I have gone back and forth about writing something or not. Why add my opinion to the multitude? Why make enemies? Why cause more conflict? Why add to the drama? Because after everything Ive heard and read and been told, I have to say something. Because when shit hits the fan, I have to take a break from looking at the funny side of life and get real for a moment. If you don't want to read it, don't. Its that simple.
My goal with this post is to get to the barest of the bare bones in the hopes that I can adequately express why I am so emotionally destroyed right now. Think of this situation as a living thing. It has skin and hair and teeth and nails and organs and veins and blood and muscle. All of those parts are equivalent to the basic facts of the case, individual state laws, witness testimony, 911 tapes, past behaviors, the verdict, etc. These parts are the ones that we as observers love to dissect, endlessly going over and over. Pulling them apart, putting them back together, reorganizing, reshaping, remolding, until we have recreated the event into something we can recognize as making sense in our own minds. The shape and texture of this event are unique to the person who formed them, meaning even if we both go through all the details and both come up with an event that looks like a purple elephant, your purple elephant is not going to look the same as my purple elephant. Where the real tension and anger and devastation occurs is when we both look at this situation, and I end up with a purple elephant while you end up with a green alligator.
This is where the bones come into play and where I'm finally going to stop speaking in metaphors. The skeleton of the Zimmerman/Martin case is this: an unarmed 17 year old black child was shot to death while walking home from the store at night by an armed adult male who was told twice by a 911 operator to not engage the child and that the police were on the way. That's it. That's literally all you need to know. As a member of this thing called humanity, that in and of itself should make you scream or weep.
The argument I keep hearing over and over incessantly like a gnat buzzing around my head is that "if Trayvon were a nice, well mannered kid, none of this would have ever happened. If hes wasn't some thug wanna be, he wouldn't have started a physical fight with Zimmerman and Zimmerman wouldn't have had to shoot him." He should have done his little dance "yes sir no sir, how can I help you sir" and Zimmerman, being the vigilante neighborhood watchman of the year would have given him a stern talking to about not walking around at night looking so black, and then would have graciously let him continue on his way.
Ive also heard, "Trayvon was a bad person- he smoked, he drank, he fought, he wore baggy clothes, he punched a bus driver" as if being a teen and making stupid decisions somehow invalidates your life.
"Act like a thug, look like a thug, get treated like a thug"
"If you want to be treated professionally, dress professionally. He didn't, so he got what was coming to him"
"Perhaps blacks should do more to do more and better themselves instead of killing each other and living the thug life"
"One black kid gets shot by a Mexican its racist, but NO one says anything about 3 black kids that beat a white girl to death. Its sad"
The list goes on. It grows like some kind of parasitic tapeworm feasting on the hateful thoughts and misunderstood rationalizations of the internet. And because of blessed anonymity, not one of these people will ever have to look into the faces of Trayvon's parents and tell them why they think its ok that their son is dead. Because that's what you are saying when you defend a murderer. That you believe the life he chose to take wasn't worth it anyways, so who cares really? Self defense. He had no choice. He was being beaten, his head pummeled into the concrete. He had to shoot.
George Zimmerman made the choice that resulted in the death of Trayvon Martin the minute he ignored 2 warnings to not engage him and wait for the police. That's it. Truly. There was a crossroads, and Zimmerman took the path that made him feel something. He wanted something to happen, he wanted to be part of the action, to feel like the hero. He didn't bargain on the suspicious looking black kid resisting. Why would he suspect that? Zimmerman was the adult. He was the neighborhood watchman. He had the gun. He had the power. But Trayvon didn't see it that way.
I think the real reason people are so upset about this is because Trayvon fought back. He didn't run over to Zimmerman with his tail between his legs, begging for forgiveness for being young and black and male on a lonely street at night. He said Fuck You Man, I am who I am, I'm walking home, do something about it. That is what society fears. The fact that a young black male has the power to stand up for himself. I don't advocate for violence, that's not my point. I'm saying that the real fear lies in any trampled down person realizing their own power and strength in the face of their oppressors.
I hope Trayvon's parents can eventually find peace.
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
Monday, May 20, 2013
Douchecanoes of the Internet
Oh hi there everyone. Today is Monday so Im sure you are having a lovely time of it. Unless you are in a country where its Tuesday or Sunday. In that case I dont know what to tell you other than time zones are neat.
I began participating on Twitter over a year ago even though I swore that I would never be involved in something so ridiculous. The idea of broadcasting your every move in 130 characters or less did not appeal to me. I dont even care what Im doing 90% of the time, why would anyone else? But then I learned that Twitter is fun to fuck around on with your homies and to get real time news updates, but that overall, the real point of it is to creep on the famous and semifamous.
And because of twitter Ive found myself in better connection with whats going on around the globe, and I get to see pics of Amanda Bynes tweerking in her mirror after snorting dishwasher flakes, and most of all, twitter has helped me come to the conclusion that if I ever see Rob Delaney in person Im going to run up and hug him while either humping his leg or peeing on his shoe.
Becoming part of the twitter community means Im also exposed to the completely asinine shit that makes up 99.9% of everything else there. And amidst all of the dumbfuckery, the spelling mistakes, grammar errors, boob selfies, and food pics, there is one thing that continues to baffle me. The large number of people who use twitter to say really terrible hateful mean shit to someone that if they met in real life they'd either ask for a picture with or would be too starstruck to speak.
Example:
Why does anyone find it socially acceptable to call this woman a whore--no matter how much of a waste of space she may be-- when she posts a picture of her pre Kan-baby self in a silver bikini? It confuses the hell out of me. You are literally replying to her tweet "@kimkardashian DIE". You have a picture of yourself and people you know know who you are and can read your tweets and can see that you are being a giant asshole for no reason. Did Kim come and make a sex tape with your husband? Did she tell you you looked fat in your prom dress? Did she shit in your refrigerator and ruin your Benihana leftovers? She didnt? Then what is your deal? You have nothing better to do with your one precious life than to call someone who doesnt even know you exist a slut via the internet? Cool. Good for you. Lets be friends.
I've become mentally exhausted with the anonymity of online being an excuse for people to be dickheads without repercussions. You cant go up to someone in real life sitting on a park bench doing their thing and yell "SLUT!!" at them without there being some kind of reaction from them or the people around you, hopefully violent in nature to some part of your face. You shouldnt be able to do it online either.
I dont think that celebrities and other famous persons necessarily even see 1/10th of the things tweeted at them, but if I were famous and occasionally saw that the first comment to a picture I was willing to share with the world was "DIE WHORE" I think it may kind of hurt my insides a little bit. And then to see that there isnt just one person being an asshole, but lots and lots, well, I think that shit adds up. All that negativity has to go somewhere. My hypothesis is as follows:
ASSHATS OF THE INTERNET: Your negative hate speech is collectively bringing down the emotional intelligence of our species and you are personally responsible for the reversal of evolution. You are the reason aliens are going to take us all out instead of inviting us to travel through their advanced worm hole technology to their super cool planets made of glitter and candybeans. Its your fault. Because aliens with advanced technologies arent stupid and why the fuck would they invite such juvenile hateful creatures to come swim in their glitterponds and travel the universe with them? They wouldnt. So fuck you for making the world a worse off place and for ruining our chance at interstellar travel.
The world is hard enough as it is without all of you shitting in the kool aid to boot. So knock it off. The internet is this really amazing alternate reality where we have the ability to communicate instantly with people around the world. Our great great grandparents had to wait months to get their out of state BFFs reaction to them accidentally knocking over the milk bucket "lol omg smdh!!" so you should be on your fucking knees worshiping the technology gods for your ability to communicate in such a quick fashion. Not wasting everyones time saying hateful shit while you are sipping your Jamba Juice in between classes. Use what you are given wisely. Or Im going to take your smartphone and put it in my blender.
I began participating on Twitter over a year ago even though I swore that I would never be involved in something so ridiculous. The idea of broadcasting your every move in 130 characters or less did not appeal to me. I dont even care what Im doing 90% of the time, why would anyone else? But then I learned that Twitter is fun to fuck around on with your homies and to get real time news updates, but that overall, the real point of it is to creep on the famous and semifamous.
And because of twitter Ive found myself in better connection with whats going on around the globe, and I get to see pics of Amanda Bynes tweerking in her mirror after snorting dishwasher flakes, and most of all, twitter has helped me come to the conclusion that if I ever see Rob Delaney in person Im going to run up and hug him while either humping his leg or peeing on his shoe.
Becoming part of the twitter community means Im also exposed to the completely asinine shit that makes up 99.9% of everything else there. And amidst all of the dumbfuckery, the spelling mistakes, grammar errors, boob selfies, and food pics, there is one thing that continues to baffle me. The large number of people who use twitter to say really terrible hateful mean shit to someone that if they met in real life they'd either ask for a picture with or would be too starstruck to speak.
Example:
Why does anyone find it socially acceptable to call this woman a whore--no matter how much of a waste of space she may be-- when she posts a picture of her pre Kan-baby self in a silver bikini? It confuses the hell out of me. You are literally replying to her tweet "@kimkardashian DIE". You have a picture of yourself and people you know know who you are and can read your tweets and can see that you are being a giant asshole for no reason. Did Kim come and make a sex tape with your husband? Did she tell you you looked fat in your prom dress? Did she shit in your refrigerator and ruin your Benihana leftovers? She didnt? Then what is your deal? You have nothing better to do with your one precious life than to call someone who doesnt even know you exist a slut via the internet? Cool. Good for you. Lets be friends.
I've become mentally exhausted with the anonymity of online being an excuse for people to be dickheads without repercussions. You cant go up to someone in real life sitting on a park bench doing their thing and yell "SLUT!!" at them without there being some kind of reaction from them or the people around you, hopefully violent in nature to some part of your face. You shouldnt be able to do it online either.
I dont think that celebrities and other famous persons necessarily even see 1/10th of the things tweeted at them, but if I were famous and occasionally saw that the first comment to a picture I was willing to share with the world was "DIE WHORE" I think it may kind of hurt my insides a little bit. And then to see that there isnt just one person being an asshole, but lots and lots, well, I think that shit adds up. All that negativity has to go somewhere. My hypothesis is as follows:
ASSHATS OF THE INTERNET: Your negative hate speech is collectively bringing down the emotional intelligence of our species and you are personally responsible for the reversal of evolution. You are the reason aliens are going to take us all out instead of inviting us to travel through their advanced worm hole technology to their super cool planets made of glitter and candybeans. Its your fault. Because aliens with advanced technologies arent stupid and why the fuck would they invite such juvenile hateful creatures to come swim in their glitterponds and travel the universe with them? They wouldnt. So fuck you for making the world a worse off place and for ruining our chance at interstellar travel.
The world is hard enough as it is without all of you shitting in the kool aid to boot. So knock it off. The internet is this really amazing alternate reality where we have the ability to communicate instantly with people around the world. Our great great grandparents had to wait months to get their out of state BFFs reaction to them accidentally knocking over the milk bucket "lol omg smdh!!" so you should be on your fucking knees worshiping the technology gods for your ability to communicate in such a quick fashion. Not wasting everyones time saying hateful shit while you are sipping your Jamba Juice in between classes. Use what you are given wisely. Or Im going to take your smartphone and put it in my blender.
Friday, April 26, 2013
A Letter to my First Born
Good Morrow to you. Id like to begin by letting you all know this isnt turning into a mommy blog. I will eventually get back to writing about the latest celebrity snafoos and my take on the crisis in Syria. But as Ive been out of being in a consistent writing loop for over a year, Im easing myself back into it by taking the easy road and writing about whats going on in my immediate surroundings. Plus I dont have to spend hours fact checking items for a post if Im telling you about getting peed on. Theres really nothing to check there. Its pee. Thats about it.
I have been thinking a lot lately about how completely screwed first children are in terms of parental aptitude and general knowledge of 'how the hell to keep something alive that cant move its own body weight and doesnt know how to tell you whats wrong besides shrieking loudly'. Because really, I dont care if you are the genetic byproduct of a test tube full of Super Nanny, Mary Poppins, and African tribal dula DNA, your first infant is going to knock you on your ass. Its science. And in terms of what thats like for the parent, it starts out awful, but then gradually gets better until one day you wake up and think, holy shit, I actually like this tiny person and am starting not to mind the fact that I am its personal assistant 24 hours a day.
But what about the baby? Its got to be completely frustrating to know that you are hungry/tired/thirsty/wet/uncomfortable/crabby/lonely/too hot/too cold/fucking starving and the large fuzzy blobs that tend to your needs are constantly guessing wrong about what you want. How aggravating. So in honor of this trial by fire that all first borns go through, I want to take time today to let my son know just how sorry I am for being a total fuck up for the majority of his life so far. Begin.
Jack Big Booty Ho My Love:
Im sorry that when you finally decided to get the fuck out of my uterus, that when they put you on my chest, I was so exhausted that all I could do was lightly touch your arm and alternate between falling asleep and trying to see what you looked like. Im sorry there wasnt this huge motherly bonding love moment filled with choirs of angels and me serenely looking down at your tiny head with all of the compassion and proudness of the universe.
Im sorry you didnt get the full 90 min of skin to skin that ensures you arent a serial killer as an adult. Again, I was wiped. Plus you shit your nonexistent pants and they had to clean you up.
Im sorry--and for this, really, I could kick myself repeatedly -Im so so sorry that I let everyone telling me that YOU MUST BREASTFEED take over my rational thought process instead of saying FUCK OFF, the most important thing is that THE BABY GETS FED FOOD. Im sorry that you had to endure 2 weeks of me trying to get you to eat off my boob when for whatever reason, you just werent having that shit. Im sorry you were probably starving and really uncomfortable for that amount of time. I totally get it if you hold that against me into your 20s. I totally would too.
Im sorry that I took forever to understand if you were too hot or too cold. Your skin is like always this weird temp that feels way hotter or colder than the thermometer reading ends up being. And you arent very good at explaining how youre feeling.
Im sorry you were born in the butthole of the longest winter in the history of mankind. Im sorry you didnt legitimately see sun and grass and blue sky until you were 5 months old. They do exist. They are real and awesome.
Im sorry that I had PPD. Im sorry that I didnt smile at you enough or if I ever made you feel like I didnt care or love you in those first months. It wasnt you, it was me. But we have fun now. I hope that makes up for it a little.
Im sorry that you slept in 6 different contraptions with varying degrees of success until we finally realized, what the hell are we doing, lets just try the crib, which you loved. Im sorry that we woke up twice to see you sideways in your swing. I hope you werent like that too long. To be fair, that was like the one time you didnt cry when you were uncomfortable so you cant really blame us for wanting to sleep for more than 20 consecutive minutes in a row.
Im sorry for the internet. Im sorry I have been convinced that you must be dying of a thousand different aliments more than a handful of times when you were probably just cold.
Im sorry that I didnt figure out baby wearing until you were just on the verge of not liking it. That moby wrap is about 75 feet long and when the highlight of your week becomes showering uninterrupted for 5 minutes, complicated things have a way of making you say 'oh there is no way this shit is happening right now.'
Im sorry we didnt know that infant reflux was a thing. Im sorry it took a month of you screaming when laying down and burping up tiny baby acid burps for us to take you in and get you baby zantac.
Im sorry that every time you were going through a growth spurt, that we didnt immediately remember to just feed you more instead of trying every other possible option first. Again, if you just told us "hey assholes, Im trying to grow neural pathways here, give me more food!" it would have been a whole lot easier on everyone.
Im sorry we didnt realize that burping is actually super important to your state of being. Sorry it is more complicated than patting something on its back really should be.
Im sorry we didnt give you a pacifier until you were older. Thats 100% daddy's issue. He had some pacifier related PTSD that we worked through and once that was resolved you were much more content having that thing to mack on
Im sorry that I didnt just let you fall to your death like you wanted while trying to climb up the back of the couch. Just trust me, back braces are not in this season.
And most of all, Im sorry for thinking that you were a tiny adult when you came out, when really, you were just this tiny mushball of human gak that needed to be loved up and fed and kept warm until it transforms into the beginnings of a person around 4 months. Im sorry for getting frustrated that you needed to eat every 2 hours and that 45 minutes of sleep was all you were capable of at first, and for not understanding just how important touch and warmth was to you. Im sorry for not understanding during those first three months, that my whole life had to change whether I was ready for it or not. I hope that the fun weve had since then and the fact that mom and dad are getting a little better at this stuff makes you forgive us the bad times. Because no matter what, we will always love you and think you are the shit. Thank you for sticking it out kid.
Love,
Mom
I have been thinking a lot lately about how completely screwed first children are in terms of parental aptitude and general knowledge of 'how the hell to keep something alive that cant move its own body weight and doesnt know how to tell you whats wrong besides shrieking loudly'. Because really, I dont care if you are the genetic byproduct of a test tube full of Super Nanny, Mary Poppins, and African tribal dula DNA, your first infant is going to knock you on your ass. Its science. And in terms of what thats like for the parent, it starts out awful, but then gradually gets better until one day you wake up and think, holy shit, I actually like this tiny person and am starting not to mind the fact that I am its personal assistant 24 hours a day.
But what about the baby? Its got to be completely frustrating to know that you are hungry/tired/thirsty/wet/uncomfortable/crabby/lonely/too hot/too cold/fucking starving and the large fuzzy blobs that tend to your needs are constantly guessing wrong about what you want. How aggravating. So in honor of this trial by fire that all first borns go through, I want to take time today to let my son know just how sorry I am for being a total fuck up for the majority of his life so far. Begin.
Jack Big Booty Ho My Love:
Im sorry that when you finally decided to get the fuck out of my uterus, that when they put you on my chest, I was so exhausted that all I could do was lightly touch your arm and alternate between falling asleep and trying to see what you looked like. Im sorry there wasnt this huge motherly bonding love moment filled with choirs of angels and me serenely looking down at your tiny head with all of the compassion and proudness of the universe.
Im sorry you didnt get the full 90 min of skin to skin that ensures you arent a serial killer as an adult. Again, I was wiped. Plus you shit your nonexistent pants and they had to clean you up.
Im sorry--and for this, really, I could kick myself repeatedly -Im so so sorry that I let everyone telling me that YOU MUST BREASTFEED take over my rational thought process instead of saying FUCK OFF, the most important thing is that THE BABY GETS FED FOOD. Im sorry that you had to endure 2 weeks of me trying to get you to eat off my boob when for whatever reason, you just werent having that shit. Im sorry you were probably starving and really uncomfortable for that amount of time. I totally get it if you hold that against me into your 20s. I totally would too.
Im sorry that I took forever to understand if you were too hot or too cold. Your skin is like always this weird temp that feels way hotter or colder than the thermometer reading ends up being. And you arent very good at explaining how youre feeling.
Im sorry you were born in the butthole of the longest winter in the history of mankind. Im sorry you didnt legitimately see sun and grass and blue sky until you were 5 months old. They do exist. They are real and awesome.
Im sorry that I had PPD. Im sorry that I didnt smile at you enough or if I ever made you feel like I didnt care or love you in those first months. It wasnt you, it was me. But we have fun now. I hope that makes up for it a little.
Im sorry that you slept in 6 different contraptions with varying degrees of success until we finally realized, what the hell are we doing, lets just try the crib, which you loved. Im sorry that we woke up twice to see you sideways in your swing. I hope you werent like that too long. To be fair, that was like the one time you didnt cry when you were uncomfortable so you cant really blame us for wanting to sleep for more than 20 consecutive minutes in a row.
Im sorry for the internet. Im sorry I have been convinced that you must be dying of a thousand different aliments more than a handful of times when you were probably just cold.
Im sorry that I didnt figure out baby wearing until you were just on the verge of not liking it. That moby wrap is about 75 feet long and when the highlight of your week becomes showering uninterrupted for 5 minutes, complicated things have a way of making you say 'oh there is no way this shit is happening right now.'
Im sorry we didnt know that infant reflux was a thing. Im sorry it took a month of you screaming when laying down and burping up tiny baby acid burps for us to take you in and get you baby zantac.
Im sorry that every time you were going through a growth spurt, that we didnt immediately remember to just feed you more instead of trying every other possible option first. Again, if you just told us "hey assholes, Im trying to grow neural pathways here, give me more food!" it would have been a whole lot easier on everyone.
Im sorry we didnt realize that burping is actually super important to your state of being. Sorry it is more complicated than patting something on its back really should be.
Im sorry we didnt give you a pacifier until you were older. Thats 100% daddy's issue. He had some pacifier related PTSD that we worked through and once that was resolved you were much more content having that thing to mack on
Im sorry that I didnt just let you fall to your death like you wanted while trying to climb up the back of the couch. Just trust me, back braces are not in this season.
And most of all, Im sorry for thinking that you were a tiny adult when you came out, when really, you were just this tiny mushball of human gak that needed to be loved up and fed and kept warm until it transforms into the beginnings of a person around 4 months. Im sorry for getting frustrated that you needed to eat every 2 hours and that 45 minutes of sleep was all you were capable of at first, and for not understanding just how important touch and warmth was to you. Im sorry for not understanding during those first three months, that my whole life had to change whether I was ready for it or not. I hope that the fun weve had since then and the fact that mom and dad are getting a little better at this stuff makes you forgive us the bad times. Because no matter what, we will always love you and think you are the shit. Thank you for sticking it out kid.
Love,
Mom
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