A new study came out and announced that more women are becoming the breadwinners in their households. This has always been the case in homes of single mothers, but now it's starting to trend even in homes with both parents. This is a huge step for women. It means we are finally starting to truly achieve some level of economic security for ourselves.
Of course, any time women achieve anything, the unwashed masses run out and whinge about what this means for men and what it means for children, as if any time women take a step forward, men and children clearly take a step back. This is kind of a horrible way to think, because at its foundation, it implies that women much suffer so that everyone else can have better lives. I'm rolling my eyes so hard right now it almost hurts.
However, if we must talk about men, let's do so. I'm going to make a case here for one of the flipsides of women being the breadwinners. I'm going to talk about the benefits of the stay-at-home-dad. What is that alien creature, you ask? Why, this is a man who, by his own choosing, opts to take on the role of being the primary caretaker of the children and the household. You know, the job all the conservatives think women should be doing.
First of all, I want to make clear that I'm not being sarcastic here. I honestly do think that stay-at-home-dads are a great thing. And no, I'm not talking about some dude who sits on his butt all day and does nothing except play video games while he waits for his wife to come home so she can clean the house and cook him something to eat. I am talking about fully engaged, actively involved, competent men who are taking care of their homes and children.
Now there was a time, in fact, probably throughout most of our history, when women were probably better educated in the ways of housecleaning and childraising. It used to be that from a young age, girls were taught the proper methods of cleaning things and how to tend to babies. They were taught to cook, given tips on how to clean stains, and given hands on experience with children because people were forever making then watch younger siblings or the children of older siblings. Women were prepared for this role because it was the ONLY role that anyone thought was important for them. They didn't have a lot of educational options, even though in most cases, many of them still worked (cleaning other people's homes, raising other people's children, picking other people's crops, etc).
That has changed though. These days, women are no more likely to have the first clue about cleaning a house or taking care of a child than a man would. Most of us aren't taught jackcrap about cleaning the house. In fact, my roommate (who is a man) has a far better understanding of this than I do and he is the primary cook. I have only occasionally held a baby. I've fed a couple of them over the years and maybe changed like two diapers. If I got pregnant, I would have to attend classes on how to even keep the kid alive. And if I'm going to have to take classes as an adult to do that, a man could do it just as easily. So really, the presumption of women having a better knowledge base of how to raise children just isn't the case anymore.
Our society holds on to a lot of misogynistic views and practices. To me, this is actually the main advantage that can be had when one has a stay-at-home-dad. Most criminals, especially of the opportunistic nature, are less likely to attack a man than they are a woman. They believe women are easier prey and easier to restrain. So if your husband is at home with your kids or in the parking lot with your kids, he is less likely to get attacked than you would be.
There is also a lot of misogynistic issues that one has to face when dealing with various services. There have been quite a few times when doctors have dismissed me but talked with respect to my roommate, even though the doctor was there to tend to an issue that concerned me. This kind of thing is a common problem for a lot of women, especially when they're trying to find out if something is wrong with their kid. A husband taking the children to the same dismissive doctor, is more likely to get a straight answer and prompt results.
And yes, I know that it sucks that this is the way it is. It sucks that if you're one gender, you will get treated better at the mechanic or treated with more respect by the plumber. However, as we can't just automatically change everyone's behavior, doesn't it make more sense to have the person of the gender who DOES get the respect from these service groups being the one who deals with them? It would mean far less frustration for everyone involved.
For most of my life, I've found I'm more productive when I stop raging against the machine and figure out ways to make the machine work for me. I believe stay-at-home-dads are a great way to do that. The dads get to form a very close bond to their children. They get to organize a lot of what happens in the home. They get to feel like they are a vital and central core of what is happening. The mother gets to go to work knowing her kids are protected and that things will be taken care of while she's out securing funds. At the end of the day, everyone is tired, but everyone knows they've contributed. It spins the traditional gender roles on their heads, but also expands them in mutually beneficial ways. It could be a very good thing, if people will just accept it.
Friday, May 31, 2013
Thursday, May 30, 2013
Midstorm Reflections
The sky has been either dark and cloudy or weird and orange all day. The temp has been coolish, but quite often that was counteracted by humidity. Still, to be this close to June and it not be hellishly hot is quite rare, so I'll take what I can get. In fact, we got the electric bill in today and it was far lower than it had been this time last year. The main reason for this? Last year, we were already using the AC by May. This year, I'm thinking we'll be already into June before it ever comes on. That is a wonderful thing, believe me.
When you're superpoor, you learn very quickly that little things like this are not little things. Our electricity is averaged and if we can make our average go down even by a couple of dollars, that can make a huge difference in our overall living. Those extra dollars can get saved up for car repairs or other unexpected expenses. There will always be the unexpected expenses.
Another different thing about this year is that we've not had any flea problem yet. My roommate has been very diligent about spraying making sure they don't get into the house, plus we took a lot of steps last year to try and clean out any possible flea eggs. Usually by this time of year, we're already deeply involved in the flea war. Maybe we've done enough to keep it at bay.
The storm is starting to get worse so I should probably end the post. It's been a strange day, but at least the house is still standing. I'm grateful for that.
When you're superpoor, you learn very quickly that little things like this are not little things. Our electricity is averaged and if we can make our average go down even by a couple of dollars, that can make a huge difference in our overall living. Those extra dollars can get saved up for car repairs or other unexpected expenses. There will always be the unexpected expenses.
Another different thing about this year is that we've not had any flea problem yet. My roommate has been very diligent about spraying making sure they don't get into the house, plus we took a lot of steps last year to try and clean out any possible flea eggs. Usually by this time of year, we're already deeply involved in the flea war. Maybe we've done enough to keep it at bay.
The storm is starting to get worse so I should probably end the post. It's been a strange day, but at least the house is still standing. I'm grateful for that.
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
Pre-Storm Randoms
This is post 771! It's really late and I can't sleep for some reason. It's not a caffeine thing either, because I've had no more than usual. Maybe it's because I made sure to do my Lumosity. com puzzles today and it stimulated my brain a bit more than it should have. I'm not sure. By the way, if you haven't checked out Lumosity, you should. It is a lot of fun and provides some interesting training.
Doing puzzles like this is actually a new goal of mine. After the memory quagmire from the other night, I decided I needed to start working on brain flexibility. I'm just about to hit 40, and even though I don't feel any older, the signs are there. I need to do things to make sure I don't lose any more brain function than I already have. Some of the puzzles have been quite challenging for me, especially the ones that train vision flexibility. It's one of those areas where I really need a lot of help.
The wind is starting to pick up and we're getting some rain. I'm going to close out the post before my electricity/internet/both dies. Sleep well, everyone. Try and stay safe.
Doing puzzles like this is actually a new goal of mine. After the memory quagmire from the other night, I decided I needed to start working on brain flexibility. I'm just about to hit 40, and even though I don't feel any older, the signs are there. I need to do things to make sure I don't lose any more brain function than I already have. Some of the puzzles have been quite challenging for me, especially the ones that train vision flexibility. It's one of those areas where I really need a lot of help.
The wind is starting to pick up and we're getting some rain. I'm going to close out the post before my electricity/internet/both dies. Sleep well, everyone. Try and stay safe.
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
Death on the Rise
So it turns out that suicide rates are up. The rates aren't just up in the US, it's kind of a world wide trend. People are starting to grow concerned about it, though I'm not really sure that they should be. I'm not trying to make light of suicide. Clearly, it's a large issue that has a lot of final results. However, one has to wonder if the rates are really as high as they seem.
After all, we have to consider there are some other factors happening here. Our population is higher than it's ever been in recorded history. We have also conquered (in some areas) some of the usual factors for why people die. These two facts can skew the results of any kind of population trend.
For example, say you have a box full of rice. If you have 100 pieces of rice in the box and only three of them are pink, you'll notice the pink ones, but they won't really seem like a lot. You add ten times that amount and now you have 30 pink pieces. The ratio is still the same, but 30 pink pieces is going to get more notice than 3, even though you have more white rice in there as well.
We also have less ways for people to die. In developed areas, we have less instances of people dying of starvation and exposure (even though, sadly, this still does happen). We have cured or at least managed a lot of diseases. We've found more ways to keep us alive from outside dangers . . . so now it appears we're becoming more of a danger to ourselves.
I always hate how psychologists and the like try to tackle suicide. There is always this assumption that if they make people conform, then they'll be healthier and happier. "If people go to church, they'll be less suicidal." "If people have children, they'll be less suicidal."
Um, no. When I used to be part of organized religion, it didn't make me feel better and it certainly didn't make me a better person. Organized religion made me feel horrible and helped me to become a really sanctimonious bitch. I wasn't less depressed or suicidal at that time . . . I was just more fearful and felt more guilt. Having children wouldn't make me less depressed either. The article said that a woman with six children was six times LESS likely to kill herself than her childless counterpart. NOPE! If I had six children, I would be six times MORE likely to kill myself. I would feel nothing but drained.
See, the thing is, you can't FIX suicidal patterns. Once people start to believe existence is bullshit, you can't alter their circumstances and change that belief. All you have done is give them different bullshit to distract them. You will never fool them into believing it's more than just bullshit though. They're already past that point.
As for me, I keep fighting the good fight because I have some simple little life goals that are reasonably possible. They just involve a few changes in my current circumstances, changes that I know will come with time . . . hopefully sooner than later. Past that, I can have my quiet little existence where I can enjoy the things I enjoy and ignore the rest of madness.
After all, we have to consider there are some other factors happening here. Our population is higher than it's ever been in recorded history. We have also conquered (in some areas) some of the usual factors for why people die. These two facts can skew the results of any kind of population trend.
For example, say you have a box full of rice. If you have 100 pieces of rice in the box and only three of them are pink, you'll notice the pink ones, but they won't really seem like a lot. You add ten times that amount and now you have 30 pink pieces. The ratio is still the same, but 30 pink pieces is going to get more notice than 3, even though you have more white rice in there as well.
We also have less ways for people to die. In developed areas, we have less instances of people dying of starvation and exposure (even though, sadly, this still does happen). We have cured or at least managed a lot of diseases. We've found more ways to keep us alive from outside dangers . . . so now it appears we're becoming more of a danger to ourselves.
I always hate how psychologists and the like try to tackle suicide. There is always this assumption that if they make people conform, then they'll be healthier and happier. "If people go to church, they'll be less suicidal." "If people have children, they'll be less suicidal."
Um, no. When I used to be part of organized religion, it didn't make me feel better and it certainly didn't make me a better person. Organized religion made me feel horrible and helped me to become a really sanctimonious bitch. I wasn't less depressed or suicidal at that time . . . I was just more fearful and felt more guilt. Having children wouldn't make me less depressed either. The article said that a woman with six children was six times LESS likely to kill herself than her childless counterpart. NOPE! If I had six children, I would be six times MORE likely to kill myself. I would feel nothing but drained.
See, the thing is, you can't FIX suicidal patterns. Once people start to believe existence is bullshit, you can't alter their circumstances and change that belief. All you have done is give them different bullshit to distract them. You will never fool them into believing it's more than just bullshit though. They're already past that point.
As for me, I keep fighting the good fight because I have some simple little life goals that are reasonably possible. They just involve a few changes in my current circumstances, changes that I know will come with time . . . hopefully sooner than later. Past that, I can have my quiet little existence where I can enjoy the things I enjoy and ignore the rest of madness.
Monday, May 27, 2013
Personal Stories
My uncle sent me an email, asking me if I remembered the name of one of my grandmother's friends. This lady was very significant in my grandmother's life towards the end. She was very vivacious. She always talked my grandmother into going to the music shows they have around here. She encouraged Gran to be brave and enjoy life, especially when she became aware of the fact that there wasn't much left. She really improved the quality of what Gran's life was and I'm very grateful she had her.
However . . . I can not remember this woman's name. I remember my grandmother's other friends. There was the hardass divorced woman down the street who had the great garden. When she died, her kids could never decide what to do with her house, leaving one daughter to try and keep the place mowed. There was the lady across the street who gossiped all the time. There were her friends from childhood, women who would always be girls in her eyes. There were the ladies at church.
All of these people had been in her life many years. The woman who took her to the show was new. Gran talked about her, but the stories of her weren't as deeply embedded in my mind as the other friends. It's frustrating because this woman had such a significant impact on Gran's later years. And I just cannot remember her name.
I'm sure I will remember at some point, but right now, the whole process is giving me some pause. You know, it's actually pretty important I keep this blog up and that I continue to write. Otherwise, there really isn't going to be anyone to remember my stories. There are no future Blackhaired Barbie generations. I'm the last of my line and all my stories will only be there for people who think to read about them.
I'm okay with that. If you read the blog at all, you know I am totally okay with that. Still, even I will admit there are times when I know that the benefits I've gained from being childfree do come with some drawbacks. If I don't write my stories, no one will know them.
Then again, there is no way I could really be certain anyone would remember them if I did have kids. Clearly I'm proof that the younger generations only pay somewhat attention to what is said to them. My stories might not have any meaning to anyone else, so perhaps it's best to just keep them here.
However . . . I can not remember this woman's name. I remember my grandmother's other friends. There was the hardass divorced woman down the street who had the great garden. When she died, her kids could never decide what to do with her house, leaving one daughter to try and keep the place mowed. There was the lady across the street who gossiped all the time. There were her friends from childhood, women who would always be girls in her eyes. There were the ladies at church.
All of these people had been in her life many years. The woman who took her to the show was new. Gran talked about her, but the stories of her weren't as deeply embedded in my mind as the other friends. It's frustrating because this woman had such a significant impact on Gran's later years. And I just cannot remember her name.
I'm sure I will remember at some point, but right now, the whole process is giving me some pause. You know, it's actually pretty important I keep this blog up and that I continue to write. Otherwise, there really isn't going to be anyone to remember my stories. There are no future Blackhaired Barbie generations. I'm the last of my line and all my stories will only be there for people who think to read about them.
I'm okay with that. If you read the blog at all, you know I am totally okay with that. Still, even I will admit there are times when I know that the benefits I've gained from being childfree do come with some drawbacks. If I don't write my stories, no one will know them.
Then again, there is no way I could really be certain anyone would remember them if I did have kids. Clearly I'm proof that the younger generations only pay somewhat attention to what is said to them. My stories might not have any meaning to anyone else, so perhaps it's best to just keep them here.
Sunday, May 26, 2013
McRibs and Being Reasonable
I hate McRibs. I think they're all levels of nasty. I hate the bun they come on. I hate the bbq sauce they slather on them. The idea of pickles with bbq sauce is abhorrent to me and all of this is before I even talk about how it's a molded piece of 'pork' in the shape of a rib . . . including the places where the bones are supposed to be. McRibs are truly some of the nastiest things ever.
I do not want to eat one. The very idea of it gives me the willies. I do not want to watch someone else eating one. I do not want to smell them. I do not want to discuss the eating of them with others. Quite frankly, I wish they didn't exist.
However, they DO exist. McRibs exist and some people love them. Some people LIVE for the various times of year they are on the menu. Fact is, McRibs appeal to them. They make them happy. And these people would like it if the McRib was on the menu all the time.
And you know what? I don't really care if they put it on the menu full time. I may not like them, but they're being on the menu doesn't really impact my life. It's not like anyone will be FORCING me to eat McRibs now. It's not like the stable, typical, and common items I enjoy from the menu will now disappear because the McRib is offered. Other than the moments when I think too long about people eating them (which I shouldn't do because it's none of my business), McRibs being offered all the time just doesn't have anything to do with me.
This is basically what I thought about as I read about the protests in France over the legalization of gay marriage. The protests are fairly passionate over the issue. One historian even killed himself . . . he killed himself, because they made it legal for gay people to get married. Okay, I know I'm not religious, but that is seriously about as smart as me killing myself because they made McRibs a full time menu item. It seriously had that little to do with him . . . and yet, he killed himself.
At some point, we need to begin to realize that our own personal beliefs really should not be the measure of who is allowed to have rights and who isn't. Even when we feel very, very deeply about something, we should still stop and ask ourselves if we are violating someone else by allowing our ideas to hold more weight than their happiness. What kind of people would do that? What kind of society does that make us?
Let people have their McRibs. No one is saying you have to eat one. No one is saying you have to sacrifice your chicken nuggets so the McRib people can be happy. They're just eating what they like while you eat what you like. Be happy you have something to munch on and mind your own damned business.
I do not want to eat one. The very idea of it gives me the willies. I do not want to watch someone else eating one. I do not want to smell them. I do not want to discuss the eating of them with others. Quite frankly, I wish they didn't exist.
However, they DO exist. McRibs exist and some people love them. Some people LIVE for the various times of year they are on the menu. Fact is, McRibs appeal to them. They make them happy. And these people would like it if the McRib was on the menu all the time.
And you know what? I don't really care if they put it on the menu full time. I may not like them, but they're being on the menu doesn't really impact my life. It's not like anyone will be FORCING me to eat McRibs now. It's not like the stable, typical, and common items I enjoy from the menu will now disappear because the McRib is offered. Other than the moments when I think too long about people eating them (which I shouldn't do because it's none of my business), McRibs being offered all the time just doesn't have anything to do with me.
This is basically what I thought about as I read about the protests in France over the legalization of gay marriage. The protests are fairly passionate over the issue. One historian even killed himself . . . he killed himself, because they made it legal for gay people to get married. Okay, I know I'm not religious, but that is seriously about as smart as me killing myself because they made McRibs a full time menu item. It seriously had that little to do with him . . . and yet, he killed himself.
At some point, we need to begin to realize that our own personal beliefs really should not be the measure of who is allowed to have rights and who isn't. Even when we feel very, very deeply about something, we should still stop and ask ourselves if we are violating someone else by allowing our ideas to hold more weight than their happiness. What kind of people would do that? What kind of society does that make us?
Let people have their McRibs. No one is saying you have to eat one. No one is saying you have to sacrifice your chicken nuggets so the McRib people can be happy. They're just eating what they like while you eat what you like. Be happy you have something to munch on and mind your own damned business.
Saturday, May 25, 2013
Much Curmudgeonliness
The house next door continues to be empty and I continue to be nervous. Every few days, various groups of undesirable people show up to look at the house. I somehow manage to see (or hear) them every time, and get a deep gut wrenching feeling of foreboding. It's almost like the universe took my list of 'things I don't want in a neighbor' and decided to be a real asshole.
For instance, the other day, we saw college boys looking at the house. College boys! Okay, that sounds just awful. College boys. This means loud music, lour parties, loud random sounds of 'whooo!' being called out at all hours of the day, and cars full of speakers that vibrate the whole street. I love music and you know I do, but dammit, I have headphones, just like the gods intended. I don't have to announce my music to the whole world. Most of the time with college boys, this idea just doesn't sink into their brains. They drive past your house and all the windows rattle. I do NOT need that in my life.
Today, people were over there working on the house and they had a whole gaggle of children with them. There were at least four and they made enough noise for possibly 37. For hours, they screamed and yelled at each other, brayed at the adults, and ran up and down the streets. As much as I don't want to deal with college boys, I really don't want to deal with more children. More children means more yelling and babbling and street ball. It also means that in four or five years, I will STILL have to deal with all the loud cars and parties and whooing because these kids will grow INTO those college boys.
Children are never content just to leave you alone either. They're always knocking on the door, trying to get you to buy stuff. "Can you buy this from my school?" "Can you buy this so I can go to band camp?" "Can you buy this so I can get a new tooth?" Listen kids, unless it's candy, I'm not buyin anything. And even then, I'm probably not. I hate it when people come to my door to bug me for stuff. Coming to my door will never get me to buy anything, vote for anything, or convert to your religion. Ever. Go away.
So yeah, this has been my week. A steady stream of potential neighbors that I don't want. It's either been people with loud and mostly unsupervised children or loud and certainly unsupervised college boys. Dammit! Why can't I get the neighbor I want? Just some nice, quiet, childless person who minds their own business, has a silent car, and owns headphones! Is that so much to ask? Really?
For instance, the other day, we saw college boys looking at the house. College boys! Okay, that sounds just awful. College boys. This means loud music, lour parties, loud random sounds of 'whooo!' being called out at all hours of the day, and cars full of speakers that vibrate the whole street. I love music and you know I do, but dammit, I have headphones, just like the gods intended. I don't have to announce my music to the whole world. Most of the time with college boys, this idea just doesn't sink into their brains. They drive past your house and all the windows rattle. I do NOT need that in my life.
Today, people were over there working on the house and they had a whole gaggle of children with them. There were at least four and they made enough noise for possibly 37. For hours, they screamed and yelled at each other, brayed at the adults, and ran up and down the streets. As much as I don't want to deal with college boys, I really don't want to deal with more children. More children means more yelling and babbling and street ball. It also means that in four or five years, I will STILL have to deal with all the loud cars and parties and whooing because these kids will grow INTO those college boys.
Children are never content just to leave you alone either. They're always knocking on the door, trying to get you to buy stuff. "Can you buy this from my school?" "Can you buy this so I can go to band camp?" "Can you buy this so I can get a new tooth?" Listen kids, unless it's candy, I'm not buyin anything. And even then, I'm probably not. I hate it when people come to my door to bug me for stuff. Coming to my door will never get me to buy anything, vote for anything, or convert to your religion. Ever. Go away.
So yeah, this has been my week. A steady stream of potential neighbors that I don't want. It's either been people with loud and mostly unsupervised children or loud and certainly unsupervised college boys. Dammit! Why can't I get the neighbor I want? Just some nice, quiet, childless person who minds their own business, has a silent car, and owns headphones! Is that so much to ask? Really?
Thursday, May 23, 2013
Drawing Dinosaurs
My brother's family is in the process of moving and as we all know, that process sucks. It sucks even more when you have two young children who need to be seen to while all the packing is happening. My SIL asked me to come over because my nephew needed help with some art. Basically, I went over because she needed someone to watch the kids while she packed. I had no problem with this. I like hanging with the kids from time to time.
When I draw, I tend to draw people . . . usually people from my imagination because a lot of people are living in my brain. I spend a lot of time on costume design and how clothing looks. When I used to doodle a lot, I would work on spirals and random shape combinations. Sometimes, I would draw flowers, though I was never really good at that. My nephew, on the other hand, has a huge interest in animals, so I found myself drawing a shark, a hippo, and a dinosaur.
As I showed him how to do them, I told him to look for central lines, then about proportion and shapes. I think he understood that, though the idea of light and shadow kind of went over his head. There were a lot of things that I shaded that confused him. He felt like there needed to be more lines. We went through how to cartoon something. He liked that a lot.
Finally, I told him to trace things. When he suggested that didn't count, I talked to him about muscle memory. He may have believed this was a bit of art voodoo, but I told him to just try it for a while and see if it made a difference. Beyond that, I told him to practice as much as he could. That is, after all, the biggest key to learning to draw.
By the time I left, he had a picture of a dinosaur, several sharks, and one hippo with its mouth open. The hippo had some funky teeth, but I like adding funky teeth to things. He thought it was funny. We named all the creatures and then I drew butterflies with my niece. She named hers Sharla. My butterfly was named Bootibog. I have no idea why.
It just felt like the best name for the butterfly.
When I draw, I tend to draw people . . . usually people from my imagination because a lot of people are living in my brain. I spend a lot of time on costume design and how clothing looks. When I used to doodle a lot, I would work on spirals and random shape combinations. Sometimes, I would draw flowers, though I was never really good at that. My nephew, on the other hand, has a huge interest in animals, so I found myself drawing a shark, a hippo, and a dinosaur.
As I showed him how to do them, I told him to look for central lines, then about proportion and shapes. I think he understood that, though the idea of light and shadow kind of went over his head. There were a lot of things that I shaded that confused him. He felt like there needed to be more lines. We went through how to cartoon something. He liked that a lot.
Finally, I told him to trace things. When he suggested that didn't count, I talked to him about muscle memory. He may have believed this was a bit of art voodoo, but I told him to just try it for a while and see if it made a difference. Beyond that, I told him to practice as much as he could. That is, after all, the biggest key to learning to draw.
By the time I left, he had a picture of a dinosaur, several sharks, and one hippo with its mouth open. The hippo had some funky teeth, but I like adding funky teeth to things. He thought it was funny. We named all the creatures and then I drew butterflies with my niece. She named hers Sharla. My butterfly was named Bootibog. I have no idea why.
It just felt like the best name for the butterfly.
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
Fat Gym
A few days ago, a friend posted an article on Facebook about how certain schools are starting to offer remedial gym class. In the same way that math classes of varying levels of mastery are offered, or different levels of chemistry, students will now have the option to take gym classes that specialize in working with people who have limited to practically no physical education skills. The elite jock students are referring to this as 'fat gym' and I say let them. It's still a wonderful thing.
As you know, I am a fat adult who grew up as a fat kid. My weight has always been an issue and its dark sisters of Diet and Exercise have been lifelong complications. Actually, they tend to be the two words and concepts I hate the most, mainly because I've spent a lifetime sucking at them. One-size-fits-all gym classes never helped with that.
Off the top of my head, these are the ten impressions I have from gym from my various 13 first years of school.
As you know, I am a fat adult who grew up as a fat kid. My weight has always been an issue and its dark sisters of Diet and Exercise have been lifelong complications. Actually, they tend to be the two words and concepts I hate the most, mainly because I've spent a lifetime sucking at them. One-size-fits-all gym classes never helped with that.
Off the top of my head, these are the ten impressions I have from gym from my various 13 first years of school.
- Being hit in the face by a dodge ball.
- Being snickered at by other girls as I changed into my gym clothes.
- Being told to run laps when I couldn't run laps.
- Being looked at like I was a monster.
- Being hit in the arm by a softball.
- Being hit in the face by a volleyball.
- Looking at my gym instructor and thinking "Are you SHITTING ME??!?!" when asked to do a pull up.
- Skipping the day they did that rope thing.
- Being hit in the face with a soccer ball.
- Spraining my ankle. Actually, this happened a lot.
As you can see, my time in gym classes are a blur of failure, pain, cognitive dissonance, and balls hurling towards me. It's one big nightmare where I learned only that I wanted to avoid PE as much as possible.
You can imagine how happy I was when I got the chance. Past my sixth grade year, PE was no longer required. I didn't have to face it again until college. My PE class then was bowling. I sucked at it, but we were only graded on our ability to keep score properly, so I got an A.
At this point in my life, I realize that this was completely backwards of how PE should have been presented to me. As a fat kid, who would grow into a fat adult, I was EXACTLY the kind of person who needed to learn physical education. And by that, I mean truly learned. It should have been TAUGHT to me in a way I could handle and practice. Instead, it was some kind of punishment class where the cool kids (who were already physically fit and really didn't NEED to learn anything) were rewarded and the people who truly needed to learn were punished. This is the exact opposite of how PE should be handled.
The new method allows the kids to learn physical fitness at their own pace and ability. They are taught activities they can perform at their current level and then shown how to increase that activity. The focus is on individualize goals of learning to be strong and capable. In some cases, it's a matter of reteaching people how to be mobile.
I know that as a kid, I would have been so mortified to find out I had to take 'fat gym.' I would have been soul crushed and devastated every day . . .at least, for a while. But with the right instructors (as in, people trained to work with the unfit, not some asshole fat phobic coach), the proper approach to learning to be active, and a nonhostile setting, there is a good chance I could have avoided a lot of the issues I'm now having to struggle with as someone about to turn 40. It could have made a vast difference in my life.
SO, if you live in an area with a lot of unhealthy kids or if you are on a PTA or have any power in deciding what happens in the schools around you, it might be a good idea to suggest they start a program for remedial fitness. Have a safe place for the kids who need help finding a way to learn to work with their bodies, have lessons designed to teach basic movement, and, most importantly, have instructors who can do this in a way that doesn't make the children feel ashamed.
Like I said, it could make all the difference in the world.
You can imagine how happy I was when I got the chance. Past my sixth grade year, PE was no longer required. I didn't have to face it again until college. My PE class then was bowling. I sucked at it, but we were only graded on our ability to keep score properly, so I got an A.
At this point in my life, I realize that this was completely backwards of how PE should have been presented to me. As a fat kid, who would grow into a fat adult, I was EXACTLY the kind of person who needed to learn physical education. And by that, I mean truly learned. It should have been TAUGHT to me in a way I could handle and practice. Instead, it was some kind of punishment class where the cool kids (who were already physically fit and really didn't NEED to learn anything) were rewarded and the people who truly needed to learn were punished. This is the exact opposite of how PE should be handled.
The new method allows the kids to learn physical fitness at their own pace and ability. They are taught activities they can perform at their current level and then shown how to increase that activity. The focus is on individualize goals of learning to be strong and capable. In some cases, it's a matter of reteaching people how to be mobile.
I know that as a kid, I would have been so mortified to find out I had to take 'fat gym.' I would have been soul crushed and devastated every day . . .at least, for a while. But with the right instructors (as in, people trained to work with the unfit, not some asshole fat phobic coach), the proper approach to learning to be active, and a nonhostile setting, there is a good chance I could have avoided a lot of the issues I'm now having to struggle with as someone about to turn 40. It could have made a vast difference in my life.
SO, if you live in an area with a lot of unhealthy kids or if you are on a PTA or have any power in deciding what happens in the schools around you, it might be a good idea to suggest they start a program for remedial fitness. Have a safe place for the kids who need help finding a way to learn to work with their bodies, have lessons designed to teach basic movement, and, most importantly, have instructors who can do this in a way that doesn't make the children feel ashamed.
Like I said, it could make all the difference in the world.
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
Show Biz for Ugly People . . . and Ugly in SO Many Ways
I really hate politicians.
Now, I'm not saying I hate everyone who serves in a political office. Some of those people are honorable and do their jobs without any muss or fuss, faithfully serving the people they have sworn to serve. These people usually don't hold office for long, or, if they do, find a nice place for themselves and work for the betterment of their area.
That isn't what a politician does. A politician is someone who is elected to office and then spends his or her time just working toward the agenda of their party. These people are the core of what is wrong with American politics today. They think only in partisan terms. If one side backs something, the other side will oppose it, just to try and make sure their rival doesn't 'win.'
Senator Tom Coburn (R, OK) is a perfect example of this. My state has been devastated by tornadoes. People are homeless. People are displaced. People have lost loved ones. The infrastructure in Moore is used up and exhausted. It's fairly clear these people need help. Within hours of the tornado, Congress started working on a relief package for them.
One would think Coburn would realize the needs of his state, you know, the people he is supposed to represent, would be the foremost in his mind. One would think he and the other representatives of our state would humbly thank Congress for their help and take the funds back to rebuild what has been destroyed. This, to my way of thinking, is what a good leader would do.
Instead, Coburn has declared that he won't sign off on any relief for Oklahoma until budget cuts are made in other places. In other words, he is going to play politics at the expense of his own constituents. The people he has sworn to serve and represent are of less importance to him than towing his party's line.
I am really tired of people like Coburn being allowed to make major decisions in our country. I am sick of him and of every politician (of every political philosophy) putting their game above what is best for Americans. We need to stop electing these people and start electing people who are reasonable, rational, and willing to work for the common good. We need to make sure the people representing us, are truly representing US, the people. I realize I'm probably wishing for something that is impossible at this point. That makes me really sad.
Now, I'm not saying I hate everyone who serves in a political office. Some of those people are honorable and do their jobs without any muss or fuss, faithfully serving the people they have sworn to serve. These people usually don't hold office for long, or, if they do, find a nice place for themselves and work for the betterment of their area.
That isn't what a politician does. A politician is someone who is elected to office and then spends his or her time just working toward the agenda of their party. These people are the core of what is wrong with American politics today. They think only in partisan terms. If one side backs something, the other side will oppose it, just to try and make sure their rival doesn't 'win.'
Senator Tom Coburn (R, OK) is a perfect example of this. My state has been devastated by tornadoes. People are homeless. People are displaced. People have lost loved ones. The infrastructure in Moore is used up and exhausted. It's fairly clear these people need help. Within hours of the tornado, Congress started working on a relief package for them.
One would think Coburn would realize the needs of his state, you know, the people he is supposed to represent, would be the foremost in his mind. One would think he and the other representatives of our state would humbly thank Congress for their help and take the funds back to rebuild what has been destroyed. This, to my way of thinking, is what a good leader would do.
Instead, Coburn has declared that he won't sign off on any relief for Oklahoma until budget cuts are made in other places. In other words, he is going to play politics at the expense of his own constituents. The people he has sworn to serve and represent are of less importance to him than towing his party's line.
I am really tired of people like Coburn being allowed to make major decisions in our country. I am sick of him and of every politician (of every political philosophy) putting their game above what is best for Americans. We need to stop electing these people and start electing people who are reasonable, rational, and willing to work for the common good. We need to make sure the people representing us, are truly representing US, the people. I realize I'm probably wishing for something that is impossible at this point. That makes me really sad.
Monday, May 20, 2013
Bad Weather Day
It's been one hell of a day. I had something else I was going to blog about, but the weather altered my plans. I have friends in the area of Oklahoma hit hardest by the tornadoes and so far, a couple have reported that they are okay. The others haven't been on Facebook yet.
Facebook is actually pretty useful during times like this. People can post stuff about missing family members and get the word out when people have been found. People can post about where shelter can be found and how to get there. I've even seen some posts about what people need in various areas. For instance, in Moore, they're asking for people with horse trailers to come up and try to help locate and shelter their horses.
You know, in ways like that, Facebook is actually better than the news stations. They can get information out in a less annoying way, because you're not having to hear cheesy voice. People can make requests and, as much as people may not think it's true, having someone type that they are glad you're safe can make you feel very, very loved.
Facebook is actually pretty useful during times like this. People can post stuff about missing family members and get the word out when people have been found. People can post about where shelter can be found and how to get there. I've even seen some posts about what people need in various areas. For instance, in Moore, they're asking for people with horse trailers to come up and try to help locate and shelter their horses.
You know, in ways like that, Facebook is actually better than the news stations. They can get information out in a less annoying way, because you're not having to hear cheesy voice. People can make requests and, as much as people may not think it's true, having someone type that they are glad you're safe can make you feel very, very loved.
Sunday, May 19, 2013
Quick Post
Not a very long post for tonight. My sinuses are doing evil things to my head and it's starting to destroy my soul. Not only that, the weather is doing strange thing. My internet keeps screwing up and I'm not sure why. It's troubling.
My weekend was good. The roommate and I made a favorite dish and tried to keep as cool as possible. The cats were their usual selves. I'm already tired of listening to fans.
My weekend was good. The roommate and I made a favorite dish and tried to keep as cool as possible. The cats were their usual selves. I'm already tired of listening to fans.
Saturday, May 18, 2013
They're Sharing a Drink they call Loneliness
So this morning, one of my friends had linked to this article about the ways that loneliness can screw up not only your mind but your body. It's a long piece, but a very worth while read. It discusses all the ways in which loneliness and lack of intimacy can basically kill you. It also talks about how this isn't just a small problem, it's a great big serious problem that should be treated as a public health crisis. It's something that we could solve and probably cure, if we just tried.
As I was reading the article, I found myself in this strange emotional state. It was kind of like wasps swarming inside my head and at first I really didn't even understand why. I knew I was angry. I considered that maybe it was because loneliness shouldn't have to exist but does because we decide certain people are objectionable. Or maybe I was pissed because people know how much loneliness can hurt, but still use it as a way to punish others.
The more I thought about it though, the more I realized I was fundamentally pissed at the concept as a whole. I really, deeply, and completely HATE the fact that we're so genetically geared to be around each other. To me, it feels like a kind of cosmic betrayal.
I've rarely witnessed humans who were around each other and it turned out to be a positive thing. Most of the time, the relationships were horrible or destructive or outright dangerous. Sure our bodies may crave attention and affection from other humans, but at what cost? To keep them around, we have to put up with their drama, with their financial costs, with their baggage, with their filthy, and with them draining us. If not being around other humans can be deadly, it seems that being around them can be just as bad. Or worse. Maybe your body isn't dying as fast . . . you just wish it was.
I can't even count the number of times I've seen people in absolutely horrible relationships say they wouldn't leave because they 'didn't want to be alone.' They didn't want to live alone in the house. They didn't want to face every day by themselves. They didn't want to die alone.
I get it. I do. Even though I HATE this concept, I understand it. Now that I'm getting older, I'm starting to have to think about those years when I'm an old and feeble woman. There won't be anyone to take care of me. Then again, I've been fat for a long time, so maybe I'll just have a heart attack or something and not have to worry about it. I'm serious about that too. Quick heart attack death sounds a lot less scary than 'at the whim of the rest home workers' death. I do not like the idea of that one at all.
Though, as angry as I get about things of this nature, I have to remember that it IS nature and that humans are capable of evolving. Maybe the risk of being around other asshole humans will begin to outweigh the drive TO be around other humans. Maybe we can evolve past the effects of loneliness. I think this would be a vast kindness, really.
As I was reading the article, I found myself in this strange emotional state. It was kind of like wasps swarming inside my head and at first I really didn't even understand why. I knew I was angry. I considered that maybe it was because loneliness shouldn't have to exist but does because we decide certain people are objectionable. Or maybe I was pissed because people know how much loneliness can hurt, but still use it as a way to punish others.
The more I thought about it though, the more I realized I was fundamentally pissed at the concept as a whole. I really, deeply, and completely HATE the fact that we're so genetically geared to be around each other. To me, it feels like a kind of cosmic betrayal.
I've rarely witnessed humans who were around each other and it turned out to be a positive thing. Most of the time, the relationships were horrible or destructive or outright dangerous. Sure our bodies may crave attention and affection from other humans, but at what cost? To keep them around, we have to put up with their drama, with their financial costs, with their baggage, with their filthy, and with them draining us. If not being around other humans can be deadly, it seems that being around them can be just as bad. Or worse. Maybe your body isn't dying as fast . . . you just wish it was.
I can't even count the number of times I've seen people in absolutely horrible relationships say they wouldn't leave because they 'didn't want to be alone.' They didn't want to live alone in the house. They didn't want to face every day by themselves. They didn't want to die alone.
I get it. I do. Even though I HATE this concept, I understand it. Now that I'm getting older, I'm starting to have to think about those years when I'm an old and feeble woman. There won't be anyone to take care of me. Then again, I've been fat for a long time, so maybe I'll just have a heart attack or something and not have to worry about it. I'm serious about that too. Quick heart attack death sounds a lot less scary than 'at the whim of the rest home workers' death. I do not like the idea of that one at all.
Though, as angry as I get about things of this nature, I have to remember that it IS nature and that humans are capable of evolving. Maybe the risk of being around other asshole humans will begin to outweigh the drive TO be around other humans. Maybe we can evolve past the effects of loneliness. I think this would be a vast kindness, really.
Thursday, May 16, 2013
Boo Dog's Rug
I happened to post on Facebook that I was doing this and my cousin mentioned that she always liked to have various blankets and rugs for her dog. As I really had no concrete plans for the knit board project, I decided that it would become one of these dog rugs. The above picture is the result.
I love the knit board. I know I've blogged about that a lot, but it should be repeated, especially when you consider how afraid I was of it. I like the motion of it and I love the results it yields. Knit boards give you a wonderful texture to your work. They keep things very even and orderly. Plus, there is just something hellishly neat about watching yarn around nails become a rug. I really loved that part.
A lot happened while I was making this. Christmas came and went. Our beloved Alice Cat passed away. Several crappy things happened in the house. My cousin's baby was born. I processed a lot of emotion while I worked on that rug. It became a secondary therapy for me. I'm grateful for that.
I'm sure Boo the Dog doesn't care about any of this. She's just happy to be able to lounge on something warm and fuzzy.I'm sure on nights when it gets cold, she'll enjoy having it wrapped around her. I'm glad about that. I'm glad I can make things that offer comfort to others. Actually, I'm a little overjoyed at that idea.
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
Tinkerbell Update
Tinkerbell is still living inside the house with us. She's escaped once, but only as far as the porch (she paused to eat some of the food out there). Most of the time, she lives in my roommate's bedroom. She sits in his windows or sleeps on the edge of his bed. When she leaves his room, she heads right to the food or water bowls or uses the litter box. For the most part, her adventures out of the bedroom are needs based.
On occasion, she does leave to explore the rest of the house. She'll wander through the kitchen into the hallway and then into my room. She's always very curious when the shower is going, because that is a lot of water for a human. She has made some cautious ventures into the living room, but it seems to be the scariest place for her. I'm not surprised. It's usually occupied by the other three cats, who remain hissers of disapproval to the whole Tink Project.
The Hissers of Disapproval (known from now on as HOD) have staged several protests over our decision to bring Tinkerbell inside. Their main tactic comes in the form of a sit-in . . .okay, actually, a LAY-in. All three of them will lay on the couch to show their solidarity. This is a new development for them. Usually they don't get along all that well. They are, however, united in their annoyance over Tink.
Another tactic is the Sideswipe Hiss. One of the girls will plant herself in areas Tink has to cross in order to get to the food bowl or litter box. When Tink walks by, said bitch cat will hiss with all of her might in an attempt to terrorize Tinkerbell from doing her business. Tink doesn't seem that phased. She's a former outdoor kitty and has seen scarier things that bratty girl cats.
On the bonding front, we had some progress tonight. My roommate was sitting in the recliner watching TV and Tink walked deep enough into the room to run her head under his hand so he would pet her. She didn't stay for very long, but it's been my experience that once a cat begins to go to you for affection, she's starting to view you and her situation as acceptable. I hope that is the case with Tink. Maybe one day soon, she'll forget she ever lived anywhere except with us.
On occasion, she does leave to explore the rest of the house. She'll wander through the kitchen into the hallway and then into my room. She's always very curious when the shower is going, because that is a lot of water for a human. She has made some cautious ventures into the living room, but it seems to be the scariest place for her. I'm not surprised. It's usually occupied by the other three cats, who remain hissers of disapproval to the whole Tink Project.
The Hissers of Disapproval (known from now on as HOD) have staged several protests over our decision to bring Tinkerbell inside. Their main tactic comes in the form of a sit-in . . .okay, actually, a LAY-in. All three of them will lay on the couch to show their solidarity. This is a new development for them. Usually they don't get along all that well. They are, however, united in their annoyance over Tink.
Another tactic is the Sideswipe Hiss. One of the girls will plant herself in areas Tink has to cross in order to get to the food bowl or litter box. When Tink walks by, said bitch cat will hiss with all of her might in an attempt to terrorize Tinkerbell from doing her business. Tink doesn't seem that phased. She's a former outdoor kitty and has seen scarier things that bratty girl cats.
On the bonding front, we had some progress tonight. My roommate was sitting in the recliner watching TV and Tink walked deep enough into the room to run her head under his hand so he would pet her. She didn't stay for very long, but it's been my experience that once a cat begins to go to you for affection, she's starting to view you and her situation as acceptable. I hope that is the case with Tink. Maybe one day soon, she'll forget she ever lived anywhere except with us.
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
Happiness and the Two Years Later
As you know, on occasion I will look at what I was writing on this date two and the one year ago. I like to do this because it helps me to remember what was going on in my life at that time and maybe do a bit of analysis of how things have (or have not) changed.
Two years ago, I was writing part of my analysis of happiness. In this segment, I was talking about how you should do things on a daily basis to make yourself happy. I had bullet points and various ideas about what you should and shouldn't do. I talked about finding things that please various aspects of your being and practical ways to go about it.
The whole post had been inspired because I'd spent the weekend reading an analysis of The Foundation books and being deeply happy about that. You know, even two years later, I still count that as one of the funnest weekends I've had in years. And yes, I was just sitting here reading a discussion about a series of books. That is my kind of fun weekend though. Ahh, it still makes me happy.
A year ago, I was writing my own analysis of Puella Magi Madoka Magica. It's hard to believe it's been a year since I wrote that. It really doesn't feel like it's been that long. In this portion of the analysis, I was talking about the emptiness of having only duty as a reason to live and how this affects not only the characters in the anime, but also women in real life.
The interesting thing about these two posts being set a year apart (and then me writing about them today) is that reading that analysis of Foundation was part of the reason I did the Madoka posts. I'd found so much enjoyment in reading the first that I knew I'd find a lot of enjoyment in writing the second.
The two posts really tie well together. In the happiness post from two years ago, I wrote about how important it is to have daily moments of pleasure. It's important to take time for yourself and really indulge for a bit. In the post from a year ago, I talked about how empty life is when that happiness, when having something to look forward to, is gone and all that is left is duty. It is an empty way to live, even if people seem to think it's the key to a fulfilling existence.
Recently I was reading some people's comments about works of creativity that concerned the topic of depression. One of the commenters had written something along the lines of 'this depressed woman is SO self-absorbed. She should go out and volunteer at a soup kitchen or something. Maybe then she'll realize how minor her problems are. Plus, she'll be helping others.'
Comments like this always make me very angry. For one thing, depression is not cured by 'perspective.' Just because other people's lives are less great than yours doesn't mean you will just automatically feel better about yours. It is also rooted in this idea that people (especially women) are better off if they will stop focusing on themselves and their own needs and instead focus on other people/causes/what have you.
So a year (and two) past these posts, I still stand by what I said in them. I still believe it's important to seek daily happiness and I still believe that if duty is all you have, your life is going to feel very meaningless. On a more fundamental level, I still firmly believe in taking the things that entertain you and bring you pleasure and looking at them from every angle. I believe in the examination of our art and our stories. It tells us more about the story and so much more about ourselves.
Two years ago, I was writing part of my analysis of happiness. In this segment, I was talking about how you should do things on a daily basis to make yourself happy. I had bullet points and various ideas about what you should and shouldn't do. I talked about finding things that please various aspects of your being and practical ways to go about it.
The whole post had been inspired because I'd spent the weekend reading an analysis of The Foundation books and being deeply happy about that. You know, even two years later, I still count that as one of the funnest weekends I've had in years. And yes, I was just sitting here reading a discussion about a series of books. That is my kind of fun weekend though. Ahh, it still makes me happy.
A year ago, I was writing my own analysis of Puella Magi Madoka Magica. It's hard to believe it's been a year since I wrote that. It really doesn't feel like it's been that long. In this portion of the analysis, I was talking about the emptiness of having only duty as a reason to live and how this affects not only the characters in the anime, but also women in real life.
The interesting thing about these two posts being set a year apart (and then me writing about them today) is that reading that analysis of Foundation was part of the reason I did the Madoka posts. I'd found so much enjoyment in reading the first that I knew I'd find a lot of enjoyment in writing the second.
The two posts really tie well together. In the happiness post from two years ago, I wrote about how important it is to have daily moments of pleasure. It's important to take time for yourself and really indulge for a bit. In the post from a year ago, I talked about how empty life is when that happiness, when having something to look forward to, is gone and all that is left is duty. It is an empty way to live, even if people seem to think it's the key to a fulfilling existence.
Recently I was reading some people's comments about works of creativity that concerned the topic of depression. One of the commenters had written something along the lines of 'this depressed woman is SO self-absorbed. She should go out and volunteer at a soup kitchen or something. Maybe then she'll realize how minor her problems are. Plus, she'll be helping others.'
Comments like this always make me very angry. For one thing, depression is not cured by 'perspective.' Just because other people's lives are less great than yours doesn't mean you will just automatically feel better about yours. It is also rooted in this idea that people (especially women) are better off if they will stop focusing on themselves and their own needs and instead focus on other people/causes/what have you.
So a year (and two) past these posts, I still stand by what I said in them. I still believe it's important to seek daily happiness and I still believe that if duty is all you have, your life is going to feel very meaningless. On a more fundamental level, I still firmly believe in taking the things that entertain you and bring you pleasure and looking at them from every angle. I believe in the examination of our art and our stories. It tells us more about the story and so much more about ourselves.
Monday, May 13, 2013
The Beauty of the Iceberg
The thing about any show (or book or movie or other form of entertainment) is that it not only give enjoyment IN THE MOMENT to the audience, it also serves to inspire them, to open their imaginations, and, now that we have the internet, to very quickly set off an explosion of culture and rituals.
I'll use Game of Thrones as an example of my own personal fandom ritual. A couple of days before the show, I start going to the fansites and reading up on people's theories about what will happen on the episode. I read all the arguments, all the guesses, and all the various counterpoints. The day OF the show, screencaps start to get posted. People will put up discussions labeled as MAJOR SHOW SPOILERS and the discussion will begin again, now that some images of the show have actually been seen.
In a lot of ways, this is my favorite part of the ritual. I LOVE the anticipation. I love the buzz and the fever surrounding what is to come. At the same time, I also love the moments as the show is happening. People from everywhere watch it at the same time and have live blog discussions about what is happening. Once the show ends, they begin to rate the episode, talking about favorite parts, least favorite.
Then the recaps begin. People will blog about the episodes in more detail than those first reactions. People will talk about episode versus book and what the changes might mean. Most of these blogs will have people adding their own comments, creating more layers of analysis and critique. People who have watched the episode will actually read a lot of these recaps, mulling over all the different points of view.
A few days after the episode airs, the lighter stuff begins to show up. Memes taken from screen caps. Songs. Poems. I have two personal favorites from this side of things. One is Happy Place's If Game of Thrones Took Place Entirely on Facebook and the other, a more recent find, is What the Flula: Game of Thrones. The first one is set up to just look like the whole world works off of Facebook stuff. It is brilliantly done and very funny. The second one is a confused German man trying to recap the episode in broken English. It is then animated by some very funny people. I linked to both recaps of episode 5 from season 3. You can see how they take a very serious episode with lots of creepy stuff and turn it into a giant gigglefest.
With a show I love, of course, OF COURSE, I want the episodes to be grand and wonderful. However, even when they're not, I know that when there is a strong fanbase involvement, I will still very much enjoy the episode because there will be so much more too it than the episode itself. This frustrates some authors and show creators, but I really don't think it should. a strong fanbase can guild your creation towards superstardom . . . perhaps even more than you can.
Sunday, May 12, 2013
Mother's Day
So when you lose your mother and your grandmother . . . and I guess, when this happens and you have no children of your own . . . Mother's Day takes on this kind of strange meaning. You don't intend for it to. You really hope that it won't mean anything at all. And yet . . . all these years later, I still find myself having a weird time on this day.
For one thing, I didn't even realize Mother's Day was this weekend until I started to see people post about it on Facebook. The holiday has become a snowball that someone throws at me out of no where. "OH HAI! Mother's Day is this weekend, orphaned loser!" I watched posts go by about Mother's Day stuff and I even added some of my own just to try and get in the spirit of things.
As for how the day itself went, it was, as I said, strange. I ate lunch with my motherless uncle and my motherless best friend and my motherless brother. His wife was there. Her mother isn't dead, but she's several hundred miles away. I guess my niece and nephew got to feel the motherlove though. At least someone got to.
We at Chinese food at a place none of us really knew that well. The kids were cold and the place was really crowded and loud. I'm guessing it was mostly full of people with their mothers and grandmothers. We ordered stuff we thought would arrive looking and tasting like what we were familiar with, but that wasn't the case.
I guess I should be used to this. In almost every other aspect of my life, I've always been on the fringe of things. The normal people would be doing their stuff and I would be off doing my weird stuff. And you know, I am usually so fine with that. It's almost always just a great thing for me. I guess it's just that in a lot of cases, I was the oddball because I chose to be. I did not choose to be motherless.
Having said all of this though, I am very happy for the meal. I'm happy I have the quirky little family, consisting both of people who were randomly selected to be mine, and people I choose to be mine. They are a part of my traditions and I am happy for that.
For one thing, I didn't even realize Mother's Day was this weekend until I started to see people post about it on Facebook. The holiday has become a snowball that someone throws at me out of no where. "OH HAI! Mother's Day is this weekend, orphaned loser!" I watched posts go by about Mother's Day stuff and I even added some of my own just to try and get in the spirit of things.
As for how the day itself went, it was, as I said, strange. I ate lunch with my motherless uncle and my motherless best friend and my motherless brother. His wife was there. Her mother isn't dead, but she's several hundred miles away. I guess my niece and nephew got to feel the motherlove though. At least someone got to.
We at Chinese food at a place none of us really knew that well. The kids were cold and the place was really crowded and loud. I'm guessing it was mostly full of people with their mothers and grandmothers. We ordered stuff we thought would arrive looking and tasting like what we were familiar with, but that wasn't the case.
I guess I should be used to this. In almost every other aspect of my life, I've always been on the fringe of things. The normal people would be doing their stuff and I would be off doing my weird stuff. And you know, I am usually so fine with that. It's almost always just a great thing for me. I guess it's just that in a lot of cases, I was the oddball because I chose to be. I did not choose to be motherless.
Having said all of this though, I am very happy for the meal. I'm happy I have the quirky little family, consisting both of people who were randomly selected to be mine, and people I choose to be mine. They are a part of my traditions and I am happy for that.
Friday, May 10, 2013
A Sweet Spring
I had to go out today and wait in the car for like half an hour. Normally this is the kind of thing that would drive me towards drinking, but it was actually such a lovely evening that I was fine with being in the car. I had both windows down and there was a great breeze happening. It put me in a rather nice mood.
So far it's been a really mild Spring. We've had some storms, but not horrible ones. We've had some warmer days, but not hellishly hot ones. So far, the fleas haven't infested the house, nor have any other bugs. This overall pleasantness has allowed me to really enjoy some of the other aspects of the season.
One of my favorite things about Spring is my neighbor's yard. My neighbor is an older woman who is rather tiny and keeps to herself. She adds so much to the overall feel of the neighborhood. She lives down the street in what used to be a rather unattractive cement block house in a big, unattractive yard.
So far it's been a really mild Spring. We've had some storms, but not horrible ones. We've had some warmer days, but not hellishly hot ones. So far, the fleas haven't infested the house, nor have any other bugs. This overall pleasantness has allowed me to really enjoy some of the other aspects of the season.
One of my favorite things about Spring is my neighbor's yard. My neighbor is an older woman who is rather tiny and keeps to herself. She adds so much to the overall feel of the neighborhood. She lives down the street in what used to be a rather unattractive cement block house in a big, unattractive yard.
Over the years, she's done a lot to change all this unattractiveness. She added a room onto the house, which made it look like less of a big cement square. She also planted some things close enough to the house, which gave it a more natural feeling. In the yard, she build various little planter boxes and mini gardens, which now have some of the prettiest flowers I've seen in a long time.
Another favorite aspect of Spring is the birds. We keep some birds around all year long. I don't think those mockingbirds ever leave and the cardinals are always a bright spot of red in the dismal months of winter. We also have quite a few doves around and some robins. My roommate is always happy when he starts seeing humming birds again.
Birds, of course, don't show up without tons of bird song. Bird song can be lovely, but it is also quite loud. During the day, we constantly hear the birds singing about this or that. Well, singing and making other noises. Specifically one bird.
This bird lurks somewhere along the side of the house. We call it The Squawk Bird because it has possibly the ugliest noise of any bird ever. At any given point during the day, you will hear the pleasant little 'tweet tweet tweet trill tweet....SQUAWK!" I am sure Squawk Bird means well . . . or maybe not. My roommate thinks it was cussing me earlier today.
Squawking birds aside, naturewise, it has been a very nice season. Other things haven't been so great, but at least the weather and our outside neighbors have been fun. That helps a lot when other things are falling apart. Every little bit helps.
Another favorite aspect of Spring is the birds. We keep some birds around all year long. I don't think those mockingbirds ever leave and the cardinals are always a bright spot of red in the dismal months of winter. We also have quite a few doves around and some robins. My roommate is always happy when he starts seeing humming birds again.
Birds, of course, don't show up without tons of bird song. Bird song can be lovely, but it is also quite loud. During the day, we constantly hear the birds singing about this or that. Well, singing and making other noises. Specifically one bird.
This bird lurks somewhere along the side of the house. We call it The Squawk Bird because it has possibly the ugliest noise of any bird ever. At any given point during the day, you will hear the pleasant little 'tweet tweet tweet trill tweet....SQUAWK!" I am sure Squawk Bird means well . . . or maybe not. My roommate thinks it was cussing me earlier today.
Squawking birds aside, naturewise, it has been a very nice season. Other things haven't been so great, but at least the weather and our outside neighbors have been fun. That helps a lot when other things are falling apart. Every little bit helps.
Thursday, May 9, 2013
Failing at Blogging
I've been sitting here staring at the computer for about ten minutes now. I'd planned to have this post done over an hour ago. I wrote one and then erased it. I wrote another and then erased it as well. Both of them were very full of emotion and anger. I don't think either really communicated anything aside from that. And honestly, right now I'm not sure I can communicate anything aside from that. It may be a while before I can.
Even now, as I write this, I'm reworking it as I go. I keep trying to explain things or maybe over explain them and it's coming out wrong. I think maybe I'm just really tired and worn out, not just physically, but also emotionally. I need some sleep. I'll try to write more tomorrow.
Even now, as I write this, I'm reworking it as I go. I keep trying to explain things or maybe over explain them and it's coming out wrong. I think maybe I'm just really tired and worn out, not just physically, but also emotionally. I need some sleep. I'll try to write more tomorrow.
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
Altering Reality, One Box at a Time
Little Blue Concentrator was taken away today. It was replaced by a new, hopefully functioning, version of the other one I had. As I said yesterday, I liked Little Blue. It had a lot of personality and I'll miss it. My cat, however, is far happier with the new one. My roommate claims it's because it matches her fur.
I did some cleaning today and we got some boxes out of the house. We tend to accumulate a lot of boxes over the year, and 'get rid of boxes' is always one of my favorite parts of Spring Cleaning. I like knowing the space is freed up. I also like the fact that it is one step AWAY from me being a hoarder.
The best part is disassembling the boxes. I like undoing the folds and tucks and tape that define the box and taking it back to a flattened state. The flatter the boxes, the more compact you can make your pile of them. It gives a certain order to the process and a certain order to my mind.
I also like how it changes reality. What was once a box, able to fulfill all of its boxlike functions, is now just a flat cardboard plain. Most box functions can't be performed now. Reality is altered. Hmm, I should really try meditating while thinking about breaking down boxes. It might do me a lot of good.
I did some cleaning today and we got some boxes out of the house. We tend to accumulate a lot of boxes over the year, and 'get rid of boxes' is always one of my favorite parts of Spring Cleaning. I like knowing the space is freed up. I also like the fact that it is one step AWAY from me being a hoarder.
The best part is disassembling the boxes. I like undoing the folds and tucks and tape that define the box and taking it back to a flattened state. The flatter the boxes, the more compact you can make your pile of them. It gives a certain order to the process and a certain order to my mind.
I also like how it changes reality. What was once a box, able to fulfill all of its boxlike functions, is now just a flat cardboard plain. Most box functions can't be performed now. Reality is altered. Hmm, I should really try meditating while thinking about breaking down boxes. It might do me a lot of good.
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
A Milestone in Mental Health
This article discusses a major change in how mental disorders may be handled in our country. The National Institute on Mental Health (NIMH) announced that it would be rejecting the fifth addition of Diagnostical and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders. For a long time now, the DSM has been the cornerstone of how mental illness was diagnosed and treated in this country. It wasn't perfect. In fact, over the years it has listed various things that were less mental illness and more 'we don't approve of this as a society' things, such as homosexuality.
NIMH stated various reasons for their rejection of the DSM. For one, they believe that it is basically used as a tool to sell medication. Big Pharma has a lot of influence in the mental health industry, as we sell a lot of pills to a lot of people to keep them stable. NIMH also questions the nature of some of the 'disorders' listed, such as those that still define various sexual life choices as 'deviant.'
Their main reason for the rejection seems to stem from the fact that most diagnostic aspects of mental illness are based on observations and assumptions, not on tangible, provable data. They believe studying brain scans and biochemical makeup would be more scientific. Treatment via hard science and alterations in the body would work better than the softer science approaches.
I'm not really sure how I feel about this. On one hand, I see the danger in Big Pharma having too much of a hand in how mental illness is defined. After all, their goals are less about helping people to get well and more about making a lot of money. I also like the idea of mental health being studied and treated in the same kind of hard science way as anything else.
However . . . mental illness is far more complex than most other types of science. If I have cancer, with any luck, it can be treated. The cancerous area is removed, chemo happens, you get better. Physical illness is pretty straightforward. Illness in the mind or emotions, however, isn't as tangible.
Some people are mentally ill because of physical things. They have a chemical imbalance. This imbalance CAN be proven using scientific methods and treated to restore this balance. Other people are mentally ill because they have been traumatized. Things happened to them that led to the mental breakdown. Could this illness be detected via a brain scan? Possibly. Could it be treated by doing something to alter the brain back to the physical condition of 'normal?' Perhaps one day that can happen.
However . . . treatment will not alter the fact that this person had something happen in their lives so horrible that it caused a breakdown. PTSD can cause a lot of damage in a person's life and PTSD is caused by something being pretty messed up in our lives. I'm not sure science can do a lot to alter how you process that.
With mental illness, I think we have to accept it's not just a physical malfunction. It's also not just a mental one. It isn't just about your emotional state and it isn't just about how you function in relation to other people. Mental illness is quite often tied to all of these things at once. Our minds are vastly complex. Any treatment of the mind has to respect that complexity.
NIMH stated various reasons for their rejection of the DSM. For one, they believe that it is basically used as a tool to sell medication. Big Pharma has a lot of influence in the mental health industry, as we sell a lot of pills to a lot of people to keep them stable. NIMH also questions the nature of some of the 'disorders' listed, such as those that still define various sexual life choices as 'deviant.'
Their main reason for the rejection seems to stem from the fact that most diagnostic aspects of mental illness are based on observations and assumptions, not on tangible, provable data. They believe studying brain scans and biochemical makeup would be more scientific. Treatment via hard science and alterations in the body would work better than the softer science approaches.
I'm not really sure how I feel about this. On one hand, I see the danger in Big Pharma having too much of a hand in how mental illness is defined. After all, their goals are less about helping people to get well and more about making a lot of money. I also like the idea of mental health being studied and treated in the same kind of hard science way as anything else.
However . . . mental illness is far more complex than most other types of science. If I have cancer, with any luck, it can be treated. The cancerous area is removed, chemo happens, you get better. Physical illness is pretty straightforward. Illness in the mind or emotions, however, isn't as tangible.
Some people are mentally ill because of physical things. They have a chemical imbalance. This imbalance CAN be proven using scientific methods and treated to restore this balance. Other people are mentally ill because they have been traumatized. Things happened to them that led to the mental breakdown. Could this illness be detected via a brain scan? Possibly. Could it be treated by doing something to alter the brain back to the physical condition of 'normal?' Perhaps one day that can happen.
However . . . treatment will not alter the fact that this person had something happen in their lives so horrible that it caused a breakdown. PTSD can cause a lot of damage in a person's life and PTSD is caused by something being pretty messed up in our lives. I'm not sure science can do a lot to alter how you process that.
With mental illness, I think we have to accept it's not just a physical malfunction. It's also not just a mental one. It isn't just about your emotional state and it isn't just about how you function in relation to other people. Mental illness is quite often tied to all of these things at once. Our minds are vastly complex. Any treatment of the mind has to respect that complexity.
Monday, May 6, 2013
Monday Blips
According to my little stats bar, this is my 751st post. As always when I reach these milestones, I am in shock that it happened. Even though I am possibly the most flaky human I know, I have managed to keep blogging for 751 times. Amazeballs. Here's to another 750 posts . . . or at least another 250 because then it will be at 1000. That's why my blog takes on a life of its own and begins to oppress me.
Aside from some stupid levels of traffic, I had a good day. My roommate and I paid my car insurance and ran some other errands. When we got home, the cats were fairly loving and sweet. I even got to pet Miss Tinkerbell for a second or two. She still mistrusts me though. Maybe that will change in time.
I've decided I like the new oxygen machine far better than the last one. That one may have been newer, but this one has a lot of charm. I hope I get to keep it.
Aside from some stupid levels of traffic, I had a good day. My roommate and I paid my car insurance and ran some other errands. When we got home, the cats were fairly loving and sweet. I even got to pet Miss Tinkerbell for a second or two. She still mistrusts me though. Maybe that will change in time.
I've decided I like the new oxygen machine far better than the last one. That one may have been newer, but this one has a lot of charm. I hope I get to keep it.
Sunday, May 5, 2013
The Trick is to Keep Breathing
On Tuesday, I received a new oxygen concentrator. It was much smaller than the ones I'd had before, easier to move around, and didn't require as much energy to run. They claimed it was quieter, though I didn't find it to be quieter at all. I kept it until today, when it produced a horrifying sound and flash the Red Button of Doom at me. It wasn't a pretty moment.
I called the company that handles my oxygen because, thankfully, they work on a 24/7 basis. Within an hour, I had a different machine and all was right with the world. This one is blue and somewhat squat, but I find it charming. I actually hope I get to keep this one. Unlike the failed concentrator, this one actually is kind of quiet. I'll miss it when it leaves.
I'm glad my company is so prompt because it kept me from making the situation worse by having a panic attack. The closest I've been in my adult life to dying happened in the week before I got my first concentrator. I was struggling to breath. No matter how hard I tried to draw in air, my body just won't accept it. One night it was so bad, I actually called my best friend and told her goodbye, just in case.
I know that the slow path towards health began once the oxygen machine was in my life. Having enough oxygen in my system again made a great deal of difference in how I could handle things. It changed the way I could see. It changed the speed in which I could access my thoughts. It altered how I handled the slow wind down of the day.
In the year prior to starting oxygen therapy, things had gotten really bad for me. My mother had died. I was at the highest my weight had ever been. I was more or less a shut in. I would only leave the house three times a week, only then traveling once to see my grandmother, once to a double therapy session, and once to see my best friend. Other than that, I never left. My life had become a very small, small trailer.
Once I began to get a little better, I started helping my roommate bring groceries into the house. I remember sitting on an office chair in our little makeshift computer area. I would pull the chair as close to the door as I could because every step was painful for me. I kept a tank of pure oxygen in the office and I would breath on it in small, five minute bursts as I waited for him. I can remember feeling so horrified that my life had come to this, but so grateful for the oxygen in my system. I remember feeling a hunger for that oxygen that was deeper and more urgent than any need I'd ever felt for food.
Things have gotten better. Most of the time, unless the weather is messing with me, I can go the whole day without the oxygen machine, only turning it on as night falls. That makes my life easier, though there are still times when I feel a lot of shame about the fact that I am attached to tubing for a certain portion of every day. There are weeks where I am out of the house many times and I almost always drive my roommate when he goes shopping. My world is bigger. My life is better. And I owe a lot of this to having oxygen concentrators.
I think a lot of the reasons why things got so bad for me was the fact that I was in such denial about my situation. "I can't be THAT fat." "Surely I'm just as mentally and emotionally stable as everyone else." "I'm doing just fine." I would never admit when things were falling apart. I would never admit when things were out of control. I would never admit when things were very very wrong. I would never admit how badly I was hurting.
Staying in denial about things feels very protective, but it's also counterproductive. As long as you deny the problem exists, you can never seek help to solve the problem. I let my problems just slide, hoping they would go away or simply disappear, until I was in such a crisis I had no choice by to find help. Once I did, things began to get better.
I really hope that from now on, I learn from this. When I'm in a bad place, I need to admit it and see if there is a way out of it. If I need help, I need to find out how to get that help, and take the steps to make that happen. I may be denied help . . . and I have been denied, many, many times . . . but it still helps to ask. At least you know you've exhausted your options.
It isn't easy though. Even when the machine broke today, part of my brain was screaming in protest at the idea of calling the helpline. "Don't bother people." "They'll be angry." "They'll judge you." "You really don't want people in your house, do you?" I had to silence all of these voices and remind myself that I deserved good service, just like anyone else who worked with this company. So I called.
Now I can breath again.
I called the company that handles my oxygen because, thankfully, they work on a 24/7 basis. Within an hour, I had a different machine and all was right with the world. This one is blue and somewhat squat, but I find it charming. I actually hope I get to keep this one. Unlike the failed concentrator, this one actually is kind of quiet. I'll miss it when it leaves.
I'm glad my company is so prompt because it kept me from making the situation worse by having a panic attack. The closest I've been in my adult life to dying happened in the week before I got my first concentrator. I was struggling to breath. No matter how hard I tried to draw in air, my body just won't accept it. One night it was so bad, I actually called my best friend and told her goodbye, just in case.
I know that the slow path towards health began once the oxygen machine was in my life. Having enough oxygen in my system again made a great deal of difference in how I could handle things. It changed the way I could see. It changed the speed in which I could access my thoughts. It altered how I handled the slow wind down of the day.
In the year prior to starting oxygen therapy, things had gotten really bad for me. My mother had died. I was at the highest my weight had ever been. I was more or less a shut in. I would only leave the house three times a week, only then traveling once to see my grandmother, once to a double therapy session, and once to see my best friend. Other than that, I never left. My life had become a very small, small trailer.
Once I began to get a little better, I started helping my roommate bring groceries into the house. I remember sitting on an office chair in our little makeshift computer area. I would pull the chair as close to the door as I could because every step was painful for me. I kept a tank of pure oxygen in the office and I would breath on it in small, five minute bursts as I waited for him. I can remember feeling so horrified that my life had come to this, but so grateful for the oxygen in my system. I remember feeling a hunger for that oxygen that was deeper and more urgent than any need I'd ever felt for food.
Things have gotten better. Most of the time, unless the weather is messing with me, I can go the whole day without the oxygen machine, only turning it on as night falls. That makes my life easier, though there are still times when I feel a lot of shame about the fact that I am attached to tubing for a certain portion of every day. There are weeks where I am out of the house many times and I almost always drive my roommate when he goes shopping. My world is bigger. My life is better. And I owe a lot of this to having oxygen concentrators.
I think a lot of the reasons why things got so bad for me was the fact that I was in such denial about my situation. "I can't be THAT fat." "Surely I'm just as mentally and emotionally stable as everyone else." "I'm doing just fine." I would never admit when things were falling apart. I would never admit when things were out of control. I would never admit when things were very very wrong. I would never admit how badly I was hurting.
Staying in denial about things feels very protective, but it's also counterproductive. As long as you deny the problem exists, you can never seek help to solve the problem. I let my problems just slide, hoping they would go away or simply disappear, until I was in such a crisis I had no choice by to find help. Once I did, things began to get better.
I really hope that from now on, I learn from this. When I'm in a bad place, I need to admit it and see if there is a way out of it. If I need help, I need to find out how to get that help, and take the steps to make that happen. I may be denied help . . . and I have been denied, many, many times . . . but it still helps to ask. At least you know you've exhausted your options.
It isn't easy though. Even when the machine broke today, part of my brain was screaming in protest at the idea of calling the helpline. "Don't bother people." "They'll be angry." "They'll judge you." "You really don't want people in your house, do you?" I had to silence all of these voices and remind myself that I deserved good service, just like anyone else who worked with this company. So I called.
Now I can breath again.
Saturday, May 4, 2013
Some of my Best Friends are . . .
Netflix picked up the second season of Borgia (not the Showtime one) and it's been my new addiction, just like the last season was. The show has a lot of flaws and I somewhat completely hate Cesare Borgia, but I love watching the way the power/religion/politics places out. A Pope who has children as bargaining chips . . well, there is a good reason why they decided to end that. It gives him way too much power.
In the second episode of this season, the issue of homosexuality plays a key part in one of the plots. Early in the episode, the Pope has a man executed for being a 'Sodomite.' The execution is very brutal, involving torture in front of a crowd. It also gives the Pope's enemies some ideas. The Pope's closest friend and adviser, Francesc Gacet, is a man they really wish to be rid of. Gacet is practical, smart, and politically savvy. He is really the strength behind Rodrigo Borgia's power and without him, Rodrigo would probably fall.
The enemy Cardinals arrange to have Gacet accused of Sodomy in public. A young attractive bishop comes forward and claims that Gacet raped him. As the crowd is going wild, Gacet advises the Pope to have go ahead and put him in prison and let a trial happen. The Pope does as he says, vowing to make the charge go away.
Rodrigo Borgia is a manipulative man, so of course he manages to free his best friend in a way to where he is clearly innocent of the charge. It seems that everything is fine.
Later that night, Gacet informs the Pope that while he'd never had sex with the man accusing him of it, he was, in fact, a homosexual and always had been. Rodrigo told him that it couldn't be true because he just didn't have time to do that kind of thing. When Gacet insisted that his thoughts were filled with this sin, the Pope told him that the were not and to be quiet.
Gacet is speared, but you get the sense that he's conflicted about that. The Pope will kill gay people if he has no use for them, but because Gacet is his trusted adviser and basically his best friend, he is willing to overlook it. In a way, this is even more horrific, because it means that the Pope is only concerned with justifying torture and death of others if it doesn't involve him personally.
Even all these years later, this war between religion and homosexuality is still going on. People still use religion to justify their violence towards gay people. They use it to justify denying them equal rights. They use it as their excuse to form protests and sprew hatred. They use it to feed their own hate. And yet, when many of them are confronted with the fact that people around them, people they love, just happen to be homosexual, many of them change their tune and suddenly embrace the sodomy.
I get the fact that sometimes we don't understand something until it's in our own back yard. Maybe it does take realizing your son is gay before you get why gay marriage is okay. And honestly, embracing the idea is better than exiling this person from your life, just over an ideal.
At the same time, you have to face the fact that you've spent all this time talking about how horrible homosexuality is, saying who knows what about it, all the while this person you loved was sitting there, knowing they were a part of what you were condemning. It's probably a very sickening feeling when you realize how much harm you've been causing. No amount of 'no, honey, I didn't mean YOU when I said that' is going to really change things. The damage is done.
In the second episode of this season, the issue of homosexuality plays a key part in one of the plots. Early in the episode, the Pope has a man executed for being a 'Sodomite.' The execution is very brutal, involving torture in front of a crowd. It also gives the Pope's enemies some ideas. The Pope's closest friend and adviser, Francesc Gacet, is a man they really wish to be rid of. Gacet is practical, smart, and politically savvy. He is really the strength behind Rodrigo Borgia's power and without him, Rodrigo would probably fall.
The enemy Cardinals arrange to have Gacet accused of Sodomy in public. A young attractive bishop comes forward and claims that Gacet raped him. As the crowd is going wild, Gacet advises the Pope to have go ahead and put him in prison and let a trial happen. The Pope does as he says, vowing to make the charge go away.
Rodrigo Borgia is a manipulative man, so of course he manages to free his best friend in a way to where he is clearly innocent of the charge. It seems that everything is fine.
Later that night, Gacet informs the Pope that while he'd never had sex with the man accusing him of it, he was, in fact, a homosexual and always had been. Rodrigo told him that it couldn't be true because he just didn't have time to do that kind of thing. When Gacet insisted that his thoughts were filled with this sin, the Pope told him that the were not and to be quiet.
Gacet is speared, but you get the sense that he's conflicted about that. The Pope will kill gay people if he has no use for them, but because Gacet is his trusted adviser and basically his best friend, he is willing to overlook it. In a way, this is even more horrific, because it means that the Pope is only concerned with justifying torture and death of others if it doesn't involve him personally.
Even all these years later, this war between religion and homosexuality is still going on. People still use religion to justify their violence towards gay people. They use it to justify denying them equal rights. They use it as their excuse to form protests and sprew hatred. They use it to feed their own hate. And yet, when many of them are confronted with the fact that people around them, people they love, just happen to be homosexual, many of them change their tune and suddenly embrace the sodomy.
I get the fact that sometimes we don't understand something until it's in our own back yard. Maybe it does take realizing your son is gay before you get why gay marriage is okay. And honestly, embracing the idea is better than exiling this person from your life, just over an ideal.
At the same time, you have to face the fact that you've spent all this time talking about how horrible homosexuality is, saying who knows what about it, all the while this person you loved was sitting there, knowing they were a part of what you were condemning. It's probably a very sickening feeling when you realize how much harm you've been causing. No amount of 'no, honey, I didn't mean YOU when I said that' is going to really change things. The damage is done.
Thursday, May 2, 2013
Tinkerbell
Tink is fairly wild and it's taken my roommate all this time to get her to trust him. Tonight, he brought her into the house because it's cold and wet and she's finally starting to interact with him in a tame kind of way. We're not sure if she'll even stay inside the whole night, but he's going to try. I hope it works because I hate it when cats have to stay outdoors. If she can adjust to being an inside cat, she'll have a safer life.
This process isn't easy. The other cats are very curious about her and she's not interested in them at all. She's a fierce kitty and is used to warring for territory with other animals. There is no guarantee that she'll want to live peacefully with the other cats. Right now, the whole thing is very unpredictable.
It makes me nervous because I want Tink to have a safe home. I want her to have a family and a sense of belonging. I want her to know she is loved. Mind you, I have no part in any of this yet. Tink mistrusts and wants nothing to do with me. That's okay though. Even if she never becomes MY kitty, I still want her to have a safe place to live.
This process isn't easy. The other cats are very curious about her and she's not interested in them at all. She's a fierce kitty and is used to warring for territory with other animals. There is no guarantee that she'll want to live peacefully with the other cats. Right now, the whole thing is very unpredictable.
It makes me nervous because I want Tink to have a safe home. I want her to have a family and a sense of belonging. I want her to know she is loved. Mind you, I have no part in any of this yet. Tink mistrusts and wants nothing to do with me. That's okay though. Even if she never becomes MY kitty, I still want her to have a safe place to live.
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
The Crimes of Being Young and Science
In the news today, I've seen many articles about Kiera Wilmot. This 16 year old student from Florida was expelled from her school because she wanted to see if a 'works bomb' actually worked. What this amounted to was putting some household chemicals in a plastic bottle because she'd heard this interaction would cause the top of the bottle to blow off. There was also some smoke. Aside from the bottle top, nothing was damaged and no one was hurt. This was a matter of a young girl being curious about something that she didn't even believe would work and a system that is pretty broken.
You see, because Ms. Wilmot wasn't thinking this whole thing through (which happens from time to time, when one is a teenager), she failed to think about the fact that this violated the school's Code of Conduct policy. She wasn't suspended for a day or two. She was expelled. Expelled, for something that caused no damage to anything and no harm to anyone.
Not only that, she is now facing criminal charges in the legal system. Police got involved. She may be tried as an adult. This could ruin her future.
Now let's think about this for a minute. Earlier this year, a girl was sexually assaulted by football players and this was put on video. They clearly harmed someone. Yet, they weren't tried as adults and were given very light sentences. This girl does an experiment that harms no one and will more than likely be tried as an adult and possibly face years in prison.
We live in a strange place.
You see, because Ms. Wilmot wasn't thinking this whole thing through (which happens from time to time, when one is a teenager), she failed to think about the fact that this violated the school's Code of Conduct policy. She wasn't suspended for a day or two. She was expelled. Expelled, for something that caused no damage to anything and no harm to anyone.
Not only that, she is now facing criminal charges in the legal system. Police got involved. She may be tried as an adult. This could ruin her future.
Now let's think about this for a minute. Earlier this year, a girl was sexually assaulted by football players and this was put on video. They clearly harmed someone. Yet, they weren't tried as adults and were given very light sentences. This girl does an experiment that harms no one and will more than likely be tried as an adult and possibly face years in prison.
We live in a strange place.
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