maybe, Tuesday nights with V and a vegetarian meal are the new thing at my house.
I have to say that I'm not a planner. I'm not good at making things happen, not a professional instigator. I like doing stuff, but being the pussy that I am I just don't tend to go out of my way. I suppose that's part of why I sit around at home doing nothing so often. It's a thing that could use some work, but the shy part of me, the part that's obviously afraid of something intangible, is not happy with the change that needs.
This week was going to be chili, though I'll be the first to admit that whatever I made isn't really chili. It was good, but it wasn't the chili that I set out to make. And without trying I actually made a vegan dish, but vegans can suck it, and if I'd thought to buy cheese it wouldn't have been served as vegan.
Did I mention that we watch V? Yes, that V, the remake of the early '80's scifi series involving Marc Singer and aliens with somewhat less than benevolent intentions. I remember it to some extent as a nearly eleven year old child, though it seems the majority of people I've come to know lately either didn't watch it or weren't born or just weren't old enough. I actually tried to discuss the original series with a coworker recently. When he pointed out that he was a year old in 1983 I had to turn and walk away.
All that to say that you should swing by next week. I'm not sure yet who will be here or what I'll be cooking. I do ask that you bring your own beer, and if I get enough interest it might have to become a potluck. My only other request is that you shut up during V. It's no Saddle Cub or Top Gear but I do love it so already. Also dogs and kids are welcome, but there's no fence around the yard, so your dogs best not be the running off and acting crazy in the neighborhood types.
Monday, November 09, 2009
already? seriously?
Moments ago I refreshed my Facebook homepage and was met with a head smackingly obnoxious status update of a "friend," a person I may just have to unfriend over this shit.
When I joined Facebook I intended it to be the family safe place because my brothers and then parents were all members. I thought I was happy with Myspace being the place I was going to be out and myself, but over time things changed. I grew to like Fb more and became friends there with more and more of my actual friends.
I then found myself being friends with a number of people I'd gone to church and school with as a child, though the overly conservative right wing type stuff soon caused me to remove all those people from my friends. I realized I wasn't actually friends with these people and didn't want to be.
One of my two closest friends as a child/teen is now the only of those people with whom I'm still friends, though I haven't spoken to him in nearly twenty years and likely have absolutely nothing in common beyond some shared childhood.
As of today I might just have to remove him. His status update is one of those typical Fb polls, though this one is just stupid. Apparently we are asked to vote yes or no as to whether we agree with President Obama referring to the White House's celebratory tree and whether it's okay for it to be referred to as a holiday tree or whether he must refer to it as a Christmas tree.
First, I don't give a fuck what he calls it, and I can't imagine why it matters. Of course I get why the wingnuts are going to shit themselves over it since they can't stand the fact that there does truly exist a separation of church and state or that people might ever try to be sensitive to the beliefs of others. Second, it isn't even Thanksgiving yet. Nearly seven weeks till Christmas and the douchebags are already fussing.
I'm so not looking forward to any of this shit. I care little enough for the holiday season anyway, and I don't celebrate the christian version of the holiday, nor do I celebrate the solstice aspect of the event. I'll accept an excuse to get together with what friends and family I'm able, and I always love a huge meal with those friends and family.
Just give us this one year that we don't have to deal with the wingnuttery. Though the people who most need to hear this aren't here at my blog, I'd still like to beg them to please just let it go. So many people are going to approach this holiday to celebrate their own variant of the day, and it really is okay. Christians do not own the day or the celebration, and their whole version of it is basically stolen in part or in whole from other belief systems. So please, please just let it go.
Also, I didn't forget the Jews, but I'm not going to sit here and be sensitive enough to figure out the one true spelling of whatever they hell they call it. And black people can have there one too, but again, I don't celebrate it and am not at all concerned. Shit, Jews and black people are likely those people most reasonable about the fact that we all have our own approach and are most willing, it seems, to live and let live. So for that I thank you.
p.s. maybe the sensible ones among us should use this particular year to be the assholes and get uptight and offended, clutching our pearls and being aghast when people wish us Merry Christmas.
p.p.s. I suppose that, given my choice to blog about this, I'm fueling the fire and doing the thing I'm bitching about. If you're surprised by this then you don't know me.
When I joined Facebook I intended it to be the family safe place because my brothers and then parents were all members. I thought I was happy with Myspace being the place I was going to be out and myself, but over time things changed. I grew to like Fb more and became friends there with more and more of my actual friends.
I then found myself being friends with a number of people I'd gone to church and school with as a child, though the overly conservative right wing type stuff soon caused me to remove all those people from my friends. I realized I wasn't actually friends with these people and didn't want to be.
One of my two closest friends as a child/teen is now the only of those people with whom I'm still friends, though I haven't spoken to him in nearly twenty years and likely have absolutely nothing in common beyond some shared childhood.
As of today I might just have to remove him. His status update is one of those typical Fb polls, though this one is just stupid. Apparently we are asked to vote yes or no as to whether we agree with President Obama referring to the White House's celebratory tree and whether it's okay for it to be referred to as a holiday tree or whether he must refer to it as a Christmas tree.
First, I don't give a fuck what he calls it, and I can't imagine why it matters. Of course I get why the wingnuts are going to shit themselves over it since they can't stand the fact that there does truly exist a separation of church and state or that people might ever try to be sensitive to the beliefs of others. Second, it isn't even Thanksgiving yet. Nearly seven weeks till Christmas and the douchebags are already fussing.
I'm so not looking forward to any of this shit. I care little enough for the holiday season anyway, and I don't celebrate the christian version of the holiday, nor do I celebrate the solstice aspect of the event. I'll accept an excuse to get together with what friends and family I'm able, and I always love a huge meal with those friends and family.
Just give us this one year that we don't have to deal with the wingnuttery. Though the people who most need to hear this aren't here at my blog, I'd still like to beg them to please just let it go. So many people are going to approach this holiday to celebrate their own variant of the day, and it really is okay. Christians do not own the day or the celebration, and their whole version of it is basically stolen in part or in whole from other belief systems. So please, please just let it go.
Also, I didn't forget the Jews, but I'm not going to sit here and be sensitive enough to figure out the one true spelling of whatever they hell they call it. And black people can have there one too, but again, I don't celebrate it and am not at all concerned. Shit, Jews and black people are likely those people most reasonable about the fact that we all have our own approach and are most willing, it seems, to live and let live. So for that I thank you.
p.s. maybe the sensible ones among us should use this particular year to be the assholes and get uptight and offended, clutching our pearls and being aghast when people wish us Merry Christmas.
p.p.s. I suppose that, given my choice to blog about this, I'm fueling the fire and doing the thing I'm bitching about. If you're surprised by this then you don't know me.
not surprised but still
Some of tonight was spent watching the film Jesus Camp, a film many people are aware of. I remember when it came out, when it seemed to blow up the little corner of the blogosphere that I'm marginally a part of.
I'm certainly not afraid of a film, but I am somewhat worried about the mentality of the sort of people portrayed in the film. I'm not surprised that people are like that, and I come from a not too dissimilar background, so I'm well aware of the indoctrination that happens to kids born into such religiously zealous backgrounds.
I'm nearly ready to call what I saw in the film brainwashing. I'll admit to raising my own kids in a way that mirrors my beliefs, and to some extent that's what is portrayed in the movie, but then it must be admitted that these people take it to a whole other level.
Big Brother didn't watch the whole movie with me. He and The Boy were too busy playing with some new toys they bought today with their own money. But they were both in the room playing, and he did see some amount of the movie. He was aware of some of it and watched some of it with me.
I want my kids to know they can ask questions when they have questions. They don't as much as I'd like, but when they do I want to be honest. This movie and the few question Big Brother did have because of it opened up some interesting conversation, but more than that it made me think.
I was able, because of this movie, to discuss with him the dangers of taking too seriously everything you hear. I was able to discuss the need to approach things objectively, to at least try to view all sides of a discussion. I was able to discuss the fact that repitition, music, chanting, etc. can put people in a state of mind that is almost trancelike, that it opens people up to suggestion. I even got to discuss abortion and my views.
I want to think that my most important point throughout the discussion was the point of having an objective approach. I want him to understand that my views are my own, that other people are welcome and within their rights to hold differing views. Most important is getting information that will allow him to make an intelligent decision about what he believes.
More than anything what I personally took away from all this is my own need to interact more with my children. It's so easy to just let them go about their business, to give them quick answers to their questions, to allow myself to become so absorbed in my own things that we don't live together and communicate together so much as exist within the same realm.
And as for the kids in the movie, I really felt sorry for them. They are taught a certain dogma, they are taught the "right" answers. They weren't taught to look at things from any sort of distance, to judge things on merits that aren't completely tied up in their faith based world view. I worry for the ones that are fed this singular view, the ones who know better, who look into themselves and see that it isn't right or isn't right for them.
And finally I'll share one bit that stood out to me. The kids at the end passing out religious pamphlets approached the black family to ask that age old question, "If you were to die where would you spend eternity." They got the answer of heaven, but as the kids turned away one of them mentioned to the others her belief that they were probably muslims. It's much more likely that the people were christian somewhere within the typically accepted protestantism of the U.S., but I assume based on their skin color, the kids made the leap to muslim. Just wow!
I'm certainly not afraid of a film, but I am somewhat worried about the mentality of the sort of people portrayed in the film. I'm not surprised that people are like that, and I come from a not too dissimilar background, so I'm well aware of the indoctrination that happens to kids born into such religiously zealous backgrounds.
I'm nearly ready to call what I saw in the film brainwashing. I'll admit to raising my own kids in a way that mirrors my beliefs, and to some extent that's what is portrayed in the movie, but then it must be admitted that these people take it to a whole other level.
Big Brother didn't watch the whole movie with me. He and The Boy were too busy playing with some new toys they bought today with their own money. But they were both in the room playing, and he did see some amount of the movie. He was aware of some of it and watched some of it with me.
I want my kids to know they can ask questions when they have questions. They don't as much as I'd like, but when they do I want to be honest. This movie and the few question Big Brother did have because of it opened up some interesting conversation, but more than that it made me think.
I was able, because of this movie, to discuss with him the dangers of taking too seriously everything you hear. I was able to discuss the need to approach things objectively, to at least try to view all sides of a discussion. I was able to discuss the fact that repitition, music, chanting, etc. can put people in a state of mind that is almost trancelike, that it opens people up to suggestion. I even got to discuss abortion and my views.
I want to think that my most important point throughout the discussion was the point of having an objective approach. I want him to understand that my views are my own, that other people are welcome and within their rights to hold differing views. Most important is getting information that will allow him to make an intelligent decision about what he believes.
More than anything what I personally took away from all this is my own need to interact more with my children. It's so easy to just let them go about their business, to give them quick answers to their questions, to allow myself to become so absorbed in my own things that we don't live together and communicate together so much as exist within the same realm.
And as for the kids in the movie, I really felt sorry for them. They are taught a certain dogma, they are taught the "right" answers. They weren't taught to look at things from any sort of distance, to judge things on merits that aren't completely tied up in their faith based world view. I worry for the ones that are fed this singular view, the ones who know better, who look into themselves and see that it isn't right or isn't right for them.
And finally I'll share one bit that stood out to me. The kids at the end passing out religious pamphlets approached the black family to ask that age old question, "If you were to die where would you spend eternity." They got the answer of heaven, but as the kids turned away one of them mentioned to the others her belief that they were probably muslims. It's much more likely that the people were christian somewhere within the typically accepted protestantism of the U.S., but I assume based on their skin color, the kids made the leap to muslim. Just wow!
Sunday, November 01, 2009
post halloween party
One of my workmates is throwing his Halloween party tonight. In part this has to do with those of us who had to work not getting to party. He's cool that way I suppose, and he's really, really easy on the eyes, though that has nothing to do with any of this.
Being a Halloween party, he insists on us all wearing costumes. I have no problem with that as it's part of the fun, but I seriously have no idea what to wear as a costume.
I could run to the thrift store for female clothes that fit and go in drag. I could wear the pants and vest of a three piece suit and be zombie fundy. I can dig the boys' black cape out and be a vampire. I could . . . I could . . .
None of these really appeal to me. None of them sound especially fun or inventive. So I'm stuck here racking my brain for something I actually want to be. I really just have no idea.
Being a Halloween party, he insists on us all wearing costumes. I have no problem with that as it's part of the fun, but I seriously have no idea what to wear as a costume.
I could run to the thrift store for female clothes that fit and go in drag. I could wear the pants and vest of a three piece suit and be zombie fundy. I can dig the boys' black cape out and be a vampire. I could . . . I could . . .
None of these really appeal to me. None of them sound especially fun or inventive. So I'm stuck here racking my brain for something I actually want to be. I really just have no idea.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
busted ass
Yesterday, while completing the last task before being done with work, I did in fact bust my ass. It wasn't technically my ass as much as it was both shins, a knee, an elbow, my hands and, as it turns out, a hip.
Tuesday in many restaurants is a truck day. At some point, usually never at the best, most opportune moment, the day's deliveries begin to arrive. This means that the truck driver for your distributor of choice will show up with stacks of boxes that he will leave sitting in your walkway. You get to spend some amount of your day clearing this out.
Clearing the mess involves breaking the stacks into other stacks based on where things go. Cold and frozen items move immediately to their new, respective homes as the last thing you need is for your food to thaw or come to anywhere near room temperature. Next you'll put up your dry and canned goods followed by chemicals/cleaning products and disposables such as to go containers.
A large part of the job involves taking things out of boxes which tends to leave you with a stack or pile of empty boxes. I've gotten really good over the years at reducing a mess of boxes into a neatish stack of broken down and flattened cardboard.
Sometimes these broken down and flattened boxes will sit somewhere out of the way until someone has time to discard them. We discard ours by carrying them to the opposite side of the square, about a block a way, and a short way down an alley to a room where all the businesses close enough take their cardboard for recycling.
Throughout the square there are a number of benches and tables, the tables each surrounded by four small benches. They are great for people to sit and eat or to use their laptops or to sit and sway drunkenly while waiting for friends. Apparently they are also perfect for busting one's ass.
My last task yesterday was to take the cardboard, and we had quite a stack. I tried to position the boxes in a way that they would be somewhat easy to carry and would leave me able to see where I was going. The second part of that was not carried out as well as possible.
I exited the restaurant backward, using my back to push the door open. A customer was leaving at the same moment, and I was even able to hold the door for him with my foot after swinging the boxes out of his way. I then left our patio while attempting to manage the boxes and move them to a more reasonable hand hold. I did not succeed soon enough and was unaware of the ass busting so soon in my future.
I'm not sure which leg hit first. One of the tables with four small benches sits about ten to fifteen feet from our front door, and I tripped over one of the benches. I think what happened is that my right leg hit first as that bruise is placed at the right height for the bench. As I began to fall my left shin slammed even more abruptly into the bench causing me to fall harder. I cleared the bench rather spectacularly I assume as I seem to remember some feeling of flight as the boxes flew out of my hands. I'm pretty sure I came down on my knee and elbow at this point while slapping my hands onto the ground as I tried to catch myself.
No one saw this happen, but a couple a short distance away gave a most disapproving look to my voluble shout of FUCK! as I hit the ground.
I retrieved my boxes, and, in some amount of agony, continued on my way. The shins hurt just to walk and at the moment the next most painful thing were the heels of my hands. I finally reached the recycling room, tossed my boxes onto the pile and was finally able to visually asses the damage.
I have a nice cut/bruise combo on my elbow and a tiny blue bruise on my knee. Both shins are bruised blue and yellow with a minor abrasion to match. The hip shows no visible sign of damage but hurts nonetheless. The heels of my hands hurt a small amount but also show no visible signs of damage
Had anyone else seen my flight it would have at least had that humorous edge that doing something spectacularly stupid earns. As it is, the disapproving glance was all I got from anyone else, and the couple who provided that seemed less concerned with a hurt fellow human than with having heard a swear.
The moral of the story is to to watch where you're going. Don't start your box carrying journey till you know you can see the obstacles. And if you're going to hang out and work at Market Square for the number of years I have, for fuck sake learn where the benches and the table/bench combos are. They're bolted to the ground for fuck sake and don't change position.
Tuesday in many restaurants is a truck day. At some point, usually never at the best, most opportune moment, the day's deliveries begin to arrive. This means that the truck driver for your distributor of choice will show up with stacks of boxes that he will leave sitting in your walkway. You get to spend some amount of your day clearing this out.
Clearing the mess involves breaking the stacks into other stacks based on where things go. Cold and frozen items move immediately to their new, respective homes as the last thing you need is for your food to thaw or come to anywhere near room temperature. Next you'll put up your dry and canned goods followed by chemicals/cleaning products and disposables such as to go containers.
A large part of the job involves taking things out of boxes which tends to leave you with a stack or pile of empty boxes. I've gotten really good over the years at reducing a mess of boxes into a neatish stack of broken down and flattened cardboard.
Sometimes these broken down and flattened boxes will sit somewhere out of the way until someone has time to discard them. We discard ours by carrying them to the opposite side of the square, about a block a way, and a short way down an alley to a room where all the businesses close enough take their cardboard for recycling.
Throughout the square there are a number of benches and tables, the tables each surrounded by four small benches. They are great for people to sit and eat or to use their laptops or to sit and sway drunkenly while waiting for friends. Apparently they are also perfect for busting one's ass.
My last task yesterday was to take the cardboard, and we had quite a stack. I tried to position the boxes in a way that they would be somewhat easy to carry and would leave me able to see where I was going. The second part of that was not carried out as well as possible.
I exited the restaurant backward, using my back to push the door open. A customer was leaving at the same moment, and I was even able to hold the door for him with my foot after swinging the boxes out of his way. I then left our patio while attempting to manage the boxes and move them to a more reasonable hand hold. I did not succeed soon enough and was unaware of the ass busting so soon in my future.
I'm not sure which leg hit first. One of the tables with four small benches sits about ten to fifteen feet from our front door, and I tripped over one of the benches. I think what happened is that my right leg hit first as that bruise is placed at the right height for the bench. As I began to fall my left shin slammed even more abruptly into the bench causing me to fall harder. I cleared the bench rather spectacularly I assume as I seem to remember some feeling of flight as the boxes flew out of my hands. I'm pretty sure I came down on my knee and elbow at this point while slapping my hands onto the ground as I tried to catch myself.
No one saw this happen, but a couple a short distance away gave a most disapproving look to my voluble shout of FUCK! as I hit the ground.
I retrieved my boxes, and, in some amount of agony, continued on my way. The shins hurt just to walk and at the moment the next most painful thing were the heels of my hands. I finally reached the recycling room, tossed my boxes onto the pile and was finally able to visually asses the damage.
I have a nice cut/bruise combo on my elbow and a tiny blue bruise on my knee. Both shins are bruised blue and yellow with a minor abrasion to match. The hip shows no visible sign of damage but hurts nonetheless. The heels of my hands hurt a small amount but also show no visible signs of damage
Had anyone else seen my flight it would have at least had that humorous edge that doing something spectacularly stupid earns. As it is, the disapproving glance was all I got from anyone else, and the couple who provided that seemed less concerned with a hurt fellow human than with having heard a swear.
The moral of the story is to to watch where you're going. Don't start your box carrying journey till you know you can see the obstacles. And if you're going to hang out and work at Market Square for the number of years I have, for fuck sake learn where the benches and the table/bench combos are. They're bolted to the ground for fuck sake and don't change position.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
I am not a hipster
To really describe the hipster is just too difficult. They are a seemingly less rare breed than I'd once assumed, but I also realize I'm not as up on what the kids are doing as I could be, though I can spot one when I see 'em. None of that is really the point, but suffice it to say I am not a hipster. The point really is a horrid, new trend I'm loathing lately.
I'm wondering how this happened, this new fashion I've seen too much of lately. It's not really new and certainly not a fashion I'd ever want to see back, but as summer winds to an end and the days become cooler and shorter, the shorts on the guys in my town have gotten noticeably shorter as well.
Honestly, it's been in the works for some time now I'm sure, and I can only assume it's some sort of nefarious plot the way I've suddenly seen this trend. I can honestly say that what wasn't really that cool in the early days of summer is upon us.
I can think of one guy in my town, not someone I'd really call a hipster as such, but in a sense he is, who was wearing the short shorts as far back as a couple years ago. I have to believe that he started it, though I must also admit that perhaps it's a universal hipster thing that he was only ahead of the curve on in our small town.
I think of these shorts as Larry Birds, because I'm always reminded of his pale self hanging every which way out of a green tank top and green short shorts. It's not a pretty sight, and it's not a pretty sight when some pale, local young twenty something with his finger on the pulse of all that's too cool for you and a scarf tied just so around his neck in ninety plus degree East Tennessee summer sports them with his beat up loafers.
I will not be wearing shorts that fall mid thigh. I really don't much wear shorts anyway, and I've always been able to prove I'm a dork in different ways. Besides, it's really too cool for me anyway.
I'm wondering how this happened, this new fashion I've seen too much of lately. It's not really new and certainly not a fashion I'd ever want to see back, but as summer winds to an end and the days become cooler and shorter, the shorts on the guys in my town have gotten noticeably shorter as well.
Honestly, it's been in the works for some time now I'm sure, and I can only assume it's some sort of nefarious plot the way I've suddenly seen this trend. I can honestly say that what wasn't really that cool in the early days of summer is upon us.
I can think of one guy in my town, not someone I'd really call a hipster as such, but in a sense he is, who was wearing the short shorts as far back as a couple years ago. I have to believe that he started it, though I must also admit that perhaps it's a universal hipster thing that he was only ahead of the curve on in our small town.
I think of these shorts as Larry Birds, because I'm always reminded of his pale self hanging every which way out of a green tank top and green short shorts. It's not a pretty sight, and it's not a pretty sight when some pale, local young twenty something with his finger on the pulse of all that's too cool for you and a scarf tied just so around his neck in ninety plus degree East Tennessee summer sports them with his beat up loafers.
I will not be wearing shorts that fall mid thigh. I really don't much wear shorts anyway, and I've always been able to prove I'm a dork in different ways. Besides, it's really too cool for me anyway.
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