Author: The Fat Lady Sings

Over the last several months, I have been following a number of articles and threads regarding basic civility (or perhaps I should say lack thereof) as regards blogging.  The Mena Trott, Ben Metcalfe dust-up at Les Blogs last December is a prime example.  Ad hominem attacks seem to be de rigueur, these days.  Any and all petty grievances get aired without the slightest thought to consequence, indeed; without any thought at all.  The rhetoric, in general, has recently ratcheted up to alarming proportions.  Threats of actual violence are becoming more common, usually by those ill-equipped to compete with an increasingly informed public.  I have also noted a propensity toward racial and sexual bias.  These posters seem to target the easily identifiable – with women the primary target.  
Opened up a new line of thought, have I?  Don’t worry – I can back this statement up – if you will please allow a slight digression.  A good friend of mine who teaches High School has noted with alarm, considerable social changes over the last five years.  Real, physical violence toward both students and teachers has reached epidemic proportions – especially targeting females.  It bothers her to no end that the girls in her classes not only accept the abuse, but actually seem to crave and encourage it; as if sporting bruises and a black eye were some right of passage.  Indeed, she has watched in horror as girls as young as 14 preen and almost strut with pride after being debased as whores, or cuffed into submission by a boyfriend no older than they, but very obviously posing as the dominant partner.

Stay with me here, please – I really am not moving off the center argument.  It’s just that I have noticed (based upon either cultural references or more direct statements) that most of the posted attacks (from a multiplicity of sites) seem to be coming from younger males (20 – 26).  Now calm down – this is not an indictment of the male gender – merely observations that I find rather significant, and am interested in exploring further.  Time in harness as a human being has lent me some modicum of wisdom (I hope!).  This particular theme is one I have hashed and re-hashed with many friends in an attempt to understand the implications.  Historically speaking, this attitude is not new – conservative male-dominated (read patriarchal) cultures tend to dismiss women in general as irrelevant.  (Note the early drafts of the Iraqi constitution, coupled with our own newly minted Supreme Court).  As regards blogging however, this dismissal of cogent discussion in favor of chaotic and random attack, reeks of the kind of `owner/slave’ mentality my teacher friend deplores, and has found herself powerless to counteract.

I won’t take time here to diverge into what I see as cultural triggers – though frankly, I could write a book on the subject (which I am!), focusing in on pop-cultural influences as regards gender and sexuality (modern more than historical; there is just too much ground to cover!).  As a matter of fact, my husband and friends are probably tired to death of hearing my ballistic response over whatever Madison Avenue’s latest commercial atrocity is the current craze.  Let’s just say that blogs in general just seem to be lacking basic civility, or at least going down that road.  And I have to say that those of you who, in decrying this trend, end up backing off as a result of it; can’t help but add to the cumulative effect with your absence.  So – what the hell can we do?  Throw up our hands in disgust and turn the whole damn shooting match over to the trolls and the baiters?  I don’t like that scenario; it smacks of resignation, and allows someone whose entire raison d’etre reeks of disruption the satisfaction of having won.  So here are some of my suggestions on how to handle the situation.

Being relatively new to the blogasphere (I’ve only been blogging about 5 months in all); I do realize that my relative `virgin’ status may relegate my observations to the back of the bus file in some peoples minds; and that this subject may also be old hat to some; but were it possible, I would like to see those issuing actual threats tracked down and prosecuted.  Note I said `were it possible’.  As it isn’t at this time (at least within my rather limited knowledge of what technology would be needed to achieve such a result), the ancient act of shunning seems to be the best bet.  Ignore any commentary antithetical to the general discussion.  No matter how provocative the rhetoric, don’t answer!  To answer base accusations is to lend them credence.  All one person has to do is respond, and it immediately grants legitimacy to the attacker and their inflammatory statements.  You see – if you begin to explain why something is, or is not – you have already lost the debate.  “Are you now, or have you ever been, a member of the communist party?”  See?  A person is doomed from the start.  “How often do you beat your dog?”  Think about it – there is just no safe way to answer that question.  Yes, I know – there are times when your bile level threatens to overflow and swamp your keyboard.  Been there.  Get up, and walk away.  Delete the comment, go visit another site, pet your cat.  Anything other than grant your tormentor the satisfaction he desires – the ruination of your day.

Intentionally provocative statements are designed to hit, and hit hard. Those who participate in this brand of hate-mongering are able to carve out a bully pulpit by the sheer dint of such button-laden rhetoric.  These attacks are, in my opinion, driven by fear.  Not the kind of fear generally attributed to the human condition (fight, flight, etc.).  No – this fear comes from a lack of certitude.  When someone needs to shout down or crush the opposition, it usually means that somewhere, deep inside, they are mortally afraid of what their opponent is saying.  Perhaps, just perhaps, their truth may not stand alone in its righteousness.  If, (as I am beginning to suspect after years of basic human observation), this is indeed the truth of the matter (especially as regards attitudes toward and about women) – no amount of tsk, tsking, or finger pointing will do a damn bit of good.  Perhaps the person participating in the attack culture is doing so in an attempt to convince himself of his own potency (the `too much testosterone in the room’ syndrome).  If that’s the case, nothing anyone can say or do will affect his opinion in any way.  So don’t waste your time!

As for the violent threats part – that, as they say, is another ball of wax.  Let us consider the very real possibility of some mental imbalance being present.  And that, in my opinion, is what makes all of this truly frightening.  Brutal words often lead to vicious action – as has been proved time and time again throughout recorded history.  Violence may indeed be the last resort of the feeble-minded, but it is always the first choice for any who believe in their own sanctified invincibility (reference George Bush).  That – and it deflects the white-hot spotlight off of their own fears, focusing it in a different direction – usually whomever they have fixated upon.  Confront the crazy, and you are opened up to all kinds of really scary things.  So don’t put yourself in the crosshairs.  Just let the comments lie, or better yet, delete them and continue the thread on subject.  Now, I do realize that employing all the above still may not work.  Stalking runs rampant across the internet, and I’ve noticed it ruining many a site or discussion thread – sometimes forcing the blogger to move or shut down.  And it’s not just the porn purveyors or troll hijackers that jump in and take control.  It’s all too easy to track someone, even considering the (necessary) alias’s we use.  I’ve heard of more than one blogger having their URL compromised by hackers as well.

So – obviously there’s no easy solution.  I go back to ostracism.  Ignore the fuckers where feasible.  None of us want our ability to air our thoughts compromised, so a credible policing of the internet seems unfeasible at this time.  We’re on our own, folks.  Let’s just try and do the best we can.  

One of the greatest dancers of all time has died.  Fayard Nicholas, half of the acclaimed Nicholas Brothers has finally joined his brother Harold in heaven.  Such an incalculable loss – when I heard the news I cried.  Now, when they do get around to filming that story, there will be no one left to tell exactly how it was.  You don’t know The Nicholas Brothers?  Not your fault – the blame lies with white obsessed movie aficionados.  The Nicholas Brothers have been all but ignored whenever the greats of dance are lionized.  Astaire, Kelly – Fayard Nicholas.  He belongs right up there – first, in fact.  He was choreographer and dancer, gymnast and artist.
Whatever innovation you can think of – Fayard Nicholas did it first.  Dance-off’s?  Done – with The Berry Brothers at The Cotton Club.  Dancer vs. Musical instrument?  Yup – 1940, Down Argentine Way.  Moonwalking?  Did that first too – where do you think Michael Jackson got the idea?  Flash and control.  Quicksilver with legs – that’s what Fayard Nicholas was.  The late, great Gregory Hines once said that in any film of The Nicholas Brothers lives, the dances would have to be computer generated – because no one could possibly duplicate them.  They were electrifying dancers – athletes first; but with a subtle artistry that was sheer genius.  Harold always deferred to his older brother – “he was a poet”, the younger Nicholas said – “talking to you with his hands and feet”.  Yet this magician, this brilliant, beautiful man was only gifted with two major awards before the end of his life.  He won a Tony for his choreography of the musical Black & Blue, and he and his brother were granted Kennedy Center Honors before Harold died in 2000.

I could catalog the signature moves for you – and what later artist stole it; no-hands splits, that even Balanchine praised as beyond balletic perfection.  Astaire likened their gravity defying `Stormy Weather’ number to “tap-dancing with the fearless exuberance of children stone-hopping across a pond”.  All you have to do is look at the unbridled joy on Fayard’s face to see it was true.  God – what a loss!  And no mention of his death anywhere.  Where are the hour specials, the career retrospectives, the God-damn marching bands?  What – is his death to be relegated to some half-assed memorial at the tag end of this years Oscar death reel?  Well – I remember you, Mr. Fayard Nicholas – I remember you and your brother, and I thank you for the countless hours of entertainment you brought me.  And if anyone else out there is curious – rent Stormy Weather or Down Argentine Way and allow yourself to be amazed.  

God bless you, and keep you safe, Mr. Nicholas.  Both you and your brother.

Monday’s child is fair of face,
Tuesday’s child is full of grace,
Wednesday’s child is full of woe,
Thursday’s child has far to go,
Friday’s child is loving and giving,
Saturday’s child must work for a living,
But the child that’s born on the Sabbath day
Is fair and wise and good and gay.

He was born on a Tuesday – January 15, 1929.  They named him Martin Luther – after his father and in honor of the concept of reform, and rebirth.  I would say he was well and truly `full of grace’.  In fact, I’d say he embodied all the attributes of our little rhyme – a handsome man, blessed with wit and intelligence, he nonetheless struggled for recognition; working hard to achieve despite the almost insurmountable barricades erected because of the color of his skin.  A wise man, he gave of himself freely, as though he had no pressing needs; finding joy in the simplest of life’s offerings – and giving back that joy to those around him.  Truly – a prince amongst men.  It does indeed seem the good – they die young.

Today we acknowledge the myriad contributions Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. injected into every facet of our society.  He shaped the fabric of our cultural and political landscape as much as say, Jefferson’s enlightenment idealism or George M. Cohan’s unique ability to capture Americana in song.  I grew up privileged to listen to the man – including his inspirational `I’ve got a dream’ speech.  I may have been a little kid – but I heard it, and I knew what he said was right – I could feel it in my bones.  He always seemed so calm, and collected – even when people screamed epithets – he quietly soldiered on.  What a marvelous role model to hold up for America’s children – someone who saw what needed to be done, and did it – no matter the personal cost.  Truly, as Kennedy said, what he could do for his country.  Funny, but I can’t think of anyone today who’s not motivated by gain – not even Dr. King’s family.  No one’s willing to sacrifice one whit of comfort or privilege for the greater good.  Frankly, I’m not even sure there is a greater good – not anymore.  There’s just greed, power and control – idealism died with King and Kennedy – the dregs that are left reek to high heaven of graft and corruption.

So I want you all to think about our world, this Monday – about how it is, and how it might have been had a snipers bullet not found its target one cool spring evening.  He died on a Thursday, by the way – I hope the gates of heaven were within easy reach.  Think about what might have been had another bullet not found its mark a scant 2 months later.  Has anybody here seen my old friend Bobby?  Think how much this country and the world would have changed had these two men never been assassinated.  Robert Kennedy – born on a Friday, died on a Thursday – the Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away.  I wish he were still here.  Bobby would have been president – not Nixon.  He would have appointed Dr. King head of a new cabinet post – the Civil Rights Commission.  Everyone today would be equal under the law – no discrimination – gay or straight, male or female.  Reagan would never have become president, the cocaine cabal under Cheney would never have coalesced and greed would never, ever have been good.

Ah well – if wishes were horses, then beggars would ride.  

Has anybody here seen my old friend Martin?
Can you tell me where he’s gone?
He freed a lot of people,
But it seems the good die young,
I just looked around and he’s gone.

Has anybody here seen my old friend Bobby?
Can you tell me where he’s gone?
I thought I saw him walkin’ up over the hill,
With Abraham, Martin and John.

Amen

Come meet the face of dissident thought and organized terrorism facing the United States today:  Hello!  Fat Lady Sings, here!  And I am about as dangerous a fugitive as there comes.  I have read, in their entirety, the works of Voltaire, Sartre, Camus, Plato, Adler, Ionesco, De Sade (that ought to twist your knickers) Jefferson (as in ex-president) and that hothead of organized dissent – Benjamin Franklin (who happens to be a relative).  I am also Irish – and that makes me ethnically dangerous as well.  My Uncle stood up to Black Watch thugs in 1920 and was almost beaten to death for the privilege, and my cousin used to be Taoiseach – so you see – there is no hope; my gene pool has been irrevocably corrupted (O’Reilly notwithstanding). I know I should hang my head in shame – but I refuse!  I am proud my people spawned the likes of Wilde and Shaw and C. S. Lewis (yes, that bastion of Christian thought was not only Irish but Catholic to boot!).  I also hereby promise that on this March 17th I will join my fellow greenies and quaff generous amounts of Guinness in celebratory bliss.  So put that in your pipe and smoke it!
And you don’t have to look far for my record!  Oh no, ma petite!  It’s in your own FBI files – go ahead; look carefully – its there; I know – I’ve seen a copy!  During the late 1970’s I joined one of the most subversive organizations around; no, not the Communist Party (though I’ve read Marx, and trust me- it wasn’t much of a party).  I became a card-carrying member of The Society for Creative Anachronism.  Yes, I know I should once again hang my head in shame – but those swords and all that armor looked so inviting!  Yet you saw through their medieval charade, didn’t you; and pegged them for the anti-American’s they truly are.  I mean – these people frequent Ren-Faires, for heaven’s sake; and play D & D – a definite no no under Reagan’s heavy hand; not to mention conducting their own wars – without Herr Bush’s permission I might add!  Hell – Nixon was convinced the SCA meant to blow up the Capital (though God knows no one at Pennsic would know a firearm if it shot them in the ass).  So the government sent you, the Fucking Ball-busting Imbecile’s to suss it out.  Pity your investigator decided to join up, though – wasn’t it?  Doesn’t look good in the final analysis.  I guess he got all corrupted and shit after whacking hay bales with a broadsword.  Or maybe it was the kilt – you cannot discount the lure of homo-eroticism, you know.  It’s what’s kept the military strong since history began.

How do I know all this?  It’s in my file; along with that guy I dated when I was in High School whose dad worked with some mob idiots and (gasp!) worst of all – my college friend who had joined the evil Hispanic support gang Venceremos.  Of course – there was that whole Cinque, SLA, Patty Hearst connection; and we might have been involved – but where did you think we kept her hidden?  In our snoods?  Guess it didn’t matter that they turned radical some years after she left – but it was terribly important to harass 18 year old girls back then.  And you did such a crack-up job at it!  Tapping her phone, following us around – those transcripts you made of our term paper discussions were pitch-perfect – word-for-word – but (shhhh – here’s a secret) that was code!  You knew it then, you sly dogs – when you put down that she had a friend (me) whose boyfriend was (horror of horrors!) black.  I guess that made me guilty by association – and that’s all the rage now, I hear.  After all, didn’t I approach your surveillance vehicle and tell your agents to fuck off and die?  Well there you go – a direct threat to the FBI and all of its employees!  Why, I could have done more damage than John Walker Jr. or Robert Hanssen combined (though they really did catch you with your pants down – hmmm?).

Finally, let us not forget I have an ARREST record.  Oh yes – you all remember – that unexpected stop in Madera, California, where I was arrested for being the only white girl in a car full of young black men – one of them being gay?  Flamboyantly so, too!  Sporting an afro, paisley pants, pointed collars and extra high daisy covered orange platform shoes!  Horror of horrors – look who I was associating with – one religion major, a math whiz and a loquacious budding theatre professional named Theo; yes, all claimed to be college students going to Mexico for the weekend, but we know that was nothing but a ploy.  After all, as the arresting officer so kindly pointed out – no decent white girl would be caught dead with a black man; so that makes me indecent, and you know how those evangelicals feel about decency!  Of course, it may weaken your case that the judge let us all go after I promised to contact the media and raise a huge stink (didn’t want his quaint little town to look racist) – but you can always doctor the records to make it seem I was guilty.  Something I suspect you have lots of experience with, yes?  Why don’t you say we were all sporting Black Panther t-shirts, or carrying copies of Mao’s little red book.  Though I’d nix the latter – might piss off the Chinese and screw up trade.

So here I am – The Fat Lady Sings – right out in the open where you cannot help but find me. I promise not to run and hide, either.  And if it makes your job easier – I smoke pot (or used to), support human rights, have friends who are not either straight or white and point blank refuse to knuckle under to this illegitimate, criminal, immoral, iniquitous villain of a President and his cabal of convicts in waiting.  So come and get me, motherfuckers; I’ll remember to leave the light on!

Again, something a little different.

What is it, to be in love?  Is it the endorphin packed, anticipatory rush that smothers you with passion; a craving so bone deep it overwhelms all the senses?  Fingers gliding over corded muscle slick with sweat, that thick, heady aroma of musk – is that it – desire mixing with the taste of salt on his skin?  Love is its own truth, in a way – a separate craving; no – beyond that, really; love creates, yes – but through deep, gut wrenching pain.  Lovers construct their own particular cross.

Why is it we always remember that one, destructive obsession?  The urge is to romanticize it, glossing over the memories of bitter tears and shredded hearts.  I loved him, and I hated him, and there are still times when I would go back to all that and damn the consequences.  I was the one who left – knowing that staying would have destroyed the both of us.  He was just too drawn to the dark side – and I willingly went there with him – fevered and crazy beyond rational thought.  Life in the fast lane truly makes you lose your mind.

He was younger than me – by enough to make a difference.  I managed to keep at least one foot on the ground (some of the time), but it was hard.  He dealt drugs, hustled pool (taught me well enough to still play a dangerous game) robbed houses, boosted cars – I made him stop almost all of that.  He loved me enough to do it, too; mostly.  The drugs – that was the brick wall.  I should have walked away, should have ended it then and there – but I couldn’t.  Sex, yes – it was, to some extent about sex – even now I can smell leather, tobacco and marijuana, when thinking of him.  The pot heightened the experience – elevated it into something transcendent – spiritual and carnal all at once.  But it was also the danger; satisfaction gleaned through living life on the edge – we were quite the pair, he and I – a force to be reckoned with, in our own way.

Now, whenever I think of him, a welter of emotions hits with a fury that bewilders – rage, grief – fire and ice.  Not indifference; oh no – never that.  I never was and never could be indifferent to that man.  The pull is so strong that, even now, all these years later, we could never dare be in the same city, let alone in the same room.  We haven’t spoken in 20 years, but I know where to find him.  We loved and fought and almost destroyed each other to a pastiche of Joan Jett, AC/DC and Foreigner.  He was a devil, and I knew it.  Every time I see a tall, slim man with long blond hair, there’s a visceral twist – for years my heart would actually leap; but it was never him, thank God.  I made my choice, and I chose another.  I would not alter the past, even if granted the power to do so.

Was this love?  Drowning in rarified air, unable to gain any purchase, fingers clutching for invisible rope.  I thought so at the time.  Hurtling through life till one or the both of you implode can be addictive – you come to expect that hot adrenaline rush.  Never mind that you feel sick afterward – spent and empty – yearning for the next thrill so you can feel alive again.  I was old enough to know this was not how it should always be; at least, not for me.  He was going to end up dead, or in jail, and I had no desire to lay myself down beside him in that grave.  I craved stability – I could no longer live my life in the ether, pretending to be on solid ground.  Love is not enough, if that’s what this was.

So I ran, ran far away, ran into the arms of the man I chose.  He followed, lying to himself, pretending we had a future.  Come with me, he said – leave him.  Come back to what we had.  I looked around at my then ordered life, and for one brief wild moment heard the sirens song of desire.  Felt his hands on my skin, hot breath on my neck, the sheer, animal need to tear through the woods as if all the demons of hell were behind me, reckless, abandoned – two wolves driven by blood and instinct.  It was tempting; there’s a kind of freedom that comes with irresponsibility.  He and I had shared the wild heart of the young, but I was through with childish things.

I saw him fade into memory.  Soon, all that was left was a dream, colored by time and distance.  Were we in love, he and I?  As the years tick by, those old memories seem to acquire their own special patina.  It is easy to convert passion into something finer, more lasting.  Certainly the memory lingers.  Oh my yes, the memory of that man still skirts the edges of my mind.  Music will trigger it, or I’ll hear a certain laugh.  Sometimes it’s the smell of eucalyptus. Age does not dim desire.  I spent years riding the crest of it.  That perpetual state of high dungeon cannot fail but leave its mark.  Still – it was a long time ago.  Perhaps they have no portion in us now – love and desire and hate.  Maybe that’s my answer.  Past, not perfect, not gone.  I’ll tell you one thing I know for sure.  No more lovers cross for me.      

There are a lot of men out there who really hate women.  I mean really, really hate them – want them suffering and/or dead hate them  As with a certain class of racist, they prefer to blame every woman for any slight – real or imagined – done to them throughout the entirety of their lives.  I have been appalled lately by the tone and tenor of rhetoric flying around especially as regards the subject of rape.

I posted on this issue – here, and at a variety of other web sites, most of whom were either discussing the Oregon Case, or the anniversary of the Canadian Massacre.  You would think that, universally, rape would be considered wrong – along with all violence against women.  Well – evidently that’s not the case.  Many men went beyond mere paternalistic chiding that we woman were too `fixated’ on the subject; I read posts overflowing with name-calling, venom spewing gender specific hatred; some of the comments tipping the scale so far into the red, alarms went off.

Why?  Why do you feel this way?  It is perhaps simplistic to assume the men who made those comments are or were rapists and molesters themselves; perhaps they do indeed enjoy inflicting pain on the helpless – the elderly, children, animals.  I don’t know.  The only yardstick I have for men like these are those who perpetrated acts of violence towards me; and the single common factor there was cowardice.  The need to molest a child, a young girl – they were not the sort to take on an adult woman out of fear she’d have the strength to repel them.  So what is it motivates these computer nihilists – flinging their offal like so many monkeys – hoping the stink will somehow injure those in its path?

Here is what I am talking about.  The person being ridiculed is me.  The reference is regarding the possible rape of a 17 year old girl.  I was commenting on an article by James Joyner in Outside the Beltway. The poster left his name, Steven, but of course no trackback information.  What he put in italics are snippets of my original response to Mr. Joyner.  I am leaving in the grammatical errors and misspelling that seems to characterize all missive of this sort in place.

Let’s break this down a bit shall we?
“My only response to your lauding of what you call a more even approach is this: you obviously have very little empathy for women “
I must have missed you at the “Not In Our Name” anti-rad-fem rally where you decried false accusations that imprison men, subject THEM to rape, and destroy who sections of their lives.
Just because a person says a system must have balance and not cater to ONE gender does not mean the person is without empathy.
But, this is a typical rad-feminist response: put the person asking for balance and fairness on the defensive.
Sorry, didn’t you get the memo? The P.C. 90’s are over and the USA is more sophisticated as to rape.
She continues in her one sided argument:
” you automatically do what you chide Shakes Sis and Arthur Silber for; concluding the rape was bogus, because the justice system said so.”
Ahhh, and when a man is pronounced guilty you are the FIRST one to stand up and say: “just because he was pronounced guilty doesn’t mean he did it … there is a lot of questions to this case” – right?
She seems to conveniently forget women who molest boys in this part:
” You also seem to indicate the girl (girl not woman. No matter how much a certain class of men would like it to be 17 is still a child) would only get a slap on the wrist, so who cares right?”
You mean how Mary Kay LeTourneau was only sent away for SEVEN years after repeatedly sleeping with her 12 year old student?
Or how Debra LaFave was given NO jail time.
Plz DO post links to where you were up in arms about this ….
Showing your blatant sexism is EASY when you wear it on your sleeve.
She continues to make excuses and ignoring the double standards:
“Well, unlike you, I actually did a little research before stating my opinion. The facts of the case are in dispute the childs mother may have had some complicity, and the adult men involved could have been charged with statutory rape, as that is current Oregon law. But they werent only the girl (now 19) paid any price at all. Well I guess that’s OK by you; after all, its not like it was anyone you gave a damn about (assuming there are females you give a damn about). I noted many responses just like yours men getting up on their moral high horse decrying what we pesky feminists considered an egregious miscarriage of justice.”
Feminists consider justice to be giving one standard for men and another for women. It’s no different than “white justice” for blacks back in the day.
You decide guilt, innocence, mitigation of circumstances or lack thereof purely based on genetics. How does that robe and hood fit by the way?
The “men cannot understand” cannard:
” Ah well its not like you will ever have to suffer through the mind-numbing violence of rape; unless of course, through some egregious miscarriage of justice you end up in jail with the wrong cell-mate. But then only true criminals ever get convicted of crimes right? I mean, its not like the justice system is ever wrong?”
The Prison Rape Reform Act of 2003 was enacted due to 10% of all prisoners being raped REPEATEDLY. Consider: there are 2.5-2.7 MILLION men in prison. That’s 250K-270K men raped REPEATEDLY – and the feminists are doing … WHAT exactly to spread the word and stop it?
And as far as the justice system being wrong .. how about men spending 5, 10, 15, or 20 years in prison for rapes they didn’t comnmit – being later freed by DNA.
Do the feminists think that the women who have done this should go to jail for the SAME AMOUNT OF TIME!?
Not one of those women who put men in jail is serving a DAY … never mind that we need a National False Accuser Data Base to track these predators.
The P.C. 90’s are over cupcake. Women will start going to JAIL for false accusations. No longer can your shrill cries that espouse one sided sexism be taken at face vaule.
And stomping your dainty little foot no longer works.

Whew!!!  Sorry to inflict that endless, rambling diatribe on you, but I think it needed to be seen in its entirety, as it illustrates my point to a `T’.  This man is practically foaming at the mouth in his need to attack and belittle me, and every other woman within reach of his limited vocabulary.  He HATES – virulently.  He refers to women as predators, and seems to assert they all belong in jail or worse by virtue of gender alone; much like the hardened racist, who hates the skin tone without concern for the person in it.  How sad.

Want to see another?  This verbal diarrhea was attached to an article Shakespeare’s Sister did regarding rape and violence.  The man called himself `A Raped Father’, and his overweening hatred for women almost swamps his keyboard.  Some of his harangue was directed toward me – though most was intended for Shakes Sis.  Either way, its enough to really make you wonder just who’s out there.  Again I have left the excerpt intact.

The reality is that at a MINIMUM 45 to 50% of all rape allegations filed by women are false. And transversly, as all of our laws are gender neutral, how many women have ever been charged with raping juvenile boys??? Instead boys as young as 12 are paying CHILD SUPPORT for a child that was the result of a crime. ENOUGH IS ENOUGH !!! All of you guys defending this TROLLUP take off your aprons and skirts. Be a MAN !!!!!!!!!!!!

He followed that with:

It’s alot to risk?? There are far more ” SHAM ” Domestic Violence and Rape cases then there are actual assaults. Women are also more likely to use violence against a partner and also more likely to be believed in court, especially when backed up by the FEMALE LINEBACKERS from the local women’s shelter. It is a very profitable industry, these FALSE ACCUSATIONS.

I did not address him directly – only abjuring the other posters not to feed the trolls.  This was his response.  Way over the top and out in left field:

I bet fat lady sings for more welfare handouts and child support money, Oh hold it that is automatic even though she dosen’t allow DAD parenting time and fully has the children alienated and abused.

???????  And there you have it, I’m afraid.  I won’t inflict any more examples on you – suffice it to say the Canadian responses to women bloggers memorializing the Montreal Massacre were treated to more of the same.  So I want to know why it is some of you hate us so damn much?  Is your loathing so great you’d prefer you had never been born?  For that’s the only alternative available to you were we all to be eradicated.  Or is it that you really hate humanity as a whole?  I am asking these questions because I just don’t get it.  I have never understood the lure of violence in the first place – I guess I just don’t hate anyone sufficiently enough.  So – answer my question.  Why do so many men hate women?

You will find this a little different than the usual fare.

Time it was, and what a time it was, it was
A time of innocence, a time of confidences
Long ago, it must be, I have a photograph
Preserve your memories; They’re all that’s left you

I have been thinking lately of a time in my life – a time tied to an age – both personal and generational.  Twenty-seven years ago – Christ, was it really twenty-seven?  The memories don’t seem that old – they exist separately – fresh, alive; not sepia-tinged or faded like the childhood I still strive to forget.  No – I can still smell the coffee, feel the raffia bindings on the fan shaped chair fray between my fingers and catch at my hair.  I wore it loose and long – then as now; thick, soft, chestnut red.  Oh, I was vain about my hair.  That’s why I always chose that particular chair.
The Upstart Crow & Company – espresso, books, chess – the sound of violins, or a soft guitar.  Laughter, cigarette smoke, the sweeter scent of marijuana – we all gathered there; buzzed on caffeine, tongues released by the cannabis, obsessed with and by each others imagination.  I quoted Wordsworth and Tennyson.  There were spiritual discussions – several of the group were pagan, others Christian; one worshipped Mithras.  I was fascinated by Mithras.  Oh, we were a fey lot – but then so was everyone.  The place created its own mystique.  The Upstart Crow drew artist and intellectual, anarchist and philosopher.  It was glorious!  Sometimes I would challenge a stranger to chess.  I knew a trick, you see – checkmate in four moves – but it only worked with the neophyte, or easily distracted.

There is a bravery in youth, not hubris, mind you – invincibility perhaps?  Your future spreads out before you like a carpet of stars – nothing set in stone; not yet.  It is so easy to believe; well, in anything, really.  You have no concept of time at that age – ten, twenty, thirty years – seems like forever. They are not long, the days of wine and roses: out of a misty dream our path emerges for a while, then closes within a dream.  You know, I miss the place more than my youth.  No – not so much the place as the idea – sense and intellect; watching my world through lowered lashes, limbs supple and relaxed, ready to embrace the heat generated by quick minds.  My thoughts have always fled before me like lightning – speeding up to the conclusion, splintering off in reflective directions – I have always been able to function three-dimensionally, you see.  

I came back there, years later, expecting – hell, I don’t know. It was my summer of coming home again, an attempt to re-capture those perfect moments when life was all about passion and color. So I went to my touchstone, filled with a sense of place, wanting The Upstart Crow to have survived intact. It hadn’t. There were no welcoming lights, no strains of music wafting through the air with the cappuccino. The scent of marijuana lingered, but it seemed harsh without any accompanying ambiance. I sparked one up anyway – standing next to a man I loved, but knew I couldn’t stay with.  He probably knew it too, but we lied to each other anyway.  Different realities, different lifetimes – he lived within a world I skirted the edges of. But that day, that instant, tucked under his arm, my hand in his back pocket, I felt so safe.  He smelled of the sea and warm leather.

We stood just inside the door, looking at all the books.  More than just the titles had changed.  The coffee shop had dwindled into a rather dingy little room – dotted with worn couches, its floor and walls sticky from spills.  No one was there, not even behind the counter.  There were people buying books, though – oh my yes!  Torn stockings, ripped denim and purple spiked hair – skinny chests adorned with multiple piercings highlighting black swastika tattoos.  The pot I had smoked finally took hold, lending a surreal quality to the scene. I was Alice, gone down the rabbit hole, lost somewhere inside the red queens twisted imagination.  Kevin sighed, “You know, it used to be women wanted to fuck Robert Plant.  Now all they want is to get beat up by Billy Idol.”

I looked up at him, and began to laugh.  Right out loud.  Pointing as I did so.  The Crow’s current denizens turned and looked at me like I was some kind of loon.  Some of them seemed quite pissed.  “Shhhh!!!” Kevin hushed, propelling me forward, pushing me out the door. By this time I was in full cry, laughing from the soul, tears running down my face, unable to stop even had I wanted to.  “What – girl, are you crazy?  Some of those guys had knives.  Fucking big ones.  I could handle one or two, but not the whole damn place!”  Suddenly we were at the car. I turned around and looked back.  No one had followed.  It was safe.  My old remembrances, however, had faded.  I hoped it was the marijuana, but I knew better.  It would never be the same.  Never.  That singular time of innocence and hope was now part of my past, more The Way We Were than Jethro Tull.

I put my head on Kevin’s shoulder, folding my arms under his shirt.  His skin was so warm.  I closed my eyes, and for a moment I heard those violins carried on the soft breeze rattling through the pepper trees.  “Come on, Babe – time to go.”  I nodded, opening my eyes and looking back one more time at The Upstart Crow. I knew I would never come back.  In the car I lit up another joint, inhaling deeply.  Foreigner – Woman in Black.  I looked over at Kevin and smiled, touching his thigh. We drove past my youth, and all those memories.  I resisted the urge to turn around.  One month later I was back in Japan, facing a very different future with a very different man.

Still, on clear, crisp full-moon nights like this, my mind wanders back to books, coffee and raffia bound rattan chairs.  Those memories lay thick, swarming around me, blotting out other, less pleasant times.  I find myself thinking back more often these days.  Maybe its age.  My Father, in his 90’s, used to remember every detail of his youth, while forgetting his yesterdays.  For hours he would hold me rapt – detailing his world travels as a cabin boy, what it was like working as a musician during the jazz age and listening to Louie Armstrong play in Harlem after hours.  Such a rich, full life.  Me?  I don’t know yet.  This is still my middle.  But I do remember – and I always will – espresso and Sartre, chess and Mithras, The Upstart Crow & Company.  

Can we please – please, please, please – start a substantive conversation on race in America?  There are ground rules though – no kicking, screaming, eye-gouging or biting allowed.  All participants have to agree not to put on silly hats or funky bandanas and march around with crosses or guns.  Think I’m being facetious?  OK – try having this discussion without the accompanying folderol.  Someone always has to start the button pushing – and immediately the ears close, the mouths open and for all intents and purposes we might as well be at a Jerry Springer taping.  
Well this shit has to stop.  If it doesn’t, we face the kind of internal civil war that will make any WTO protests begin to resemble water balloon fights.  Everybody is teetering on the verge of getting monumentally pissed – and those crosses and guns might end up being replaced with much scarier weapons.  Not possible, says you?  Where have you been lately?  Spend much time in trees, do you?  Oh, I know – you’re one of our many fellow Americans who trundle on through life as if living in the antebellum south.  Well things, they are a’ changin’ – and you’d better join in the discussion now, my dears; or trust me – you will end up staring at the chaos that surrounds you in smothered in confusion, wondering just how in hell we all got to this point.  

Let’s start with the overt behaviors – I am constantly amazed by all the idiots who think because we share a skin tone, we must therefore share the exact same racist thoughts.  As a matter of fact since Katrina, I have heard more bullshit regarding class, culture and race than in the last five years combined.  I remember a time I was trapped on the `L’ heading into Chicago from the airport.  This dreadful man just started spewing garbage about how much he hated every African-American person on the train.  Even after I told him to shut the fuck up – he continued – droning on, and on.  The bastard followed me as I moved from seat to seat in an attempt to escape.  God!  No matter what I said, he just kept on talking, as if I really wasn’t there; as if his need to vent superseded everyone else’s civil and human rights.  I finally just got off and caught another train.  By the way – haven’t you noticed that incidents such as this are on the rise?  I have heard unbelievably outrageous comments from neighbors, store clerks – even some asshole standing next to me in line.  I most always say something; tell the person why they’re wrong, or just to go get bent – even though I know any attempt to change such small minds is a total waste.  It reminds me of something Heinlein said – Never try to teach a pig to sing; because it wastes your time and annoys the pig.  

Well those minds had damn well better change – and soon.  We are letting ourselves down as human beings if we allow such ignorance to continue.  We are also letting America down.  Just look at the reactions to Katrina for your answer.  We really need to talk, folks – on a national level – about why the have-nots in America are almost always someone of color.  About why gender and race are inextricably linked when it comes to equal pay for equal work.  About why young, male African Americans make up such a high percentage of incarcerations in this country.  All important subjects, all barely touched on whenever the issue of race comes up.  I could hope to say this constant avoidance amazes me – but unfortunately it does not.  Too many years, too much stupidity for that.  It does seem, however, that peoples true feelings are surfacing over this emphasis on color; on whether or not the ethnicity of those poor bastards seen begging for help while knee-deep in contaminated water merits discussion.  Hello!!  The answer is yes, of course it does – they were left to rot, are still being left to rot – and that will always be wrong by any sort of measure.  

Do you all know what the loss will be if our nation drives itself to the brink of class warfare?  For all of us?  God – even the thought of something like that happening has me near folded over with grief.  So, what’s the answer?  What has turned seemingly intelligent, compassionate people towards the stereotypical (re: simple)?  Is it fear?  Because I really can’t think of anything else that elicits such overt reactions.  And if so – if all this really is about being afraid – of what?  What is so scary about equality for EVERYBODY?  Today is the anniversary of Rosa Parks historic, shattering ride through a segregated town in Alabama.  We honor her courage in our nations Capitol, while kicking to the curb everything she and that ride stood for.  So – does ethnicity impact how we see both our country and our lives?  The answer seems to be yes; and that just about breaks my heart.  

Cross-posted at dKos and MyDD

It’s time for you to shut the fuck up, O’Rielly – before someone does it for you.  I mean it – just shut the fuck up!  I have finally had it up to the tippy top of my ability to shovel bullshit over your crude, prejudice based bloviating – you are, quite simply, a turd, Bill; and I am sick unto death of being forced to smell the crap you ladle out day after day after day.  So pay attention you misogynistic gay-bashing falafel molester – those of us who proudly claim the Bay Area as home could care less what you think.  Those al-Qaeda terrorists you so kindly decided to direct our way?  Well we’re gonna return the favor someday, asshole; paid in full complete with interest!  
And listen up – how bloody dare you claim to be Irish?  Huh?  Do you have any idea what being Irish is all about?  It’s more than ethnicity or national identity, look you – it’s about sacrifice and survival and having a three-digit IQ.  Benjamin Franklin was Irish, Oscar Wilde was Irish, George Bernard Shaw was Irish and I’m Irish, you amadán – real Irish; my second cousin was Taoiseach Irish, you’ll find my family writ large in stone Irish, our name was in the Book of Lists Irish – so back off, bucko, or I’ll haul my Irish ass over there and introduce you to my shillelagh.

Now I hear you’ve got yourself an enemies list, you little squint – well put me down at the top!  Right there where you can’t help but see it.  Strike a line through it, if you have the balls, and when you do, I hope you’ll think about all the friends I have and people I know whom you seem to hate – gay and black and female and Muslim – and we are bigger and better and stronger then you, Billy boy.  We are legion while you – honey; I’ve heard even your wife won’t give you a tumble these days – too many Andrea Mackris’ running about.  

So here’s the pitch – pack up your shit and move.  Now.  America doesn’t want you anymore.  Traitors get shown the door, and anyone who calls for the willful destruction of an American city is a traitor – plain and simple.  So heave-ho, O’Reilly – its time to get the fuck out of Dodge.  Personally, I don’t give a good God-damn in hell where you go, as long as it’s far away from here.  Go bedevil some other poor country.  Hey – I’ve got a great idea – why not move to France?  You hate them, they’ll soon learn to hate you (trust me on this – one look and it’ll be as if you’d won the Tour de France).  For all I care you can take up residence at the bottom of a volcano – just go.  And start telling people you’re a conehead.  No one really believes you’ve an ounce of humanity in you anyway.
 

Cross-posted at dKos and Fat Lady Sings

So the worm turns!  Blog on, oh ye of little education!  Explain the whys and wherefore’s of what passes these days for cogent thought!  A number of weeks back, one of the regular writers on a rather well reviewed political blog casually consigned the framers of our constitution to perdition, as `refugees from an agrarian society’.  He posited that this non-industrial base limited our founding fathers ability to craft for the future.  This, I guess, rendered them little more than after notes by today’s more ‘exacting’ standards.  The discussion revolved around both Iraq’s infant constitution, as well as the future of the Supreme Court and was, in my opinion, somewhat dismissive of both subjects. This sort of elitist pomposity continues – on a multiplicity of websites – fueled by twenty-something undergrad’s whose grasp of history seems limited to choosing what beer to get wasted on for the evening.  Pontification substituting for reasoned argument rather sets my teeth on edge, so I have decided to address what I perceive as linear thinking.  You see, I tend to look at everything from a multi-dimensional perspective.  Yes, any words on paper, whether as part of our national identity, or what has become the basis for certain kinds of religious fanaticism, are, on the surface, exactly what they seem – simple thoughts and/or instructions crafted by groups of people influenced by what kind of world they lived in.  Adapting those words to any exigent culture takes a certain amount of imagination, and this is where the process usually bogs down.  
Tangential link here folks – so please bear with me.  Consider – let’s examine the position that the US constitution was hugely influenced by Enlightenment philosophers.  This brings the fiasco that currently masquerades as the new Iraqi constitution into a new light.  Not to overly parse my own thoughts here, but all modern Western philosophy (this is exclusive of its Greek roots) flows from the way we are taught to think.  Bottom line – how do you read?  Left to right, of course.  And it’s how you view your environment as well.  Now consider – how does the rest of the world think?  The way they absorb information?  For almost all of Asia (including the Middle East) this is the exact opposite of us.  By the by – try going over your old college philosophy textbooks with this in mind.  It puts a whole new spin on interpreting everything from Plato to the bible!  Therefore, to expect any non-western society to blindly and exactly adopt what is for them a somewhat antithetical way of processing thought is like herding those cats Senator Lott was so fond of mentioning in his past existence as someone of relevance.

A little bit off from the center?  Not really.  In a former life I bounced around the world as a theatre director.  As an artist whose medium was emotion, it was incumbent on me to understand, or at least try to gain insights into, what I characterize as the human soul – how and why we think and do, which triggers elicit which emotions, and how can I control/manipulate them to produce a desired effect.  Case in point – Tennessee Williams always played well here and in Europe, but left Asian audiences silent and confused.  I knew it wasn’t the text, as familial relationships bridge cultural bounds.  So it had to be me – my presentation techniques.  Cue light bulb.  The difference was in the staging – how I manipulated my three-dimensional space.  Not to get too technical, but a good director operates as much more than a glorified traffic cop.  The physical placement of everything from set pieces to bodies that move within the defined space affect an audience’s mood and subtlety influence their assimilation of everything from basic dialogue to perception of characters.  I was staging from a western perspective, where thought and emotion flow left to right.  The necessary corrections produced satisfying results – audiences were finally able to participate in the productions ebb and flow – they moved within the complexities of each character, leaving the theatre sated as opposed to dismissing their experience as a waste of both time and treasure.

So how, do you ask, does this relate to a discussion of Supreme Court Justices and constitutional interpretation?  Maybe I’m going down a road here that will leave everyone wondering if my cheese has slipped off its cracker, but I fear that literalism with all of its limitations, has wrapped our country in an insular blanket that prevents diversity of thought.  I don’t think that Jefferson, Adams or Franklin, as devotees of radical Enlightenment philosophies, ever imagined the US would strangle itself to death in an effort to strictly adhere to a linear (read limited here) perspective.  Yes, these men were influenced by the world they inhabited, but to truly understand that world, you have to dip into the salon culture pouring out of France like a tsunami!  The human mind, as a secular instrument, was being elevated to godlike status.  Our founders assumed human thought and philosophy would continue down this path – one where every idea was on the table for consideration.  Would any of them back the Bush administrations continuing abortive Iraqi policy, or applaud his transparent attempts to alter the course of jurist-prudence in America?  Probably, not; actually.  The sting of British paternalism was still fresh in their minds.  As for the Supreme Court and endeavors to shape that supposed august body toward specific political ideologies – Franklin would probably burn it to the ground before allowing anything close to that happening.  

So – constructionism, federalism; indeed any whose interests are vested in maintaining parity, are, in my opinion, retarding growth.  Hence, the MSM’ s continuing obsession with oroboric discussions of which came first (insert any ‘ism’ you’d like here) are, at best, irrelevant.  There is no answer to that question, and there never will be.  It’s a wonderful intellectual exercise, and can lead to lots of fun while discussing chaos theory, or Aunt Sally’s recipe for stewed tomatoes, but it lends little to substantive national discourse; and that is something we desperately need right now. Whether talking about our current crop of politicians, or possible Supreme Court opinions – those in power will probably continue to base all of their decisions on the current cartel culture – business trumping individual rights.  This salient fact continues to be roundly ignored – not only by those in a position to shape national policy, but by MSM and bloggers as well.  At least, that’s now.  If we the people manage to change the present, who knows what might happen in the next fifty years?  Unfortunately, it might just be a case of too little too late.