In which I comment on the anti-abortion situation.

Last week, I read an article about a man who wants the State of Texas to pay women $500 to put unwanted babies up for adoption rather than have abortions.

Because it’s soooo constitutional for states to buy human beings.

Today while I was opening the mail at work, I noticed that one of our customers has return address labels that read Pray to stop abortion (in an irritatingly cutesy, child-like pseudo-handwritten font) below an image of a beautiful, chubby Gerber-style baby.

Oh, for FUCK’S SAKE! Normally I’m pretty quiet about the abortion thing because as long as it’s legal I’m content to keep my mouth shut — and folks who can’t see that we’re eventually going to have more people than resources aren’t worth arguing with anyway — because it’s so very personal. I respect the sanctity of life and the difficult feelings abortion causes, blah blah blah, but a being needs first to possess a life before its sanctity can be protected. And a zygote is not a person. [How do I know this? I just do. Just take my word for it.]

1. It costs far more than $500 for your average human woman to carry a baby to term and deliver it. Paying someone $500 to give birth to a child they don’t want is so insultingly stupid that I start to sputter indignantly whenever I try to talk about it.
2. Sadly, there are women out there who regularly use surgical abortion as contraception. Those bitches, believe you me, will have no problem taking $500 from the state and then delivering a crack baby into the arms of the System to suffer indefinitely.
3. Wouldn’t it be better to pray for the babies who are already here and starving instead of hoping for more unwanted, starving babies struggling through addiction-at-birth, DHS, and foster care?

To the genius who wants to convert Texas’ 75,000 annual abortions into up to 75,000 additional live births, I ask this: How much were you planning on budgeting for DHS to process all those state-owned orphans? Babies generally need to be white, pudgy, and healthy to get adopted as infants (unless Angelina’s adoptions have truly popularized adoptions of brown babies). Persons who are not adopted as infants have a likelihood of adoption that drops exponentially every hour they’re alive. In other words, it costs a lot of money to raise children, and they ain’t small and helpless and cute forever so you can safely expect them to end up costing the state money at some point or another.

I think I’d like have a bumper sticker that reads:

If we could just get the church to quit saying that life starts at conception and move the moment instead to the second or third trimester, we’d be headed down a road of possible sustainability. As it is, we’re gonna cover the world with concrete in another hundred or two generations, which is totally, like, not nice at all to the children of the children of the children of the babies that Texas wants to purchase!

Don’t even get me started on the world’s apparent disinterest in a real space program. Any creature too stupid to leave an open cage when all the food is gone probably deserves to die anyway.

In which I’m offended.

As huge NASA supporter, I pay attention when they’re in the news. I’m totally pro space program, because we need it to develop the technologies we’ll require to get the fuck out of here after we finish brutally overusing the resources of and overpopulating the planet of our origin.

Not to mention the fact that the space program is responsible for all kinds of important tech advances currently in use, which is reason enough to love NASA.

That said, I just wanted to point out that every single article I’ve read about the astronaut love triangle situation has mentioned that the woman wore diapers on her long drive, in order to avoid making bathroom stops.

I have no meaningful comment on the situation or her mental stability as it looks to me like she just went to beat some bitch up over a man, which isn’t even news; the fact that she went über well-prepared to do it is exactly what I’d expect from someone who’s BEEN. TO. SPACE, where preparedness is the key to survival.

Mostly I’m just sick of how sophomorically titillated everyone is about the fact that she used a diaper. Uh, hello?! She’s been trained to do that. SHE’S AN ASTRONAUT. THAT’S WHAT THEY DO.

In other news, I’m out of dog food so Bindu’s dinner was a bowl of basmati, tuna, and feta. Lucky dog!

In which I’m just as afraid of the fundies as everyone else with half a brain in her head, but I had to take issue with at least a little of it because contrary to much of the evidence believing in God does not immediately make one stupid.

First, go read Why There Almost Certainly Is No God, so we can all be on the same page.

Done? Welcome back.

The author finds the presence of people in our society who would be genuinely excited by, say, the total loss of New York via giant fireball, and the hundreds of thousands tragic deaths such an event would cause — as signs of Armegeddon, the Second Coming, and the Rapture — to be not merely disturbing, but a social and intellectual goddamned crisis.

Which is exactly what it is. There are people who believe literally in the Rapture. They profess to think that supernatural beings — angels and devils — will come to earth and stage epic battles before their very eyes. They really believe that all the sinners will go to Hell — which they think is a literal, physical location — and that all the Saved will be resurrected and live forever in the Kingdom of Heaven, another literal physical location.

They might as well still live in the Middle Ages for all their intellectual sophistication. Apparently metaphor and symbolism escape these people utterly. They can learn that an icon on their cell phone represents something without actually being that thing, but yet they read the Bible literally¹. It boggles the mind, to know that people believe in Armageddon literally. Continue reading At First I Was All About Him Being Wrong, But In the End Maybe He's Only a Little Off →

In which a plea needs to be heard.

I once donated to 1-800-SUICIDE, so now I’m on their mailing list. If the charity below interests you, they could sure use the help.

Federal Government Fails to Pay Hotline Bills: 1-800-SUICIDE to Ring Busy after Midnight Tonight if Phone Bill Goes Unpaid

WASHINGTON, Aug. 11, 1-800-SUICIDE, the nation’s best known, private and confidential suicide prevention hotline network, will be shut off at midnight tonight unless action is taken. The Substance Abuse and Mental Health Administration (SAMHSA), a division of HHS, has decided to end all funding for KBHC while continuing to owe them $266,000 from over 2 years ago. Instead of sending the funds that were already allocated, SAMHSA has gone on to create their own competing crisis hotline — which gives them access to callers’ private information through phone records. 1-800-SUICIDE does not disclose its phone records to the federal government.
Continue reading A Press Release →

In which I go off on someone, possibly the wrong person.

Hey, you.

Yeah, you.

The woman in the white late model town car. The one who appears to have dropped one or more kittens on the side of the gravel road about two miles from my house.

Here’s the deal. THOSE KITTENS ARE GOING TO DIE. The soft-hearted farmer archetype with a big barn you’ve got in your head? Doesn’t exist. Farmers are much harsher about life/death decisions when it comes to animals, and they’re not going to rescue those mangy kittens and let them drink fresh milk in an idyllic cat paradise. Most of them already have more pets than they want, and they’re sick of assholes like you leaving your unwanted baby animals in ditches by their houses.

Check it out. We’re having a heat wave. It’s nearly hundred degrees out there. Those ditches are lousy with fleas and ticks. The kittens you’ve abandoned are going to die from exposure, parasites, dehydration, and starvation. It would have been better if you’d taken them to the vet and paid to have them put down, or simply snapped their little necks.

You should have gotten your cat fixed. There’s help available from the Humane Society if you were having financial problems, but looking at your car I sincerely doubt that.

No, I’m not picking your kittens up either. I already have a cat and three dogs myself… and it’s not my fucking job. It doesn’t even make me feel guilty anymore; I’ve seen so many abandoned creatures (over the years of living out at the farm) that were all left by dumbasses like you.

I do, however, hope you feel like total shit for condemning those little mammals to such a particularly shitty style of death.

In which I bitch about other people’s driving.

I seriously hate people who drive SUVs.

I realize my ’92 Jeep Grand Cherokee Laredo is technically an SUV, but at least I don’t drive like a fucking moron. Four-wheel drive helps you go in bad conditions, sure, but it doesn’t help you stop.

It’s freezing motherfucking rain out there, people! There’s two inches of hail on the ground in places! The roads are slick. There are patches of ice.

I was passed by three vehicles during my drive in to town this morning. One was a UPS truck: okay, he’s heavier — more traction — plus he drives that thing for a living. The other two were assholes driving SUVs who obviously thought their choice of rides made them impervious to weather. One lost control of his vehicle immediately after passing me and slid into the oncoming lane! (Fortunately, there wasn’t anybody in the lane at the time or I’d have ended up in a ditch.)

Even the semis were travelling under the speed limit. If they’re going ten miles per hour under the speed limit, you SUV-drivin’ assholes should be going 15 or 20 under.

I drove in part-time 4WD at a responsible and controlled 45 MPH. Fuck you ditch-bound idiots in your bloated grocery-getters. Grrr.

In which I rant right at the whole entire blogosphere. Including myself.

Okay, so, my cred is that I’ve been blogging since before the word had even been coined. (Okay, not really, since it was coined in 1997. But still, I’ve been doing it for years.) Since I coded all my pages by hand. Since before I even knew what a CMS was.

Everybody blogs these days. Anyone can sign up for a free, easy-to-use account that allows them to post any damn thing they want on the Internet. This is totally awesome. But. Considering the diversity of human experience, I find it exhausting that at some point all bloggers start blogging about blogging.

I propose a ban on blogging about blogging! I hate blogging about blogging.

Bloggers worry endlessly – in posts! – about their content, about their motivation for blogging in the first place, about whether or not they’re boring their readers, about whether or not they’ll ever get any readers, about maintaining their integrity or their anonymity, about inspiration, about being an attention whore, about being indifferent or less than committed to the act of blogging.

To which I say: can’t we all just shut the fuck up about it, already? I don’t read you because I want to hear you agonize about your traffic numbers or your fears that nobody likes you: I read you because I already like you and I want you to continue being yourself! Blogging about blogging is boring to read. Blogging about blogging is non-content.

Posting that you feel boring is one thing; posting that your terminal boring-ness will somehow affect the balance of the Internet at large is absurdly vain.

In the interest of a better intarweb, here are a few guidelines I’m proposing. God knows I need to follow them myself:

1. Don’t blog about blogging.
2. Don’t blog about having nothing to blog and how it makes you suck as a blogger.
3. Don’t blog about your lack of traffic.
4. Don’t troll for compliments – be direct. If you want compliments, say, “I want compliments.” Don’t be all coquettish about it. I hate that passive/aggressive shit.
5. Don’t troll for comments – be direct. If you want comments, say, “I want comments!” Don’t be all coquettish about it. I hate that passive/aggressive shit.
6. Don’t blog about your motivation for blogging in the first place, unless you’re a damned good writer and have a really solid thesis.
7. Don’t put your blog on a hiatus and then keep posting sporadically. There should be only two settings: on, and off.
8. Don’t behave as if the act of blogging is a truly refined artform, unless you’re the proprietor of one of the Very Biggest Blogs Evah and have already earned the right to do so. What it is, is a journal. It’s not playing first chair violin in the London Philharmonic.

When I visit a blog, I want to read about whatever the author’s doing or thinking. I want to hear about your reaction to something that’s occurred, or read a funny or moving or embarassing story, or get your unique take on a topic. I do not want to see you blathering on incoherently about blogging, because it’s just not that complicated. Nor should it be that stressful. Nor should you use it to define yourself. Nor do I want to hear about how much you agonize over it.

We put ourselves on the ‘net because we are all to some degree wanting attention. Period. The creativity of self-expression is the smallest part of it. Let’s just acknowledge these truths, right along with the fact that none of us are really all that goddamned special, and move along merrily into the land of non-self indulgent blogging! Yeah!

*smooch*

~+~+~+~
More conversation:
Plus, really, blogging doesn’t even really exist.
gapingvoid: top ten reasons why nobody reads your blog

I had a long conversation with Hattie recently about tattoos. She said she’d actually spoken face-to-face with a woman who told her tattoos were “for hookers and white trash.”

I read a web page this year by a woman who urged other women considering getting tattoed to be extremely careful where they put their body art, so that they could hide it when necessary because they would without a doubt be discriminated against because of it.

Today, I read a blog entry by a guy whose own mother told him his tattoo was white trash, and he was over 30 when he got it.

I have women friends who recount varied tales of sex discrimination in the workplace, and in companies I’ve personally worked for myself. I’ve heard tales of women being shut out of jobs or opportunities by men who wanted to keep them for themselves.

And all of this, quite frankly, baffles me. I feel like I live on a different planet than the rest of these people.

I honestly can’t remember a single time I’ve ever gotten a “shut up, you’re just a woman” vibe in my entire life. I’ve never had any problems with male customers refusing to listen to me or work with me because I’m female.

I’ve never had anyone ever give me attitude or even dirty looks because of my tattoos. I’ve never even met anyone who had a strong negative reaction to my ink. Or my piercings (I have my nose pierced).

People tell me these kinds of discrimination exist, and it’s not like I don’t believe them, but I’ve never once experienced sexual discrimination in my entire professional life, and I’ve been working since I was sixteen. I’ve never been shut out, refused a promotion, or even strongly condescended to (for the latter case, if I was I never felt that it was sex based. Some people are just condescending fucks, and that’s that. It doesn’t have to be a sex role issue).

Of course I’ve had personal issues with co-workers over the years, but I never interpreted it as being due to my sex.

I’ve worked blue collar jobs and white collar jobs. I’ve worked in warehouses lifting boxes alongside men, I’ve worked in offices with men, I once did my own valve lash adjustment and I’m quite capable of doing basic maintenence on a vehicle, and I currently work in a building full of Internet geeks who are all men – I’m the only woman in this department. And while most of them will hold the door for me if we happen to arrive at it at the same time, none of them have ever doubted my ability, intellect, or competence.

Yesterday a customer came in to pick up a NIC card. He was male, older than me, and we had a long conversation about installing the card (I explained how to do it) and about his network problems (I explained all the possible reasons for the symtoms his network was having). I was clearly the expert in the situation, and I was clearly educating him. I got absolutely no vibe off of him. He was, like every customer I’ve ever dealt with since I became an Internet engineer, attentive and polite.

Which leads me to karma. I mean, clearly I do live on the same green earth as these people who get shit for their tattoos and these women who have had to fight tooth and nail for the right to do the same job a man does only better, but it’s none of it ever happened to me.

This is where the brilliant conclusion would go, if I had one. But I don’t. Sorry. I just think it’s interesting that wherever you go, there you are. (I get my ass totally kicked in other areas, so it’s not like I think I’m special.)

I spend time every week going to every blog I read to catch up on people.

Some of you I know personally. Some of you are on my blogroll because you’re fucking brilliant writers, or because we have something in common like knitting or I just get a good vibe from you. Some of you are just plain old funny, like Dooce and some of the gay blogs I’m addicted to.

I am however quite pissed off at those of you who are so busy living your lives (one assumes) that you don’t update your damn blogs: Bucket, Buzz, Chrispizza, Matt, Keef, .frank – you know who you are!