In between books, so I have a minute to comment on issues of the day.
Let’s start with Bruce Jenner and his public pronouncement that he thinks of himself and plans to live as a woman. This is instructive partly because of various reactions: some feminists resent a privileged white man muscling in on their desire to be both utterly equal and specially protected. One spokeswoman for that point of view demanded he get a vagina and suffer pay discrimination before being allowed to call himself a woman.
Others were all for his announcement and supportive of the blow he was striking in public for coming out as who you feel you really are, until he also mentioned she sees herself as a Christian, conservative Republican. Fuses blew and some partisans disowned him — not “the right sort” to be striking a blow for anyone’s freedom.
If I am insufficiently hateful of a hater who hates, I am therefore a secret hater? And in order to absolve myself of being a secret hater, I have to loudly and publicly hate the hater more than anyone else who presently hates the hater who hates, and this will prove that I am not a secret hater, because I will have hated the hater the way the haters of the hater say I need to hate the hater because he hates? Hating is now how you prove you’re not a hater. You just have to hate the people the anti-hate haters approve of hating!
Because being an anti-hater is all about hating the haters who hate, even if they’re not really hating, but you think they secretly hate anyway. Because all of us are secret haters who have to be shown…
I heard a segment on the radio this morning asking for help with a mentoring program for young people about to age out of Foster Care. There was much said about why these people need guidance and what can be done to help. The last part of it I heard was a question: “What one piece of advice would you give a young person to boil down your experience with life” I didn’t hear the answer but thought about it. My advice would be “Be a man (woman)” Unfortunately that sentence is worthless without a lot of background these youth don’t have. So I though about a small expansion. Then I thought some more. My advice boiled down to the four things needed for success: Brains, Beauty, Talent/skill, and Hard work. These things apply to all of us at any stage of life and I’ll give you my thoughts here…
I heard a story on The Five this week about actress Sophia Vergara (my family and friends I won’t name explicitly, public figures are fair game) and her ex-boyfriend being involved in a custody battle over some embryos the two of them had created while they were together and frozen until such time it was convenient to bring them out of cold storage. The problem is, they never got married (how passe), made no contract and are no longer together. Ms. Vergara wants to “dispose” of the embryos because she is no longer with the ex (I don’t remember his name) and apparently wants no reminder of their time together. What the ex plans on doing with them, I have no idea. Whether he wants to engage a surrogate, whether his current girlfriend is okay with carrying another woman’s child in her womb and not one of her own…no clue. Dana Perino brought up something I had never heard before, “snowflake children”. Leftover embryos from in vitro fertilization being adopted by childless couples and raised as their own. A wonderful solution to a touchy situation.
That said, back to my rant. What kind of society are we living in where creating a life becomes an accessory to a relationship that can be discarded because things didn’t work out? I’m happy for those couples who have been able to adopt, but as of last count, they number less than 150. Out of how many created lives? The clinics don’t tell you that they create as many embryos as possible, and, since they aren’t implanted, there is a grey market for them to be used for stem cell research. In fact, there are many lobbying for just that. I mean, after all, if the couple isn’t going to use them, those little disposable blobs of cells might as well serve some purpose, right?
The breakdown of the family; disposable children; euthanasia; abortion on demand; thrill killings; all point to the denial of God’s image in Man. Why follow God’s rules for the family if we are little more than beasts rutting in the fields? Eco-warriors view man as an infestation on the planet, idealizing the noble beasts while vilifying a hunter who takes down a weakened member of the herd to provide food for a village for a month rather than let it die on the plains and rot in the sun. Why is it better for a lion or tiger to do it than for a human being?
God created Man as separate from the animals, breathed a living soul into him and declared Man as steward, dresser, and keeper of the world. The oldest profession is farming. He declared the family unit, father, mother, children to be the building block of society. God decreed that fathers teach their children His word. Our history, our culture, our faith, our hope is passed from generation to generation in the stories we tell our children. What does it say about us that we teach our children that killing an aged giraffe in Africa to feed a village is murder, but putting Grandma out of her misery because she lacked quality of life is mercy? That terminating an unborn baby is just a fetus, a blob of cells, but a woman who drinks during pregnancy can be prosecuted for child neglect? Allowing our allies in foreign lands to stone homosexuals is their “religious heritage”, but a business owner refusing to bake a wedding cake because it violates her religious principles “must be forced” to not discriminate?
And GOD saw that the wickedness of man was great in the earth, and that every imagination of the thoughts of his heart was only evil continually. – Genesis 6:5
I am so disappointed that Annie Bellet made the choice to try to withdraw from the nominations. She is an excellent author and I enjoy reading her. I know her politics don’t match mine. I don’t care. her talent deserves recognition.
This kind of bullying and condemnation by association is ridiculous and something that real Christians as well have faced for millennia. That it is coming from the supposedly tolerant and inclusive side is all the more ironic.
This was going to be more about the craft of writing than about the politics of writing, but then I heard that two of this year’s Hugo nominees have withdrawn. Neither explicitly cited bullying, but when you read between the lines (words like “controversy” in light of the shitstorm and lies are rather telling), it’s not hard to figure out what happened.
To be absolutely clear, I do not blame those who have withdrawn for their decision. How could I? I’ve been the target of the same kind of small-minded, petty viciousness we’ve seen from Making Light and various others in the last two weeks. I’ve seen the barely-veiled threats and “you’ll never work in this town again” remarks. I know how demoralizing they can be, especially when they come from people you respect and who you thought were friends.
I went running in a nearby park over the weekend resulting in a monumental allergy attack. My face swelled to balloon-like proportions, I was crying though not sad, and sneezing like I’d snorted a fistful of black pepper. I have allergies that have their own allergies. The attack was so severe I opted out of dinner plans and laid on the couch in a self-induced Benadryl coma covered by a blanket of self-pity, and detest for the unfairness of the world.
The next day, mid-recovery, eyes puffy, still sneezing, I fell into my usual pattern of self-loathing. Why me? Why am I the unlucky one allergic to the natural world? Languishing in self-pity is anything but productive. Laying there, I shifted my gaze to the bay window in my living room that opens up onto the street. I watched as a mother and son rode bikes. They were laughing and the mother was…
Good morning, bi-polar, my old friend. Why, no. Four hours of sleep is more than enough. Of course, I know in two or three hours I will be crashing again, have to go back to bed or fall asleep in my chair, wake up and be cranky and out of sorts for the rest of this now disjointed day.
Are you sure “Talledega” and “Indianapolis” are the only two settings for my thoughts right now? Isn’t there a player option for “Gamboling Bunnies in a Meadow”? Maybe there’s a hacker cheat code for that somewhere.
Pandora claims to have a station for every music need. Do they have a cappella hymns? Let me search. Blessed Stars! They have a station called Traditional Country Hymns! O Frabjous Day! Calloo, Callay!
All right, saving draft. Checking other blogs. Did my new ebook download as promised? Yes. Heartache by Annie Bellet. It is book five in her Twenty-Sided Sorceress series. It gives me something to read while waiting at the doctor’s office later.
Having to rely on that oh-so-marvelous service called TMS to get back and forth to appointments on days that my aide doesn’t come, which is any day but Wednesday, is such a production. I have to call at least three business days in advance, (which considering this particular appointment was rescheduled twice was fun), recite my Medicaid number, verify my name address, phone number, the address of where I am going and the exact reason of my visit. Not just the Hospital name or the doctor’s office. The exact street address. I have had to stop and call back because I had to go look it up or call the doctor to find it out. Can I walk to the vehicle unassisted? Yes. Then, TMS says be ready 90 minutes ahead of time. The cab company they are contracted with says 60-45 minutes. Usually, the cab calls when they arrive. (I make sure to request it anyway, because one time I did not. The driver didn’t call in, I wasn’t standing outside waiting, he wrote me off as a no-show and I missed my appointment.) Then, after the appointment, since I can’t give an exact time of when I’ll be done, I have to call for a pick-up. For which I wait anywhere from twenty minutes to an hour and a half depending on the time of day, what other fares they have to pick up (the paying kind) and who wants to drive twenty miles one way to the suburbs to get me home.
There is really only one cab company in town and they have the contract sewn up. There is a smaller company, but it doesn’t have as many medallions, so they don’t have the resources to offer services consistently, I guess.
And now, the stars of the household. You’d never guess they were littermates.
Well, here it is the first Easter without Grandma. She gets to celebrate it with the Savior face to face. She can take a deep breath and sing, “Hosanna!”
I just got back from a nice cantata at Faith Baptist Bible College put on by Canticum Novum Chorale (check them out at www.canticumnovum.org). I miss when churches used to do little dramas and programs on a regular basis. Not huge productions with twenty piece orchestras and 50 people choirs that required months of preparation. Just little things. Who cared if the kids flubbed their lines or wore old bathrobes. Simple hymns sung a little off-key with Biblical truth in every line. I admit it. I’m a small church girl. I’ve seen too many showcases for great talents that ignore lesser-known but equal talents in big churches. Which isn’t to say I didn’t enjoy the cantata. I did. Even sitting on hard chairs for an hour and a half.
I also realized tonight that as I am regaining the vocabulary and reasoning that I had lost, I am not regaining the Biblical acumen I once had. The reason is, I have no one with whom to exercise these weakened muscles. I can chat online with people and discuss all manner of things about books and words and news stories, but there is nowhere I can go to discuss biblical things without coming out in the worse end of an argument I can’t win simply because I can’t remember why I believe what I do. I have no way to get to a church. When I tried to set up a Bible study with a woman from the local church, she kept “losing” my number and never gave me hers. My aide does come on Sunday evenings, but our time is limited. The church that has substance has no enthusiasm and no interaction. The church that has interaction and discussion has little depth and no one willing to come to me, which is what I need, because I can’t go to them.
I need to start all over again with simple memorization like the Awana Cubbies because my memory is shot. I wish there were a way I could interact with a class at the college, like an online skype or something. I need to discuss, to feel my way through a concept, to work it out. I feel like a kid lost in a forest. All the trees look familiar, but I can’t find my way home. And I have no idea where to look for help. sigh.
In other news, I got a text from Father asking if I knew what the deal was with the Hugos because an author he liked turned down his nomination. Obviously, Father doesn’t know about my blog, or if he does, doesn’t think to follow it. He saw on my Facebook page that I had reposted an article about Sad Puppies and wanted me to text him an explanation. Explain Sad Puppies in a text? My flip phone doesn’t have that kind of capacity and neither do I. I called him back and gave him the rundown. Of course, we had to cut it short, because he texted me ten minutes before he had to leave for church. Oh well, now he knows. And he knows that I knew.
Also, Brother #1 called and left a voice mail (I had the phone turned off for the cantata) that he is willing to pay for me to join World of Warcraft to play with his kids, so that they can kind of get to know me. I have no idea what brought this on, but I’m up for it. I liked WoW when I could afford it. Harmless role-play and adventure combined with my niece and nephews getting to know who I am and remembering my name. Win-win. I called him back and had to leave a voice mail, too.
Since I’m already probably in trouble for my op-ed post, I’m going to put up another one.
You know those silly quizzes on Facebook? Usually, they’re just fun and don’t mean a thing, and I take one and immediately forget about it, moving right along with life.
Today, however, I took a quiz that told me I have a 63% male brain, and a 37% female brain.
I cannot tell you how annoying that is. The quiz is based solely on the premise that all men think logically all the time, and all women think emotionally all the time. No one thinks just one way all the time. I do not find it a compliment when some man, in wide-eyed amazement, tells me that I think like a man. I just think he must be stupid.
I just THINK! Women do, you know. Unless you are some kind of genetic…
Much my thoughts when it was oh so gently explained to me that it was okay for blacks to call each other n****r, but highly offensive and racsist for me to use the term, “Because it’s their culture and you can’t appropriate that.”
Good Saturday morning. I apologize for not writing this in cave symbols, since I know that language is inherited in the blood and therefore can’t be changed as can’t any other part of the culture. Because it’s all in our genes. And that’s why I’m squatting here in my cave, working at starting a fire while my husband and the boys sit in a corner chipping flint implements.
Oh, how I wish that human beings had been designed with the ability to grow and adapt, to learn new techniques, evolve new beliefs, adjust their behavior, create new words to fit new meanings, and thereby change their culture to fit new tech and new times.
Then I might be sitting in a shiny office, (more or less clean. Hey, I’ve been recovering from surgery) typing on a keyboard in a language full of meanings that our stone age ancestors couldn’t even…