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Bell Tower that is. Probably not in the style of Charles Whitman, or that German soldier, ass-hat from Inglorious Basterds, but one where I rain down a storm of insults and expletives because I’m just so damned pissed off of late.
Where do I start? With the GOP’s attempt to redefine rape? With the South Dakota’s attempt to legalize murder? I can also throw in the Federal govt’s attempt to pull funding away from Planned Parenthood – again. Or do I go with the publicizing of Lara Logan’s sexual assault as a pre-emptive measure because some other a-hole of some other news agency thought it made for a great story? Or how about this despicable misogynist, Nir Rosen, who thought Logan’s experience was a humorous affair?
We’re just past Valentine’s Day and I’m not feeling the love from the men. I feel like it is open season on women and women’s’ rights, and that we’re half a step away from legalizing honor killings in this country.
Seriously dudes?? WHAT THE FUCK? I woke up today feeling like it’s not 2011 but 1918.
So here’s my 2-cents and then I’m done.
- I am sick of the idiot men who comment about the “tragedy” of Logan’s experience and how all Muslims are evil when in this country, the United damn States of America, 1 in 6 women can expect to be raped and only 6% percent of rapist will ever serve prison time. However, Logan wasn’t raped but sexually assaulted, not that many people, men or women, learn the difference. But here’s the fact of the matter: Logan’s assault wasn’t about religion, it was about the same damn thing assaulting a woman is always about: a man feeling free to dominate a woman simply because he fucking could.
- We are a country of majority rule. The majority of Americans support a woman’s right to choose. And while we’re at it, Pro-Choice does not mean Pro-Abortion. And Planned Parenthood is exactly that: an organization dedicated to the education of women and men on family planning while providing access to contraceptives. No one in this country does more to prevent unwanted pregnancies than Planned Parenthood. No other entity in this country provides low-cost, basic medical services to women than Planned Parenthood. So anyone who wants to yank their funding while damning abortion is a complete moron.
- Abortion being “murder” is a matter of opinion, whereas killing someone who performs what is a legal activity in this country is, in fact, murder.
- Nir Rosen, while removing the offender tweet, quitting his job, and apologizing profusely, still doesn’t get what is most disturbing about what he did. His response: “i apologize and take it back. joking with friends got out of line when i didnt want to back down. forgot twitter is not exactly private“. Whether or not it was a private conversation, whether or not you were “just making a joke”, rape and sexual assault are not hilarious frivolities, they are extreme acts of violence. And what is most horrifying about you, Nir Rosen, was that you heard a woman was raped and your very first instinct was to make a joke. I hope this event kills your career.
I’m trying to remain positive despite all this news right now. I’m trying to be thankful that I live in this country when it sucks to be a woman in about 75% of the other places I could be living. But that being said, it isn’t always a party here either.
Men, you are all officially on my fecal roster until such time that matters improve. In the meantime, get a clue.
I awoke at the magical and lovely hour of 5:45am today because the neighbor above me has a toddler more akin to a Tasmanian Devil than a human child. Said child ran frequent laps around their apartment and was dragging furniture along with it which presents itself like thunder down below in my apartment.
This wouldn’t be so bad if I had gone to sleep at a reasonable hour, which I did not because said child was doing the same activity until well after 10pm, making it impossible for me to get my work done before 1am.
I’ve spoken to my neighbor three times now, hell, I’ve even taken to banging on the ceiling with my shoe. Mostly, I find myself staying out of my apartment until late at night which is a shit-policy because it really only rewards bad behavior.
I finally bit the bullet and went to the building manager. Manager had words with the tenant above and came back with the two most dreaded words in the English language: Single-Mother.
“She doesn’t know what to do The child will not quiet down and she is a single mother.”
I’m not a cold-hearted bitch, at least, not all the time, so I automatically generate some sympathy for this woman. The manager said she moved to campus late, couldn’t have known the floors were paper thin, is looking off-campus for housing, and will try to keep the noise down.
My options in this situation? Complain. Call them. Don’t go to her door. If enough complaints are racked up, they’ll break her lease and she can move.
Great. I know what it was like to find housing here. It’s a competitive sport where you best bring your mouth guard. I really don’t want to be the impetus for this woman and child getting tossed out, but dammit, I need sleep and I need some peace and quiet to get work done.
So now I am pitted up against Single Mom and Child. It sucks. I hear her leave at 7am and return after 7pm. I’m sure this kid is in daycare all day so I totally understand the desire to run like crazy once home. I also understand the desire for Single Mom to want to spend time with her progeny before she goes to bed.
What I don’t understand is the apartment management pitting us up against each like this. I blame them for placing her in a building that is all couples and no children. I really blame them for putting her on the second floor. Single Mom may not have known the floors are paper thin but building management damn well did.
But Single Mom also needs to realize that part of the reason her child is so effen crazy is because it is sleep deprived. Yes, I know, I don’t have children, but I have siblings and friends with children and know enough that toddlers require more sleep than 6 hours a night. Hell, I know I certainly do.
And since there is plenty of blame to go around, I know I could try and be more understanding. However, I was here first (I was), I pay rent too, and the big marketing scheme for this little building is that it caters to “adults and professionals looking for quiet and peaceful living”. So I don’t feel like I should have to stay away from my apartment, coming home ridiculously late on the off-chance that it might be quiet enough to work.
I passed Single Mom in the hallway getting mail. She gave me the stink-eye like no one’s business. I went back to my apartment and Child above began playing with its (I have no idea the gender) favorite toy – the couch, which it drags around the apartment floor.
Well, the passive-aggressive battle lines apparently have been drawn. It will be interesting to see where this all leads.
Every other year, Sailor and I trade off going back to Detroit or staying here in Erie for T-Giving or Giftmasukah. Whether I prefer to spend time with his passive-aggressive-big-on-uncomfortable-silences-in between-the-food-and-excessive-drinking-clan or spending time with my own personal verbal-pre-emptive strike-force-with-the-pleasing-tendency-towards-the-excessive-imbibing-of-alcoholic-beverages-that-can only-be-described-as-not a holiday-but-a-24/7-“happy hour”-while-waiting-for-a-good-old-fashion-Irish knife-fight-to-break-out, is simply a matter of asking myself what side of the bed did I wake up on.
I really don’t wanna do it this year.
Honestly, aside from our mutual predilection towards sizing up liquor purchases based on the quality of bottle with which to make a Molotov Cocktail, how the hell did I ever come to share genetic material with these people?
Let us review 2009:
Big Sis engaged in a trans-continental verbal smackdown of La Parentsia after Father Unit spilled the beans to Mother Gossip about something or other where Mother Unit invariably spread the word around the hood. They waged a three month war of Celtic-Silence which translates into not arguing with each other but through all the people in their lives over the phone. They apparently came to an accord but until the treaty is signed I want nothing to do with that mess.
Second Son then got involved, don’t ask how, but Irish-Saga-Made-Short is that he thinks the family needs to forgive him for effing up his first marriage with another woman 7 years older and her own epic tale that results in my brother being husband #3 in as much as 7 years…(which, side note, I actually have forgiven him, in fact, I’m rooting for them as a couple for the simple reason that he will stay married to this harlot forever out of stubborn pride and to prove a point he certainly will not remember in another ten years, and quite frankly, my brother deserves the merry hell that woman will give him until he is dead).
Where was I?
Father and Mother Unit simply refuse to believe they have done anything wrong – ever – even in light of the overwhelming evidence of a gaggle of supremely messed up kids. But then, if their measure for this success centers around the fact that none of us are on an international watch list, yet, or by the fact that none of us have been picked up, drunk, singing Christmas Carols along the freeway in June in the last 10 years, well, they should consider raising the bar.
Of course, there’s also Third Son, aka the 30 year old child still living in my parents’ basement smoking everything but his bed linens and who always seems to be just one step shy of attending a Star Trek convention…He’s been unemployed for a while. His last job, where everyone hated him for his ignorant and racist attitude….well, if it were me, if I knew everyone hated me and then mysteriously, one day, I am asked out to lunch where I am offered a joint…let’s just say I wouldn’t be too surprised at returning to work to find a drug test waiting for me….
First Son is in a tiff with me for un-friending him on Facebook. I just figured that he should save his hate and vitriol for family gatherings and not post that shit on my wall.
Of course, I’m a perfect ray of sunshine. I don’t what the hell is wrong with those other people.
Sailor’s family is supremely uncomplicated by comparison. All I have to do is sit next to Grandma E and remind her who I am every ten minutes until I’m drunk enough to forget who I am to answer. A relatively simple evening, geopolitcally speaking.
I’m thinking we should stay put. I have the excellent excuse of having ventured into No Man’s Land by staying with sister for T-Giving…that should satisfy some quota somewhere. But then, there’s something to be said for tradition…
I was really pretty shocked to have read that Henry Louis Gates Jr., professor extraordinaire of long standing at the venerable institution Hahr-Vahrd, was arrested two days ago.
But I wasn’t shocked to have read the context and circumstances of his arrest. Sure, there’s the easy explanation of racism in America (you really will never convince me a white professor would have been treated the same way), but then there’s the even easier explanation that no one seems to be talking about and it is this: the arresting “officer” in the affair is yet another example of a douchebag cop with a Napoleon Complex.
Sure, I have no doubt the cop behaved in a racist manner, but that is an action coupled with a personality trait and that trait being that the he is yet another douchebag cop with a Napoleon Complex.
A professor here at school is a retired cop and relayed to me the different types of people who become police officers:
1. The Fitness Nut: the guy or gal who somehow relives their high school athletic glory days by being a cop. They are all about how they look in the uniform. Being a good or bad cop is strictly a matter of happenstance.
2. The Gun Nut: I think this speaks for itself. The Gun Nut, who is almost always male, is also closely related to the Penis Insecurity Nut.
3. The Righteous Nut: this person has an overwhelming sense of self-importance and truly thinks that the worse they behave towards the general public, the better cop they are.
4. The Drunk Cop: who is actually a pretty okay person who took the job as a way of redemption but at the same time, does not know how to handle the stress better.
Now according to Professor Cop, a police officer can actually be a combination of these varying traits but one is always more dominant than the other. Like the thing about Elvis and the Beatles: you can like both, but you always like one more than the other.
With regards to incident involving Professor Gates, my money is on Cop #3. Then again, I’m not at all familiar with the inner workings of cop-hood and the public perception I have garnered of them over the years is really just boils down to the simplicity of the douchebag cop with the Napoleon Complex scenario.
An oldie but exceptional goodie from the brilliant mind at Indexed
If you want to explain the effed-up spectacle that is American Politics to a Viking, it is best explained via the Prose Edda, a collection of poetry about Norse Mythology.
In one particular understanding fo the world, there is the World Tree, Yggdrassil, which is inhabited by several beings: Veðrfölnir, a hawk residing at the top of the tree, and Níðhöggr, a dragon who resides at the bottom eating the roots.
The most interesting character residing there however, is Ratatosk, a red squirrel whose sole job is to ferry insults between Veðrfölnir and Níðhöggr and spread gossip.
So as we enter the final two weeks of this election season, and tempers flare hotter, and the attack ads get nastier, I think it is safe to assume that despite whomever one takes for being either the hawk or the dragon in this election, I think we can all agree who is Ratatosk.
I’ve never been more thankful to not have the TV hooked up.
As the economy continues to spiral down the drain, and yet another weekly bailout plan is thrown at us, I’ve been contemplating the increasingly strange evolution of the relationship of this government with its people.
The best idea of the government has been to throw more money at the banks and Wall Street. All of course with tax payers’ money mind you, which in theory gets the bank lending to each other again, and in turn, to their thinking, will somehow get us into back into the bed with these scummy entities via the form of investing in the stock market.
And the all the while Henry Paulson acts like he’s some noble hero by stealing our money and strong-arming the banks into accepting money some of them don’t even need. What Paulson fails to realize is that this behavior does not make him or the government heroes, but it does, however, make them pimps.
Yeah, that’s right, you heard me, big ol’ Pimp-thug-dealers. In fact the only thing missing from this picture of the government is the hat.
For years the government, let’s call it Big G, so Big G sat on the corner trying to entice people with his cadre of lovely banking beauties, his “Ho’s”, by stripping away every layer of regulated inhibition. C’mon what’s it gonna hurt? Who’s gonna know? Pushing and pushing until people felt a little toss underneath the sheets was a victimless crime. I mean really, who would it hurt?
But the economics of being a good pimp means you also have to diversify your product line. Few pimps deal strictly in sex. A little drug dealing, just enough to keep both “Johns” and “Ho’s” hooked, and the occasional enforcing to keep the deviants in line, all help flesh out the portfolio.
The banks got hooked on the crack of deregulation and the people got hooked on the sleazy ease of unlimited credit. And then the proverbial condom breaks and we all end up with a fat and nasty STD in the form a financial meltdown.
(Big G also failed to realize that if your Johns and Ho’s all die of overdoses and disease, you lack a both product and a customer at the end of the day.)
But really, the fact is it doesn’t matter how much play money Big G throws at this situation anymore. The Johns are not inclined to get into bed with a Ho who is going to them financial syphilis or worse. When England nationalized their banks, heads rolled and a new harem of Ho’s were brought in. No such provision is being made here.
Clearly, a massive does of penicillin is required. Whatever metaphor you want this penicillin to stand for is up to you. I just know that it’s time to either double-bag it, switch street corners, or get thee to a nunnery.
I haven’t checked my 401k or any of my IRA’s lately. No need to really. They’re all in the hole to some degree or another, of that I can be absolutely sure.
I’ve also stopped listening to the news for a while. There’s only so much you can take with regards to the bail out, the election, and economy. We’re blind people wandering about a coat room looking for a green print jacket. And while the guy clearly has made a wad of dough in his time, I don’t believe Dr-Strangelove-Henry-Paulson is the guy to find the coat.
So here’s my thing as far as all this election hooey is concerned: I’m almost to the point where I don’t give a damn about the personal politics of either candidate. Just give me a freakin’ business manager already. Congress and the Senate can handle to other crap, just give me an executive who can keep a budget.
We’re in freefall here and I have learned to accept it. I don’t plan on retiring for thirty years or more so I’m going to hope that there’s time to build back the lost nest egg. I don’t believe in this bail out so I’m willing to see where the absence of one takes us in the market place. The worst thing that can happen is that we hit absolute bottom and I don’t know about you, but I’m fairly sure I can see it from here.
And the best part about hitting bottom is that you have no where to go but up.
Looking back at the last entry, I noticed it’s been nearly month since I’ve written. Bad Blogger! Bad Blogger! And while I suppose I could use the excuse that school and life have overwhelmed me, Lazy Slug!, truth be told, I simply haven’t felt like writing. Slacker!
I went to a movie, and experienced something that sufficiently got my Irish up. Trash talk. Verbal Smack. I’m talking some good old-fashioned Propaganda of the World War II variety,
Should you go to see a film at the West Plaza Cinema, you will be treated to a short music video featuring self-anointed “The King of Trailer Trash”, Kid Rock, and NASCAR driver Dale Earnhardt Jr., pimping themselves out to the National Gard.
Kid Rock, whom I saw get booed off the stage at the State Theater in Detroit in the way back before time of the early 1990’s, has grown into what I think is a decent musical act. “Bawitaba” and “Cowboy” are sentimental favorites of mine, but his music since then has been a poor reiteration of the same. So of course now, in efforts to stave-off total irrelevancy, Kid Rocks whores himself out to this nonsense. I don’t care if he does have the top song in the country, he is dead to me.
And Dale Earnhardt Jr,? Well, let’s just say that watching cars drive in circles all day was never my idea of stimulating entertainment. He’s turning left, ladies and gentlemen! And, wait, OMG, he’s turning left AGAIN! That’s his 30th consecutive left turn! This is truly a thrilling day for cars!
Anyhoo, they team up for this “video” which is about the most heinous piece of garbage I’ve seen in some time. If you can stomach it, you can check out on YouTube. I entertained the thought of embedding it here, but I wish not to contribute in anyway shape or form to the increased numbers of downloads such an act might cause.
So here’s the premise, Kid Rock sings his song “Warrior” while Jr. runs around in camouflage on a set that is staged to look like a town in the Middle East. The “warriors” are dressed to the hilt in combat gear, looking tough and authoritative, while people of obvious Middle Eastern persuasion appropriately run in fear from them, and small children cower until on they, Jr., patronizingly deigns to acknowledge their basic humanity and kicks a soccer ball towards them.
Oh, and later, they help evacuate unknown people from an unknown suburban location that is on fire. And all throughout, there are these inconsistent and bizarre cut shots of car racing footage mixed in.
But the point is this: if you want to be a bad-ass, mother-effer who makes Arabic people run and hide, then the National Guard is the place for you.
The heaps of shame that should loaded onto anyone involved with this can not be measured by modern science. Of course, the sort who buy into this crap typically don’t acknowledge science outside of a vacuum and believe that humans kept dinosaurs as pets.
Which almost makes sense since we clearly haven’t evolved.