“The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion.” ~Albert Camus

Links, Blades, and Scooters

sawbladeI’ve tried to explain that living with the Contrarian is an experience hard to describe.

It’s not for the feint of heart.

It’s not for the seriously humorless.

It’s not for your average joe-ess.

Plainly, you must be slightly off your rocker.

Since I am, it all works fine.

When I say I am off my rocker, I mean in that way that to the outside world doesn’t show, but  is only known to myself and my inner workings which are one hellofva weird chaotic mishmash of circuitry with a whole lotta cables hooked up to nothing and just there “in case”. If you get my drift that is. If not, I suggest you skip reading further and return to old issues of Cosmopolitan which are probably more your speed. (Make that Sports Illustrated if male) I was going to say Popular Mechanics, but I have no idea whether that is still published or what made some mechanics popular while others were apparently not. Could be the chest hair.

In any event, which means nothing but takes up ten letters and about an inch of space, I am married to The Contrarian, which is the prototype for all contrarians, though I don’t think anyone has ever asked for the plans.

I just thought I’d catch you up on some of his escapades, or adventures in our fair state of New Mexico, which is as they say, neither “New” nor “Mexico”, which makes it a great place to hide out as both Billy the Kid and Walter White would tell you if they were (a) still alive or (b) real.

As pointed out on previous occasions, my dearly beloved has some sort of “balance” issue, which causes him to walk while weaving like a drunken sailor, which is half right since once upon a time he was most assuredly drunk but not a sailor, wearing the insignia of the army instead of a rubber ducky. Now, he has been probed, examined, MRI’d, ear-peered at, and all the rest numerous times, only to discover that by golly-g, he has a brain and there is some sort of lesion there, which is as they say “organic” which basically means that “we have no clue and try the auto lube joint down the road”.

So to avoid having to go around the block, always leaning to the left, to get across the street, he sometimes uses a walker, which doesn’t walk at all, but rather rolls (comes with hand-brakes!). He doesn’t use it all the time, but only when the “wobblies” (as we call them) are bad. On his steady days, he runs marathons. (just kidding).

So one of his true delights has been discovering the motorized shopping cart. He loves those buggers. Not all said ve-hick-als are made the same. The K-Mart one’s are too speedy and have you racing down narrow aisles at Indy speeds, without a small enough turning circumference to make the intersection turn (think riding lawn mowers). The one’s at Lowe’s tend to run out of juice too soon, which is a real pain since that store holds about 14 football fields within it’s confines. The Walmart (we make our customers comfy so they spend more) is of course, “just right”, having  speed, dexterity, and staying power to make your shopping experience a deep pleasure.

What the Contrarian has discovered is that with the cart, and the proper expression of sadness, mixed with frustration, and a sip of melancholia, presents the perfect picture for lots of ladies to offer their assistance in getting things off the shelves. No matter than he can stand and walk almost normal, why do that when a bevy of women are there to fetch for ya. (It helps to extend the arm to it’s natural length and wiggle the fingers just a bit, and sigh of course while doing so).

Shopping has become a joy and one that he relishes each week now.

To that can be added of course the “accident” which makes him all the more helpless and pathetic.

The accident was the culmination of a lifetime spent using power tools with blades all without incident. Years of chains saws and tree toppling, slicing and dicing, and splitting all without injury. Until the “sled”. Now, I don’t know exactly what a sled is, except that it “slides”, somehow managing your piece of wood to it’s destination with the “blade”. He somehow designed it in such a way that a blind spot occurred wherein his finger resided (thumb actually), and before you know it blood was flying and he realized it was best to shut that sucker down.

Now, no animals were hurt in the making of this tale, other than the cat gut used to sew up said digit (and I think all that stuff is synthetic these days). Cats are grateful. He cut no bone, and no tendon either, just the big fat part of his thumb wherein his identity lies. Doc says that part of his thumb shall be forever no more, once the healing has finished and the dead skin is flushed. So I figure a life of crime is a good second career, since he can’t leave a print with his left thumb any more. Which makes working in a super accelerator requiring thumbprint identification impractical, or in the heart of the mountain where the big button is located that will end the world. I figure it too requires a thumbprint to make sure you have the au-thor-ity to doom the world.

Which all leads to the exceedingly boring story of what a baby men are when they have a little boo-boo. I mean seriously, the moaning never stops.

He had it checked at the hospital on Monday, and there was no infection, but he was thoroughly upset because the doctor made him “look at it”, which is akin, in his mind to making him look at two-headed snakes and other such unnatural and “icky” things.

So, I took out the trash for him, and made his breakfast (once), and open his candy bars at night. I told him he need not cook on Friday, but he said as long as I made the batter, he could probably flip a pancake. He can’t break an egg, because he can’t without both thumbs, so he says.

He pouts a lot.

He’s says it itches.

He complains that the lady nurse rewrapped it much more stupidly that the guy who did it the first time.

Diego sniffs it every day and will alert us if he finds anything worth eating in there. So far, no, and given Diego eats EVERYTHING, that’s sayin’ something.

So, I asked him, do you want bacon or sausage with his pancakes on Friday? and he said patties, which I took to mean sausage, which he meant to mean sausage but not links but patties, which makes no freakin’ sense since they both TASTE THE SAME.

And he thinks he should have a body cam so that he can play back our conversations because he is sure I asked him links or patties instead of sausage or bacon. And I’m really sure I didn’t, because I never think of patties versus links and only decided to do the links because I like Johnsonville and they don’t make patties at least as far as I saw, so that’s why I got the links in the first place.

And he just purses his lips in that way that men do when they are thinking, “I’m right, but what’s the use?”.

And I’m thinking, “You’re right, there is no use, since I’m right.”

And he’s off to get my oil changed which came out all wrong, since I don’t get oil changes but my PT Cruiser does, and he has my girl in his custody.

He wants a new bandage put on his thumb, but decided to wait until he got back, because he’s going to the “filthiest place on the planet” after all, so there is no use getting his thumb all spiffed up before THAT. And, no he was not referring to the Jiffy Lube, but rather to WalMart.

My eyes, were examined by an expert the other day, and they came off with an A+.

No wonder, all the eye-rolling I get to do living with this man. Exercise is very good for your eyes they tell me.

If you can beat any of these stories (which are true I swear with just the slightest hyperbole to make it interesting), I’ll roll my eyes for you too!





Reasons Why

parentingThis appeared on Facebook and I put it up on my wall with the caption: “Is this what parenthood does to a person! If so, I’m glad I escaped!”

While there weren’t many replies, one caught my interest and got me to thinking about what might lie behind the statement.

While it may have been meant innocently enough, the comment was “no this is not your normal situation and you did miss a lot.”

I took that, however meant, as a defensive lob, one meant to suggest that parenting is a great thing and I was much the poorer for having “missed” it.

Of course, beauty is always in the eye of the beholder.

I chalked it up as another of those, subtle or not so subtle put-downs by those with children of those of us without. The other one that I remembered vividly was a discussion about corporal punishment by parents (or caregivers) and the suggestion that I was unfit to comment, “since as I recall, you didn’t have children did you?”

I think I know where the defensiveness and consequent “I’m really better than you because you don’t have children” comes from

Dial back the time machine to the late 60’s when I graduated from high school. The sexes were still pretty much set in stone. I knew that a number of my classmates would probably be married within a year or so, but I was off to college. It was the beginning of that “sweet spot” in time–the convergence of the civil rights movement, the anti-war movement, the hippie movement, and the feminist movement. The Vietnam anti-war movement began in the mid-sixties and continued and escalated during the late 60’s and early 70’s. We marched on campuses, got tear-gassed, shut down campuses. Some campuses were more volatile than others, yet we all found ourselves involved in “teach-ins”  (where I first learned of the play Lysistrata by Aristophanes). 

Women were a big part of the movement but often relegated to second-class status behind the men. This mimicked that of the Civil Rights Movement. Rosa Parks did not suddenly pop up one day on a bus in Montgomery Alabama, but had long been a worker in the field. She was of course kept much in the background in terms of leadership as were other African-American women of the day.

The Hippie movement, also a product of the 60’s was most renowned  for Haight-Asbury and Woodstock, but it signaled the advent of free-love, birth-control, and a defining break with the past and all it’s traditional values. The Hippies were also vehemently anti-war. The Beatles, most notably John Lennon became a major force for peace with “Imagine”.

Women in this movement two were pushed to the rear, often treated as secretaries and much needed lovers for the important work being done by the men in the “awakening”.  Angela Davis and others fought back.

Women looked to each other during this period and Betty Freidan, Germaine Greer, Gloria Steinem,  Kate Millet, Shirley Chisholm, and Bella Abzug were the emerging role models for women like myself who were just starting to look higher than the secretarial typewriter for our future. We read with relish The Feminine Mystique, and Sexual Politics. Later, immersed in the Church, I would cling to In Memory of Her and She Who Is, as the patriarchal stereotypes of the bible began to be dismantled by women of faith but also biblical expertise. Women like  Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza and Elizabeth Johnson became household names.

I was in that first wave of women admitted in law school in large numbers. We leaned on each other, we learned, and we excelled. Because we were steeped in the injustices of the past, we were angry, defensive, and could spot a “sexist pig” at twenty paces. Offering to hold a door for us was likely to be met with a angry look, and a statement like, “I am more than capable of opening my own door, thank you.”

Plenty of men retreated before us “ball-busting bitches” and sought more traditional women to welcome them home at night and bear their children.

That is the world out of which I emerged into my late 20’s, a time when most women start to realize that if parenthood is on their agenda, one best get busy.

As a look back at the cadre of young women I worked along side of I can recall what we talked about and how we felt quite vividly. We were in our late twenties, still working more often with men than with other women. Most judges were still male, most prosecutors, most defense attorneys, most cops. We were not insignificant, but we were far from a majority. Mostly we were treated with fairness, although there was a lot of what today would be unacceptable sexual harassment. To us it was business as usual. We slipped the grasp of unwanted advances (mostly from judges who somehow thought that being a judge’s mistress must be our dream????), and commanded salaries the likes of which our hardworking fathers (mothers of course didn’t even come close) had never attained in their working lifetimes.

Among those of us who were single, (most of us) the issue of children inevitably comes up. And of course it came up more regularly for single women than married, since we were single mostly by choice. Men were wonderful, but unnecessary as a financial crutch so mostly we were looking to take our time. I don’t count myself as being usual in having had good half dozen serious affairs, and my share of brief flings. There was no reason not to.

As best I can tell, we split about 50-50 on the child thing. About half arranged by any number of methods to get pregnant and have a child with no intent to have the father play any significant role in the raising of the child. The other half, myself included, opted out.

I can say that during my now more than sixty-four years, I spent roughly eight months considering the idea seriously, but I have to say it probably had more to do with the man I was seeing at the time than on the biological clock ticking. I cannot say what was the key reason I chose not to have children, only that it was a combination of over-population around the globe, the desire not to have my own free-wheeling lifestyle disrupted, a serious question whether I would be a “good” parent–having no real role model, and some lack of “mothering” instincts, that I felt should be stronger than they were.

Looking back, I recognize that children bring a certain joy, apparently some sense of accomplishment (though again why escapes me pretty much), and I think some security? about the future that is perceived rather than necessarily experienced. It seems to feed some egos, though not all from what I have seen. I think children are marvelous creatures, and I think being good at parenting is a very hard thing, a thing most people take for granted and therefore don’t do a very good job at. I’m glad I didn’t do it, but I am in awe of some people I know who have.

I definitely think it ought to be way harder to qualify to be a parent. It’s amazing to me that so many people turn out as well as they do given their crummy experience with parents. I wonder how amazing this world might be if so many people didn’t have to spend so much time overcoming their poor upbringing.

At one time, we in the feminist movement disliked our sisters who chose the traditional roles. We thought they made it hard for those of us who wanted to be treated equally in jobs, advancement and pay. I think that time has long past. We, or at least I, recognize that the ultimate freedom is to chose the life you wish, and it is certainly an honorable and important choice to choose parenting.

The opposite is also true. To not choose parenting can be smart, noble, and a recognition that it is a special profession, one not suited to everyone, and not simple the thing “most everyone can do”. It is not an accomplishment, but a sacred responsibility one should take on with eyes wide open.

I think it all points to the fact, that while all of us may have had the same “historical” background, we responded to it differently. It imprinted on us quite dis similarly and we apparently made different judgements about it. That is what makes us human I suspect and why we thrive overall. If Aristotle was right that there is a set of absolute moral precepts, we will, it seems, go on arguing forever about just what they are.

That Being Said. . . .

RIckyRicky (I got my Smarty glasses) Perry wants to be President, mostly to prove I guess, if we were not already aware (Dubya (I’m a painter now! Bush), that dumb can rule the free world too.

Ricky (I can only count to two) got his good-hair self caught up in a scandal, one of major proportions. Indictment for a CRIME, one that carries up to 99 years (doncha love how they always go one shy of 100?) to be specific.

The crux of the indictment is that the Rickster made a line-item veto in a bill, refusing to fund a state prosecutor’s division whose job it was to investigate public malfeasance. This was a unit run by a Democrat named Rosemary Lehmberg. Perry made no bones about the fact that he wanted Lehmberg to step down.

This might seem sinister since it could be seen as Perry’s attempt to shut down investigations regarding himself or those around him for behaving badly.

However, such does not seem to be the case. The reason for Perry’s actions seem to be the bad behavior of Lehmberg herself who was arrested for drunk driving and went on (with all the video anyone would like to see) to act like a belligerant, “don’t you know who I am” sorta brat. It is quite arguable that Ms. Lehmberg doesn’t deserve a position when she acts like a horse’s ass in public and abuses lawful police actions because she thinks she’s “above all that”.

Republicans of course are screaming that the whole mess is a political witch hunt designed to take down their Texan favorite son. Which would make sense, except that:

(1) the judge who appointed the special prosecutor who sought and obtained the indictment is a Republican, and

(2) the special prosecutor is also a Republican.

(3) Ricky is so damn dumb that nobody needs to help him off the cliff, he’ll trip and fall all by his silly self.

That being said, it looks to me at least that Perry is getting a bad rap here.

Firstly, the governor retains the power of the veto in the fairly insane state of Texas and it seems rather obvious to the mentally sound that veto implies threat by its very essence. It shouts to it’s target, “do what I want, or I’ll kill ya!” which by anybody’s estimation seems a bit intimidating.

So claiming that Rick was threatening Ms. Lehmberg seems more like a “duh” moment than a basis for wrongdoing. It comes with the territory. Rick (please run all mouth speaking through my handler) would have been better to shaddup, but people with special smart glasses have a tough time doing that.

Now the county from which the indictment arose is that one around Austin (the lair itself), and one of the high volume Democratic counties in the late-great state. So I suppose it’s possible that the grand jury was over-filled with Democratic citizens who handed the special prosecutor the surprise of his life in voting for the charges. He, (the now loathed Republican prosecutor) was quite possibly just goin’ through the motions, never anticipating that any group of citizens would “take him seriously”.

That being said, it all seems like a bad idea. There is little to be gained by the Democratic party as far as I can see, but I suspect that there is little to be gained or lost by the aging pretty boy. Everybody in his party is making sympathetic mewlings about what a gentleman he is, but soon they will all return to their own private interests which may or may not include trying to cut him down at the knees to further their own political fantasies.

As they say, “move along, there is nothing to see folks.”

Don’t get me wrong, Perry is a farce, and has done a whole ton of things that are reprehensible in my opinion, first and foremost revolving around health care in general and women specifically. He has systematically let his citizens suffer to maintain an ideological idiot’s position regarding health care period, and leads a state who has more uninsured than any state in the union. This he has done deliberately.

If he once had compassion for children who found themselves brought to this country as small children and argued that they deserved an education, he was disabused of that position by a slathering, spittle spewing right wing who nearly booed him off the stage for his heresy. Since then he’s been a hardliner when it comes to immigration issues, again, probably much to the detriment to his state.

That being said, this indictment still reeks of STUPID.

We got better things to do folks.



Conversations from the Marriage Cave

LucyDesiTelephoneMarried conversation is a thing unto itself. It takes a translator to make it intelligible to anyone other than the two persons directly involved.

Except some things are universal I guess. Meaning that all married people recognize the special meaning of various words and phrases that, well, are unknown to the non-married population.

For instance.

This morning as I was relaxing from a grueling jaunt into the wind to the next state with dog in tow, (hiking in the foothills of the Organs), my other half, (better is certainly a matter of opinion and  I’ll argue that I am that, as would he argue that he is), poised in the doorway to my office/craft/retreat room and said,

“Where did we get my last pair of sandals, babe?”

Now this question is loaded. First there is the use of “we”, which as I recall did not include him at all, rather “I” got his last pair of sandals. 

Then there is the use of “babe” which is a generic term husbands use from long use as bachelors when getting the wrong name attached to the woman in your bed was likely to result in the end of your getting laid, thus all “girlfriends” become “babe” or “sweetie” or “honey” or some term that can safely be applied to all females. This carries over to the marriage, where it’s still better to be safe than sorry even if you are swearing under oath to be monogamous.

Third there is the implied problem that necessitates knowing where the old sandals were purchased, which suggests that another pair might be needed.

I replied,

“I got them at Penny’s. Is there a problem with your sandals?”

“Yes, one of them is broke,” he uttered softly. “When you get over that way next time will you pick me up a new pair?”

Now this one is similarly loaded. First he is saying he doesn’t want to go to the mall (he hates malls). Secondly he is setting me up on a number of levels. First I can’t say, “why don’t you go”, because he’s not telling me to go today, just “anytime I happen to be there for another reason” so it would be unfair for me to protest that he should go himself since they are his feet.

I wrinkle my brow for a moment and respond, “I’ll go today when I get done at the pool.”

“Oh, no, you don’t have to go today!” He retorts again, that “anytime I’m in the area” will do.

Now this of course doesn’t mean that at all. In that little protestation are two things. First, I’m aware that he has balance issues and man with balance problems needs a secure shoe, so anytime I’m in the area darn well better be today!

And of course if I do continue to insist that I will go today, well, I better not complain about it EVER since he made it clear that I could do it “anytime”.

Ya see how this goes? You have to have a manual to follow the true gist of what’s being said.

I go on. “Instead of making gazpacho for dinner, we’ll have leftovers.”

“Fine,” he grins.

As I get a cup a coffee, I see the dish with the leftover mashed taters conspicuously empty on the counter. Somehow mashed potatoes goes well with fried eggs (his breakfast).

I confront him.

“Well that was bad of you. You ate all the potatoes from the leftovers.”

“Are there enough leftovers for today?” he queries.

“Well, I’ll have to boil some more potatoes.”

“No, I mean the Salisbury steak, I ate some yesterday.”

“You ate it yesterday????”

“You told me to, and a man always eats what his wife tells him too.” (the grinning again)

“You never eat what I tell you to!”

“Well don’t worry about the sandals then, get them another day.”

“No, I’ll get them today. I’ll figure something else out for dinner.”

“Well, I’m off to the pool.” as I start for the door.

“Oh, what size shoes again?”

“10 1/2, the standard size for all married men.” he intones.


I can hear him as I open the car door, “game, set and match!”

I’m sure he said that.

I’m sure.

The echo of his chuckling haunts me during the drive into town.



I Feel So Loved

wowI mean seriously people, I (we) are the subject of so much warfare these days. There is a war against America (of which I am a card-carrying member), a war on women (yep, got the requisite lady parts), and now a war on whites (even with a tan uhuh, still basically bleached out fish-belly colorless blah hued).

I don’t know whether to order my AK-47 or start hoarding canned peaches. Do you think fatigues look good on pale-face?

It’s not everybody who can be worth being a subject of abject hatred rising to the level of open war ya know.

I was sitting in my front yard just watching the sun rise, when I heard it blurted on the TV–“GOP warns of growing war on white people”. Well I gotta tell ya, I immediately ducked inside and took cover. While drones may not be smart enough to tell civilians from combatants, I figure it can sure recognize  colors. MY SKIN BETRAYS ME–doncha know that tanning is but a stealth move?

That black guy in the WHITE house (WTF with that?) is all to blame. And the Democrats of course, who have (the white ones at least) been brainstrained of their senses into complicity.

See? Doesn’t the picture here make you feel all nostalgic?

white_peopleI mean unlock the doors and throw up the shades, this is AMERICA for goodness sake, home of the white people, with just a few of them variously colored folks mixed in as ya know, gardeners, maids, and bus drivers, to make it look pretty. After all, it would be pretty bland if the whole country were non-stop WHITE. Boring! Just an accent of color here and there, just enough, not too much to make people nervous.  Like this:

WhitefearSee the difference?


and then,


And it’s not just black folk, it’s brown too.

Hey, I know from personal experience. Virtually every one I hire to do work around my house, speaks NOT ENGLISH.

I just know they are plotting how to murder me in my bed! Or at least how to take over my whiteness and make it brown-ness. Even some of my neighbors (actually most of them) are ya know, shall we say, overly tanned.

That can’t be good. Heaven knows, New Mexico has been white for well, as long as I can remember anyway, and things are not looking good these days. Between the blacks, the browns, the reds (anybody wanna explain where that designation came from) and the yeller’s, I’m feeling damned uncomfortable most all the time. I mean how DARE these NON-WHITE persons act like it’s theirs. Seriously, cheeky to the max!

And don’t think it’s just me.

Here’s a smattering of brilliant rhetoric from those erudite thinkers who comment at Breitbart.

Dennis pointed out:

White Guilt. Whites have been subtly conditioned to believe they are the root of all problems. They have; however, been the force behind all modern advances in medicine, sanitation, food, comfort, etc. I don’ see the african, mexican, middle-eastern nations making big advances in civilization, do you?

You got me there fella. Oh, damn, using the alphabet aren’t we? Ever been to the pyramids? Machu Picchu? Birthplace of humanity?

Nedarc warns:

Yes I know, and some would call it a ‘stretch’ but I think this is one reason Liberals want an unarmed population which gives the Criminal a situation like “shooting fish in a barrel” syndrome, and then if the Perp. is a Black and the Vicim White (which is the most common) the MSM Never mentions the race unless it is a White Perpetrator… THIS ALONE SHOULD PROMPT EVERY WHITE ADULT TO GET A GUN !!!

Would that be liberal whites or liberal blacks? I’m stuck on “shooting fish in a barrel” being a “syndrome” Is that in the DSM? That stupid MSM, always a black thing, but hey anything to support your local gun seller!

Marbran reminded us:

The left will not stop until they have destroyed this nation and instituted full socialism/communism. They crave to be at the top, away from those smelly unwashed masses that they have brought into this country. UFB.

Which is it, socialism or communism? You guys gotta choose one or the other, it can’t be both. Why does “poor” always mean “smelly”?  Did the left bring “them” into this country? Or perchance was it WHITE plantation owners? Pesky facts.

momsense preaches to her kids that:

White Libs are the ones instituting the anti-white racism. They think that if the savages go native they and their perks, property and privileges will still be safe, and life will still be good. Unfortunately, as always, the working class will be the ones exterminated– just as they always have been the ones to bear the brunt of all the integration fiasco.

Gotta be impressed with Breitbart. Plain unadulterated, in-your-face racism is gladly accepted to their pages. Integration was a fiasco, and no doubt utterly to blame for your ugly self.

However Dan Poole thinks beauty is just skin deep:

From 1776-1965, America’s population was 85% White:15% non-white. Some years it reached as high as 89%. As such, it was us Whites who built this country, sustained it, and made it a nice place to live. We are being cleansed from our own home as a direct result of the 1965 immigration act, and in 20 years time, we will become a minority. The country will become like Honduras, Venezuela, etc. as the White population continues to shrink.

The war on Whites is a war on who we are. It is not an attack on “beliefs” or “principles.” It is an attack on an entire race – our race. It is an attack derived from fanatical hatred and jealousy. What they are really against is the existence of White people like us.

One last thing: While there are individual exceptions to this rule of nature (wolves in sheeps clothing, so to speak), the truth is that on the whole, our “skin color,” as it’s derisively called, is a reflection and an expression of who we are inside. It is not some random, irrelevant coating. The rich, beautiful history of Europe is not the result of “ideas” or “systems,” it is the result of the people who inhabit the continent – and those people are all of the same race and all share the same general phenotype. That is no coincidence.

Now that’s a celebration of stupid! But oh, it feels so good to be a mechanic and still know that you are better than the anyone of color who is curing cancer, defending your country, ruling their country, entertaining millions worldwide, or going into space. Yeah, living in a dream is pretty darn nice. You must feel sooooo special.

snapperman belched:

Without the white man, the US would be Liberia or Venezuela.

Aww, who let the dog out?

tobytylersf pointed out how WHITE MEN suffer:

Obviously you don’t work in an American office, where over 64 percent of all managers nowadays are women.

I personally haven’t had a white male boss since 1993. How about you?

to which M Smith noted:

I personally have had nothing but males since 1999, except for a brief stint with a bimbo in 2007. She giggled a lot and tried to pretend she was under 50, flirting with all the married guys. Didn’t know squat.

Does this mean you won’t defend me in the war boys?

See? I’m not alone. All these find simians recognize as I do that white folks are in grave jeopardy. The question is, from what are they in jeopardy? Methinks atrophied brain cells.

And life somehow trudges on.


Once Upon a Time on the Internet

onlinefriends_img2The Internet and I go back a long way.

Not to the beginning, but at a time when you could actually go to the bookstore and buy books containing “online sites”. Yes there was a time that online sites numbered in the tens of thousands and not tens of millions.

I soon discovered that there was a thing called “IRC” which stands for Internet Relay Chat. It’s actually still in existence and there are claims that worldwide millions still use it.

Basically you downloaded a MIRC program, attached to a server and entered the realm of make-believe. Virtual “rooms” were created and then peopled by anyone who happened to have an interest in the subject matter. While many were no doubt benign, “Quilter’s Corner”, many if not a whole lot were sexually oriented.

It gave birth to a whole new genre of talent called “virtual sex” where folks paired off in whatever couplings that suited them and publicly “wrote” out their sexual encounter. Meanwhile all sorts of conversations ensued in the room, having everything, nothing, or nearly nothing to do with the sexual “story” or “stories” that were unfolding. The text went by in a blur, and there were also ways to have private conversations while participating or watching the main room.

Some rooms were sexual by name, but never had any sex, people just talked back and forth, making jokes, and so forth. Channel operators controlled the room, having the ability to “kick out” people who were disturbing the peace and fun of the rest. Pictures were sent back and forth from individual to individual, music segments, and so forth.

I was a participant in one and for a couple of years, spent a lot of hours talking. I got to know a lot of people very well. I later met some of them.

But we all knew that lurking in any room was the possibility of a fake. A fake was person who pretended to be other than they really were. Oh  I don’t mean just fatter or balder, older or something like that, but gender benders were common. Men who pretended to be women, and I suppose the opposite.

Since we got to know people over a long period, it was fairly shocking to discover when you had been taken in. One guy talked to a woman for months, sent her mail. They were “in love” and planning to marry. He went to surprise her at her home, in another state for her birthday, only to be met by a husband at the door. She later explained, that it was only “pretend”, and she hadn’t meant any harm. Well as he told me some months later, it sure harmed him. He sat in a hotel room alone for several days waiting for his return flight, completely broken.

In our room, there was one girl who was the “life” of the party every night. Always fun and friendly. After months, one night a man claiming to be her brother came in and informed us she had been killed in a car accident. He had discovered “the room” on her computer while packing up her things to remove from her apartment.

Some weeks later we learned that “she” was a he, and had been simply gaming everyone from the start.

There were probably not a lot of these folks. As I said, I met quite a few, and certainly talked to more on the phone. There were conversations of others getting together and obviously groups didn’t get together to engage in this display of pretense, so most people were legit. (People organized meet ups for weekends across the country were a “rooms” participants would get together.)

One always wonders why people do this.

I hadn’t thought about it for a long time. My husband and I first met through “newsgroups” on the Internet, moved to IRC and then met. But all that happened within about two months. That was nearly 15 years ago.

Today I ran into an article entitled “The Weird Reasons Why People Make Up False Identities on the Internet” and that got me curious again. Most of the stories in the article are about people not engaged in chat so much as using the Internet and the capability of false personas to improve their own bottom line. Others are more curious, involving much time to invent and continue. Why would someone create a young girl with cancer and then have her die? Why a lesbian reporter in Syria who gets arrested?

I remember the “girl” who turned out to be a guy from IRC. I remember the “memorial room” we set up and gathered at to remember her. I remember how angry we were when we found out.

I guess I’m missing the pay off to the liar. I still don’t get that.

But I will tell you one thing. A number of those people were mighty fine folks. I remember them to this day and the one’s I met were the same in person as online. I often wonder what has become of Sayten and Angus, of Jules, and Floppy. Maybe they are still there. But I doubt it.

Funny how an article triggers such memories of times so long ago. What weird memories. Now the fake Facebook personality is common I guess. I still don’t get the point.


Life Ain’t Fair. I’m the Proof

life-aint-fairThis is not up for debate. It’s not. It’s a lesson to be learned by every single human being ever. It is beyond true. It’s so true, that it probably isn’t proven by the exception. I doubt there can be an exception because even if your life is perfect from start to finish, it has a finish.


I knew a guy once who was obsessed with the idea that people who were undeserving often got rewarded. Actually, it wasn’t a tit-for-tat sort of thing so much as it was random reward unattached to random behavior, good or otherwise.

It fairly drives some folks crazy. It sure did him. People who “do everything right” get hugely annoyed when people who don’t “do everything right” seem to be happy. They want them to suffer. It’s like fundigelicals reminding us liberals that “if you don’t repent, you’ll go to hell”. They always smile when they say that, because they are very sure we won’t and so they can be happy knowing “we’ll get ours” come judgment day. They presume of course a judgment day.

It’s why the workers in the vineyard got so pissed when the boss paid the workers who only worked an hour the same as those that had worked a full day. “Unfair!!!” The boss said, “hey, what’s that got to do with you? You got what YOU bargained for didn’t ya?”

Some folks just can’t handle that. Which leads me to believe that they find “doing everything right” a major pain, and they don’t do it because it’s the right thing to do, but because they want the reward. So getting a reward for not doing everything right, might just mean that they won’t get a reward for doing everything right. Kind of puts a monkey wrench in the whole salvation thing don’t it?

It also makes God sort of insane.


Perhaps God sees things in a way that humans don’t. At least for all the literalists out there, the Bible suggests that God does see not as humans but as God. So perhaps, just perhaps, our assumptions of what is the “right thing to do” aren’t so clear. At least to the point that it might be better if we keep our damn mouths shut when we “disapprove” of what others are doing.

Not talking here folks about murder and abuse and other dictatorial behaviors, but more ambiguous things like gay marriage, and women’s health rights, and stuff like that. Unless you are a hard-nosed self-styled pope (meaning your interpretation of scripture is infallible until God tells you different), most of us concede that there’s a lot of grey in some social policy areas. If that is true, then we best not tell others how to behave regarding them I suspect.

In any case, I personally believe that everyone is “saved”, which makes it all unnecessary to bewail whether anyone is getting their just desserts or not, or being failed by their supreme deity in any way. Unlike the fundigelicals, I do not have to resort to “God’s ways are mysterious” and “God had some reason for inflicting me with this misery that I’ll understand some day.” If I do a good thing it’s because I want to, not because I NEED to.

It’s enough that “shit happens”.

For me at least.

I’m a decent enough person. Far from the best kind of person I can conceive of. I have plenty of people I know who are much better than I am. They are kinder for sure.

Case in point. I was getting blood work done a few weeks ago as part of a general updating of my health records. After slapping my inner arms and squeezing my upper arms to death trying to “pop up a vein”, the blood sucker said this: “Do they usually taking blood from your hand instead of your arm?”

I replied, “yeah, the one’s who can’t do the arm, do the hand”.

Now the Contrarian said that my mistake was in being snarky/sarcastic BEFORE I had properly secured the end of relationship with said person. After all, she still wielded the mighty needle when I dissed her. There is some truth to that observation.

So you see, I am a sarcastic, snarky, bitch type person when I’m (a) in a hurry (b) tired or (c) just damn well feel like it.

This served me quite well when I was a defense attorney. I could utter questions at cop or citizen with such jaw-dropping “and your mama too” sarcasm that I would often see a judge turn away suddenly to hide his snicker before the jury, while a prosecutor jumped out of his/her shorts to bellow “OBJECTION, ARGUMENTATIVE”. I of course would smile softly and whisper, “withdrawn”, as the witness shot daggers of ineffectual rage which of course all missed their target, for their mouths were forever silenced by the loudly following “NO FURTHER QUESTIONS!”

It probably serves me less well now. But it is who I am in the last analysis, and I always feel fairly fake and pretentious when I put on that “oh, no take all the time in the world packing my groceries. I can surely see that changing items in and out until one achieves the perfect fit, is the way it should be done” look on my face.

But back to the topic at hand. Reward.

Yes, I’m not a deserving person, I have a trail of bleeding bodies who all feel “abused” by my acidic tongue, to prove it, one that trails back at least to junior high.

But guess what? My life has turned out fairly wonderfully from my point of view. And nobody else’s point of view matters. And that really galls the hell out of a few people I know. And ya know, that sort of makes me feel even happier.

As they say, a life lived well is the best revenge.