Summer update

I don't know what has made me finally update this thing. Well, okay... yes I do. Full disclosure.

I looked up some critic I used to read in the 80s/90s. A common hack, but a very puffed-up, self-righteous hack; one of those you remember for their never-ending indignation and bluster (which should not be confused with genuine insight). Whatever happened to that person?--I wondered.

Answer: They are teaching at an Ivy League university.

This warmed-over, self-congratulatory HACK is now teaching AT AN IVY LEAGUE SCHOOL ... and apparently, is regarded as pretty damn important. Say what?

And when did THAT happen? HOW did it happen? Who did they blow to get that job? Surely, this Ivy League school read the same warmed-over bluster that I did? Didn't they?!?

See, this is why writers give up. This is why. The hacks who repeat dopey conventional wisdom are rewarded with the best jobs in the land, while us poor local radio-hosts/bloggers/burnt-out columnists trudge ever-onward, totally ignored. They steal our ideas, our memes, our catchy phrases, our radio-show topics, et. al... and then they get the gigs the rest of us will never get because we are too poor, don't live in the right part of the country and don't wear the right shoes.

Further, we don't even know WHERE TO BUY the right shoes.

Anyway, I just thought I would mention that. Ivy League. Somebody who can't put together two decent similes in a row, now teaches the privileged children of American how to write badly. Jesus wept.

~*~

And now, the summer update. Yes, the summer is almost over, so I figured it was safe to update now.

Aside from posting some pretty photos and similar inconsequential ephemera, I have basically taken leave of evil tumblr, Heart of Darkness. My account was hacked and I thought, okay. This is it. They really really do not want me here, it certainly isn't just my imagination. I considered deleting my entire account/tumblr blog, but I have linked it here (and other places) a few times, and therefore have no desire to do that. If people dislike what I have written or what I have reblogged, I really don't care. (Reblogging does not equal agreement, but that concept is FAR TOO COMPLEX for the nasty suburban brats at tumblr to comprehend.) The vicious kids on tumblr remind me of those carnivorous dolls in Barbarella, except their actions are safely baptized with the words SOCIAL JUSTICE so its all perfectly okay. In fact, they routinely assure each other how wonderful they are with "appreciation posts" and "appreciation threads"--the more vicious and nasty you are, the more likely you will be greatly appreciated.

I have made a few friends on tumblr, for which I am grateful, but these people are notable for being NOTHING like the majority of participants, and proof of this is that all privately reached out to me. All seemed eager to talk to someone (anyone?) with a different point of view, but they are also afraid to cop to this desire out loud. And yes, I do understand.

The ideological lockstep governing the Left right now, is stifling and horrible. The only words for this paranoid climate are Stalinism and McCarthyism. For example, I am the only person I know hacked on tumblr for "transphobia"--as well as banned from (what many consider) the most "transphobic" blog on the net, Gendertrender (there is your warning). So go figure.
EDIT: I attempted to link to Gendertrender, to no avail... blocked already. (Am I important or what?) If you are sufficiently curious, you can copy and paste gendertrender.wordpress.com. As I said, Stalinism... which of course includes lots of textbook KGB cloak-and-dagger paranoia. (Why have a blog if you don't want anyone to read it? Ahhh, never mind. The paranoid mindset is a puzzle best left to the Freudians.)

As the Firesign Theater famously said, in a "marching cadence":

You ain't got no friends on the Right! (you're Left!)
You ain't got no friends on the Left! (you're right!)
Sound off, 1-2, sound off, 3-4...

I am very fortunate in that the work I have done in the real world (over decades) speaks for itself. If they want to hack, screech, holler, ban, call names, block my links, threaten, etc... have at it. I know what Stalinism is and this ain't my first trip to the Cultural Revolution.

I was getting purged way back in the day, long before it was hip.

~*~

At left: The best thing to happen this summer! I nominated our local activist dynamo, Traci Fant, as "Hero of the Month" on the Investigation Discovery network... and she won! Her organization, Think2XTwice, was awarded $1000 and she was also highlighted on the ID network site and on TV. I WAS SO PROUD!!!!!


See, watching true crime shows can have unexpected benefits!

~*~

On a postmodern note: I also co-organized our local demonstration against the misnamed SC Freedom Summit in May. This turned out to be a terribly depressing event, if there ever was one. Here in Greenville, it was Artisphere weekend (which I have mentioned here before many times) and the "summit" (a bunch of Republicans giving speeches, paid for by Fox News and the Koch brothers) was at the Peace Center, the same place we protested their last "debate" during last election season.

The weird thing was, nobody seemed to know it was happening. Nobody even knew it was going on. People looked at us quizzically and asked what we were protesting. There was NO big sign outside the Peace Center announcing the SC Freedom Summit and there were few campaigners outside, compared to other election events we have protested. (We believe this was deliberate, a way of speaking over the heads of the majority, to the "tuned-in" minority who vote in the primary.) This little soiree was practically invitation-only and private, like some parallel universe: Artisphere was the bread-and-circuses diversion for the Masses, as "serious business" was conducted inside the auditorium by Those Who Matter. Inside the Peace Center, important policy was being decided, whilst the folks outside eating hot dogs and listening to bands, were totally oblivious to the fact that the rich were planning their future. Our signs and chanting, all reminding them of these facts, were not particularly welcome. It was like, they didn't even believe us. The empty suits that showed up outside for photo ops, seemed to make this point; nobody recognized Ted Cruz or Ben Carson or Marco Rubio... the only excitement occurred when (guess who!) Donald Trump showed up. My co-demonstrator Elaine Cooper has been making the best of things: here is her photobomb campaign, which started with Trump at the Freedom Summit.

Elaine and I went inside at one point (she taped a good deal of it on her phone), but since we had "hostile" signs, we were deemed to be "acting inappropriately" and unceremoniously asked to leave. A FREE EVENT about FREEDOM (ha!) and we were bounced out. That's the Republican idea of freedom, baby! And don't forget it.

Elaine's first-person account is here in the Greenville Bray (pdf) and includes a good photo of us demonstrating too. I wrote a few words on Tumblr about it, but not much.

Elaine concurs with me; nobody outside at the festival seemed to know what was happening inside at the Summit... a very good metaphor for our entire political system.

~*~

And here is the star of our show, Democratic presidential candidate Senator Bernie Sanders.

I regret that my photos are not as good as they used to be. I have developed a pesky ESSENTIAL TREMOR due to thyroid disease, which makes taking good photos difficult. (another reason I no longer update as much as I used to) The tremor isn't too noticeable right now, but like most things, that will likely change. (*I* notice it, though, during fine motor coordination-type activities... such as writing, typing, sewing, braiding hair or photography.)

Anyway, we saw Sanders speak a couple of weeks ago and it was like Old Home Week ... as I saw nearly every southern progressive activist I know from here to the coast, as well as from here to Atlanta and Charlotte. He is inspiring a lot of hope right now... but I am cynical. I am always cynical. I have been cynical since they got rid of a nice peaceful peanut farmer and foisted a has-been right-wing actor on us. I doubt the cynicism will subside.

Photos below: August 21st, TD Convention Center in Greenville, SC.



~*~

Speaking of cynicism: Mr Robot was terrific. Can't wait for season 2.

Hope your summer has been eventful. I promise to drop in regularly from now on. I hope you will join me!

And yeah, we are on the radio for, I think, another month? We are winding down there, too, the end of an era. Check us out live on WOLI AM/FM at 8pm EST on Monday at least for a few more weeks. I don't know what comes after, but something always does. (More about that to come, I promise.)

I once hyperventilated at the mere thought of doing the show (and lost entire nights of sleep worrying over it!), but NOW after four years on the air, somebody can have an actual seizure in the studio while I am talking (I have witnesses) and I don't miss a beat.

~*~

Finally, some heartbreak ... after 15 years of true companionship and love, we lost the Official Cat of Dead Air. Our bodhisattva-kitty has gone on, to teach enlightenment to other humans. Truly, the most affectionate animal I have ever known, and his earthly death was crushing to both of us. But we know he has many others to teach besides us, so he was called home. We know his next owners will be forever changed when he appears at their door, as he appeared at ours.

Welcome the beloved and noble bodhisattva-kitty, who will teach you the meaning of unconditional love.

And when you meet him, please give him our best wishes, warm regards, love and kisses ... we miss him so much.

Stay safe!

Wishing all my friends up north, my very best!

Do what they tellya to do, okay? (I know, its hard to take advice from the likes of Chris Christie, but on this one occasion, listen to him!) There is actually snow in the North Carolina mountains before Halloween! That may be a first!

Love ya and stay safe.




~*~

Still at Sea, Storm Drenches East Coast (New York Times)

Hurricane Sandy grounds thousands of flights worldwide (CNN)

Hurricane Sandy speeds towards landfall (CBS News)

Damage from Hurricane Sandy could be catastrophic (USA Today)

Tracking hurricane Sandy: As storm 'zigs', it's also changing dramatically (Christian Science Monitor)

Got links?

At left: a very colorful Page of Cups.



Lots of great reading out there, and I can barely keep up.

Here's a sampler of goodies you may have missed:

[] Arkansas Republican endorses death penalty for children (Raw Story) In case you wonder, candidate Charlie Fuqua got this straight from Deuteronomy 21:18-21.

So if you disagree, talk to God about it, okay?

[] Woo hoo, it's Conspiracy Theory time! Elections bring them out of the woodwork as little else does. AlterNet gives us 10 Conspiracy Theories Hatched by Conservative Fearmongers As Election Day Nears, which is entertaining enough that I hope to cover a couple of these on my upcoming radio show.

As a South Carolina Green Party member in good standing, my hands-down favorite is "The Green Plot to enslave the world":

Agenda 21, a little known and non-binding resolution adopted by the United Nations, is viewed by some on the right as an attempt to control the lives of people throughout the world by regulating everything they do. Amongst their paranoid fears is that Agenda 21 will cede U.S. sovereignty to the U.N. and a one-world government. The truth is that Agenda 21 is a set of principles to guide the development of practices to preserve a sustainable environment for future generations. It is entirely voluntary and was agreed to by the U.N. in 1992 and signed by President George H.W. Bush.

But to hear doomsayers like Glenn Beck put it, it will “suck all the blood out of [our communities], and we will not be able to survive.”

[] My friend JW finally had the daughter I foretold for her and her partner in their Tarot readings. Alright! Our hearty Deadhead congratulations go out to both of them, as well as lovely big sister LM (whom regular DEAD AIR readers may recall from THIS photo).

To celebrate, a look back at JW's reading, as well as a popular piece I wrote about the Tarot titled, How I learned to stop worrying and love the Tarot.

In addition, here is South Carolina Boy's post about my reading of his cards.

[] Anti-Muslim subway ads that sparked anger in New York are now popping up in D.C. (Huffington Post)

The ads, paid for by the American Freedom Defense Initiative, are supposed to be posted in the U Street, Georgia Avenue, Takoma and Glenmont stations for one month.

The ad reads: "In any war between the civilized man and the savage, support the civilized man. Support Israel. Defeat Jihad." They have been widely condemned as promoting Islamophobia.

[] Interesting piece titled Nerds and Male Privilege comes directly on the heels of Annalee Newitz's controversial The Great Geek Sexism Debate. BE INFORMED!

[] A heated exchange about disability and abortion starts with Disability, Prenatal Testing and the Case for a Moral, Compassionate Abortion, which brings an angry response from Tiger Beatdown: Lives worth living: Disability, abortion, and slipshod ethics (comments also mandatory reading). Response/Part II: Disability and Abortion, Part Two: Individual moral choices are not categorical imperatives.

Caution: Very heavy, emotionally-wrenching stuff, but it's what we all ought to be thinking about, as science marches on and genetic testing becomes increasingly commonplace and culturally accepted.

[] Historic Number of Women on Ballots Could Lead to Historic Year for Female Lawmakers (Reality Check) Thanks to my California-droog Barbara! (kiss)

Along these same lines, check out some FEMINIST HALLOWEEN COSTUMES!

[] In further election news, our embarrassing Teabagger Senator, Jim DeMint, has decided to join Rick Santorum in backing Todd Akin for Senate in Missouri. I do find it interesting that Chris Christie wants no part of Akin, and has cut him loose.

Translation: Obviously, Christie has his eye on the proverbial Big Tent (higher office), while DeMint is intent on consolidating his power and influence on the right.

[] No list of links is complete without Glenn Greenwald. I especially recommend last month's one-two punch, CNN and the business of state-sponsored TV news (subtitled: The network is seriously compromising its journalism in the Gulf states by blurring the line between advertising and editorial)... and Conservatives, Democrats and the convenience of denouncing free speech (subtitled: Westerners love to decry censorship aimed at them by Muslims while ignoring the extreme censorship they impose on them). Both from the UK Guardian, and required reading for newshounds.

[] And finally, your long-overdue dose of cute: Panda mama nurses her little baby pandas. AIYEEE! SQUEEE!!! (((dead from cuteness)))

Goodbye lovely Meredith!

Today I helped still another cool person move away from the upstate. :(

I have written before of how we lose all the cool people to places like Oregon, California, even Asheville. I am hopeful that someday, progressive, forward-thinking folks might make this area a real destination, rather than a pit stop.

I helped my Occupier-friend move back to California, and in turn, she blessed me with a bunch of amazingly wonderful old stuff she could not find room to pack: a Tibetan prayer wheel, several tarot decks (including the fabulous Haindl Tarot, Day of the Dead and Goddess Tarot), various sacred and voodoo oils, candles, linens, a sweater and jacket, a clay sculpture of Ariadne, a small brass Buddha, assorted office supplies and unused photo albums, an antique teddy bear and so much more.

It's been like Christmas for hippies.

I still wish she would stay. Greenville needs more enlightened souls who will hang around awhile. I have decided that building our Occupy Greenville chapter is one way to ensure this. We had a picnic on Saturday, and I was reminded of what wonderful folks we are lucky to have, and how tight-knit our group has become as a result.

Unfortunately, evil, bigoted, homophobic laws like the one currently being voted on in North Carolina today (denying equal marriage rights to gay couples) are one reason the cool people leave, as I have complained in this space so many times. The oppressive and backward presence of Bob Jones University, is still another. We have to keep fighting the repression, fighting the people who would take us backwards and spread damaging ignorance.

In the meantime, we do have a solid collective, and that is something to celebrate.

And to my dearest Meredith: Vaya Con Dios. We shall meet again.

On The Future of Small Blogs

Small-blog traffic is down across the board, even as the 'big blogs' get more readers. It is increasingly obvious that blog traffic is like income: the 1% get it all, and us 99% puttering along down here at the bottom, are lucky to get any at all.

I used to get about 10,000 hits a month--even in 2010 when I averaged only about 2 posts a week. Now I am down to about 7000 or so. Every (small) blogger I know has reported similar trends.

How did this happen and why is it getting so much worse?

I blame Facebook, of course. And Twitter. And hypocritically, I am right there on both of them with everyone else. Twitter provides everybody with fabulous linkage and good reading, while Facebook provides the personal stories and socializing; the grease that keeps the online Dharma-wheel turning. What need is there for small-time local blogs? I find it interesting that the most hits I have received in the past year on one post (about 3000), was primarily because it was widely reproduced on Facebook.

Today, whilst interacting on a rather fiery, opinionated blog, it occurred to me. On this blog, where I have previously interacted with lots of people who disagree with me, I was suddenly called a concern troll and instructed to stop commenting. Wow, I thought. What the hell happened? Are people not allowed to simply disagree any more?

No.

Everyone must be FRIENDS, like on Facebook. You can't categorically disagree with the majority any more, or they will just tell you to shut up. Facebook has changed the terms of debate and what sort of discourse is acceptable. Thus, when you step "out of line" or express an unpopular opinion--you are dealt with much more harshly.

By contrast, Facebook threads are self-contained, for the most part. Nobody is totally "anonymous" and there can be no sock-puppets. Many of the participants in any given thread, will already agree with each other since they are from the same social circles, age-grouping and class. However, some of us have a LARGE and DIVERSE number of friends--which is far more likely if you are older (or have lived and worked in a variety of environments, as most older people have). People who hate each other and/or disagree on every single issue in the world, can suddenly and unexpectedly collide on the same thread. And predictably, all fired-up with "likes" (votes from people who agree with any given comment)-- they come out guns-a-blazing. Many Facebook people may not have any other online experience and it is entirely possible they have never before argued with people who disagree with them; thus, they promptly go into ideological apoplexy. This is marked by a lot of "you're crazy!" and "you can't be serious!" because they really do believe this. It's not rhetorical. You can tell they have not been exposed to real life ______ (fill in the blank). Atheists, anarchists, libertarians, Ayn Randians, communists, animal rights activists, whoever. They have heard of them, sure, but they've never met them before ... and they often respond by hitting the proverbial roof, flipping out and calling names.

For this reason (ideological apoplexy), you can easily "block" people on Facebook, so you don't have to SEE their awful opinions and be annoyed by them. This is diametrically opposite to blogular life, where you can't NOT SEE what you don't want to see, unless you are the owner of the blog in question.

And so, Facebook has tamed Blogdonia, made it more homogenous. In so many ways, cyberspace bullies made this happen, just like real-life bullies gave birth to gun control. Just when online culture seemed to be teetering on the edge of a free-for-all, suddenly, Facebook and similar social media promise ORDER FROM CHAOS.

Facebook and other self-contained, monitored sites became the safe place to meet. Who wants to be harassed by total strangers? When does "arguing" end, and actual harassment, hatred and stalking begin? (And who decides?)

I heartily recommend Julian Dibbell's fascinating post (which I originally read in the Village Voice, back in the day) titled A RAPE IN CYBERSPACE, which I commented on. (And I have finally learned how to link to just one comment in a thread, yay me!) I wrote:

The new wrinkle on [the] thousands of listservs (like on Google groups) is that some people are anonymous, some are pseudo-anonymous, and some provide their real names, leading to an imbalance of power among users. The anonymous people have the power to attack, those of us pseudo-anon or using real names, can’t attack phantoms in return.

...

It’s a pernicious environment… and one I think has given rise to Facebook, where people feel “safe” from anonymous assholes. Of course, a great deal of privacy is given over to FB, and that is the NEW problem… so the trolls greatly assisted the rise of internet surveillance and spying. They should be held accountable for that too.

Just as IRL, a rise in crime can lead to increased cops and fascism.

Another thread participant, Galactic Stumblebum (and what a great name!) added some important points. To say the least:

The issues are expectations and trust. People expect that when they are on the net, others will respect them as they would in RL. They trust in the sysops to enforce behavior just as they would trust the courts or the cops or mommy and daddy or Big Brother to enforce behavior in RL. They demand that someone hold their hands.

Perhaps Daisy is right. Perhaps the rise in Facebook popularity is a manifestation of the need for having one’s hand held. Personally, I do not know (I took one look at Facebook and decided that Sturgeon’s Revelation applied and haven’t been back since. I don’t have any fear of that corporation violating of my privacy because I avoid their product like the plague). But I don’t think so. I think rather that the rise in social network popularity is just that – social.

Nor do I believe that fascism is the culprit. No, I think that the rise in surveillance and the loss of privacy are the natural results of both the control freak propensities of the power elite, and the boohoo whinging of the carebears. People have been taught to expect someone to hold their hands, when they don’t get it, they are outraged – just as they are IRL when the cops do nothing. That makes the carebears call out for someone to do something, and the power elite is all too happy to oblige as it directly feeds their need for power and control.

It’s a cycle.

The major problem is the expectations. After all, reality is simply a mechanism for fulfilling expectations – change the expectations of what will be real, and you change what becomes real. That is perhaps the role of antisocial netizens – to bump the expections back into line when they stray too far down the path of fantasy.

As for griefers and trolls – well, let’s not fool ourselves; The real reason for laws and oversight is because the vast majority of humans really are primates barely out of diapers…in short, assholes.

And Mr Stumblebum, obviously very wise, gets the last word.

Terri Leigh McKee 1958-2012

The Queen of Cups, from the Art Nouveau Tarot by Matt Myers.




Advice: When people ask you to stay in touch, stay in touch. Don't tell yourself "one of these days"--because you might Google them one day and find their obituary.

She came to my grandmother's funeral, whom she had loved. I promised her I would mail her copies of photos I had recently discovered, of our childhood... one of us standing next to an old Packard, another of us trying to make Kool-Aid, and still another, in front of a gaudy, awful, silver Christmas tree.

I never remembered to send them.

We grew apart... I became a crazy radical, and she remained devout and conservative. We had little in common as adults, and it was somewhat uncomfortable. You know how that is.

I still remember us singing together, "In the Year 2525" and laughing about the lyrics. We also sang it into the telephone for crank calls, which of course, you can't make any more. (The kids have no idea what they're missing.)

I had been thinking about her all week, possibly due to the death of Davy Jones. But it suddenly became pressing and important, as if I should see if I could try to find her. (She wasn't on Facebook or any of the other social media sites.) So, I did, and found this:

McKEE Terri L. McKee, age 53, passed away Monday, March 5, 2012. She was a member of St. Cecilia Catholic Church and a graduate of Westland High School, Class of '77'. Preceded in death by great-grandparents Charles and Sarah Bentz, grandparents Frank and Thelma Bragg and Adryenne and Arnold McKee, aunt Marilyn Isaac, and cousin Robert Riley. Survived by parents, John and Julia McKee; fiancee, Michael Woolfe; sister, Vicki (Mike) Davis; nephews, Nicholas Davis and Benjamin (Sara) Davis; great-nephew, Thomas Davis; along with aunts, uncles, cousins, loving relatives, and friends. Family will receive friends Sunday from 2-5 p.m. at THE TIDD FUNERAL HOME, 5265 Norwich St., Hilliard, OH 43026. A funeral service will be held 11 a.m. Monday at CONCORDIA LUTHERAN CHURCH, 225 Schoolhouse Lane, Columbus, OH 43228. Interment Sunset Cemetery.

All attempts at taking photos of photos have failed, so you will have to settle for my physical description: light light parakeet-blonde hair (100% natural) and extremely disarming pale blue eyes. Very feminine, small, thin, petite.

Aspasia offers the consoling thought that I thought of Terri because her soul was reaching out to me, to say goodbye. It is a comfort to think so.

And you folks reading: please don't forget my advice. Contact those old friends now. Don't put it off.

~*~

In the year 2525 - Zager and Evans



We got on a roller coaster once, at the Ohio State Fair, while this song was playing, full-blast. We screamed and sang along, all at once. One of those wonderful, great moments of childhood... perhaps she thought of it in her last moments, as I surely will.

Pleasant Valley Sunday - The Monkees



Mr Green, he's so serene, he's got a TV in every room... we decided we liked Mr Green and wanted TVs in every room when we grew up, too.

Goodbye, old friend.

Dead Air Church: 30 Years

It is my official AA anniversary, folks! Today marks my 30th year without alcohol. (gasp) I can hardly believe it myself. At left: an image from one of the late-60s AA comic books, titled "It happened to Alice."

I am no longer a member of Alcoholics Anonymous, for a variety of reasons. (I touched on some of my issues with AA here and here.) But I still credit the organization with saving my life. Nothing else would have worked for me. The very aspects of AA that are so harshly criticized now, such as the pseudo-cultish environment, are the very things I most needed. My ongoing druggie-party-atmosphere had always provided me with 'friends'--and consequently, when I cleaned up, I needed "new playmates and playgrounds" to take their place... or I was going to run into big trouble. Immediately. The social environment of AA was crucial.

I remember once having the vivid sensation of having jumped from a window on a very, very high floor... and inexplicably, soft, loving hands, dozens of hands, caught me and brought me safely to earth. Often, when I think of AA, I have this sensation, this vision, that I will never forget, of all the hands reaching out to catch me.

Sometimes it makes me cry, because I did not deserve it. Not at all.

It was amazing that this should happen to me, that these loving, kind hands should catch me after all I had done. This is what Christians call Grace. I deserved to crash through the concrete, and yet... I was spared.

It is impossible to come through such an experience unchanged and unscathed. My spiritual curiosity began then, generously mixed with survivor's guilt: Why have I been spared, when other good people were not? As I would hear (ever more often, it seemed) of famous and nonfamous addicts dying (page down here, for my musings about John Belushi, the first famous addict to die after I became sober), I would experience almost dizzying gratitude (and accompanying relief) that I had stopped when I did.

The gratitude has never abated. Perhaps that is key.

~*~

Recently in Feminist Blogdonia, there was a huge uproar over a controversial, confessional post, written by a popular male feminist, about violence against women he had committed while still using. This didn't surprise me, but it surprised, shocked, and horrified many others. And from their shock, I learned an important lesson: I had intended to write a longer piece for my 30-Year anniversary. I wanted to tell a harrowing story, since it underscores my gratitude; it makes it very clear that I was in crisis, and how far I have come.

And yes, I have a few I could tell.

I now know that such stories, stories of pain and addiction, stories of insanity, stories of possible death, near death and death itself, need to be kept secret and/or only shared with people we know well and deeply trust. Online is not the place, as Hugo discovered. And that's too bad, isn't it? But I am glad Hugo went their first. As a result, I certainly won't.

And so, I shall leave it to your imagination ... with the help of a few movies.

Warning: these video clips tell the truth.


And a very happy anniversary to me! :)

~*~

In this clip from Trainspotting, Ewan MacGregor is in drug withdrawal, hallucinating and haunted by various dead friends, including the baby that died in his apartment (because they were too high to feed her).

Here we learn the important lesson that guilt can become actual monsters that follow you around.



At the end of Clean and Sober--Michael Keaton realizes what the film audience already knows:



From Spike Lee's Jungle Fever, here is Samuel L Jackson as "Gator", with the late Ossie Davis and the incomparable Ruby Dee:



And we end with two trailers from Requiem for a Dream, the best and most honest movie ever made about addiction:

Kate Schulte 1951-2011

Some people simply radiate goodness... you can even get drunk and barf on their nice rug and they say ohhh, that is nothing. When you reconnect with them years later, they never mention the rug, and instead tell you how wonderful you are. They impart their special magic to all of those around them. These are very rare, beautiful souls on this earth.

We have lost one.

Goodbye, dearest Kate.

~*~

SCHULTE, Kate "Kathaleen Beth" Schulte, beloved wife, mother, sister, aunt, and friend, left our company on September 15 from an apparent heart attack at the age of 60. Kate was born in Wichita, KS, and settled in Columbus, OH, in 1975. Her earliest work for justice was with farmworker organizers and the Columbus Tenants Union. In 1984, she met her swoon-unit, Michael Vander Does, on a memorable trip to the Kentucky Derby. Allen Ginsberg was a guest at their engagement party in July 1985 and they married a few months later. She loved and cared for her stepdaughters, Nicole and Naima Vander Does, as if they were her own. She loved to travel. The Yucatan, Italy, and New Orleans were favorite destinations. She attended 17 Jazzfests, seven Kentucky Derbies, and too many ComFests to count. She was a graduate of The Ohio State University College of Law, after which she became a well-known civil rights attorney. Perhaps her proudest legal work was on the Brunet firefighter sex discrimination case. A remembrance will be held at Ray's Living Room, 17 Brickel St., Columbus, OH, on Saturday, October 8, 2011 at 6 p.m., for her family and friends to celebrate her beautiful life.

From: Columbus Dispatch

~*~

I got on a bus once, drug-addled, and Kate was there. I meandered on back to sit next to her... I didn't even ASK if I could sit there. I told her I was all messed up on drugs.

"Well, you don't look like it!" she whispered, conspiratorially. And then she started telling me about her law book. I remember that it sounded very cool and interesting.

She reminded me, "Isn't this your stop?" She was right! Without Kate, would have ended up in Worthington or somewhere.

What I remembered, when I heard the news of her passing, was her warm, bright smile that day, when I sat next to her. She made even some silly druggie feel like the most important human being in the world.

So many people recall the warm, inclusive smile, and how it made them feel.

~*~

Yippies regularly crashed parties given by various important liberals and lawyers, which we loved to do. Go ahead, try to throw your poor lefty relations out of the party! (Sometimes they did.) We will talk trash about you and call you rich!

It was a game: "Do you think they'll let us in?"

But not at Kate's party: "Oh, that's fine, I love the Yippies. Somebody has to bring some controversy, don't they?!" (Was that a dig at the boring liberals?) She warmly invited us in, plied us with cheese and wine and introduced us to the well-heeled Democrats. She seemed to enjoy knowing scruffy anarchists, and also seemed to quietly enjoy ruffling those rich liberals a bit.

Official Yippie verdict on Kate: What a great person!

~*~

On Facebook, I told her, you know you are old when you are friending the people you used to babysit. She loved that. And it was via Facebook that I reconnected with a beautiful soul, and then lost her, in a year's time. And ohhhh my, it does hurt.

I've written about the modern phenomenon of experiencing death so up-close and personal via Facebook, and how it is now turning into a common occurrence. I hope this grief will not also become commonplace, but then again, perhaps it will serve to make us treasure every minute that much more.

As Kate would have done.

Dead Air Church: Our Facebook era

Meditations today concern the rise of our social networking.

I was asked a question in response to my post about the late Ben Masel (in one of the comments later eaten by Blogger): Did I have any contact with Ben in recent years? And this made me think about The Rise of Facebook.

I had only re-established contact with Ben on FB rather recently. And far too soon, he passed away. It was painful, more painful than if I'd heard about his death at a remove. Hearing about memorial services, mourning friends and Ben's surviving daughter in "real time" was somehow more disturbing than if I hadn't.

I suddenly realized that Facebook has changed everything, including (most especially?) our interior landscape.

Remember how it was to "fall out of touch" with someone? To eventually lose contact completely? It just happened. In fact, let me be clear: it always happened, unless that someone was especially dear and precious. (And how many people are, really?) The meaning of the old-school Christmas card, for many of us, was what Facebook is now: a way to keep in touch and stay up to date. If you weren't on the Christmas card list--no known address, return to sender--well, that was that.

The funky guy who told the great jokes on your job; the pleasant lady who brought the children cookies at Sunday School; Ben Masel, who taught me to be a Yippie... teachers, co-workers, ex-spouses, ex-neighbors... whatever happened to ---? Now, we can keep in touch with them all.

So to speak.

And are we really "in touch"? I guess so, since we can look in on them and see what's happening, or at least see what they want us to know is happening. We can see how they look, where they live, and what they find important enough to mention.

Falling out of touch? Losing contact? Well, you never have to let that happen again.

That is... jarring, to those of us who grew up that way. And what does it mean, that future generations will never know what that is like?

Or will they? Will there always be the Facebook holdouts, the deleters of accounts? The people who simply 'disappear'? Such an act will now take on added significance; it is now deliberate. Before Facebook, it was just the way of the world. And now? It will seem suspicious, as if one is purposely, even determinedly, anti-social.

Maybe it's a sign of being an old fuddy-duddy, but I am glad the various addled twists and turns of my life are not available for public consumption. Certain periods of my life (hardline feminism, early sobriety, the dreaded pseudo-Opus Dei period) are somewhat embarrassing to me now, and I am glad I didn't (couldn't!) broadcast any of that stuff. How could I have explained it? Buddhism holds that there is no "I" or actual self, while Facebook enshrines that same nonexistent self to a fare-thee-well.

If I was unable to completely escape or obscure aspects of my past, would I instead embrace them with verve? Would I change as quickly and easily as I have changed so many times in my life, or would I be even more committed to a particular lifestyle as part and parcel of my identity?

If "hard-partying" became an iron-clad part of my identity, would I have entered recovery at the relatively young age of 24? Or would it be even easier, since a thriving online scene beckons from that corner also? (Do the hard-partiers defriend the people who enter recovery? Vice versa? Admittedly, I have no idea.) If I had totally ensconced myself with Opus Dei-like commandos, would I have ventured out to hear what the Buddhists have to say?

When my daughter moved to Texas, she didn't leave her friends behind. I often think back to what a comfort that would have been for me, those times I uprooted myself and nearly died from homesickness.

And then again, there is Gatsby, the quintessential American character. We re-create ourselves throughout our lives, in numerous ways, large and small. Is Facebook making Gatsby more or less possible and is that a good thing?

Just some random Sabbath thoughts. And what do you think?

Plain(s) Feminist R.I.P.

I have tried several times over the past couple of days, to write a decent obit for my friend, Plain(s) Feminist. Her blog is listed below, not updated since February. I had not known that her breast cancer returned, or I would have called, written, anything. Our modern life rushes on, and it stuns us when someone is here today, gone tomorrow, in a scant six or seven weeks. Say what? But, but... she was so vital, so funny, so real, so aware, so present.

And now, she is not.

When I heard, cried my heart out. Got to work, sobbed there too. Good lord, Daisy, get a grip.

I have realized that my various existential crises are all bound up with death, my fear of death and my anger at death for taking the wrong people. I just wrote about awful individuals like Michele Bachmann and Newt Gingrich... they are still in this world and beautiful, kind, selfless Plain(s) Feminist (herein referred to as PF) is gone. This is not justice; this just makes me so upset. I ask God, as I often do: Excuse me, but WHAT IS THAT SHIT?!? I never get an answer, just the reminder that sooner or later, you, me, Michele Bachmann, Newt Gingrich and everyone else in the world, will hear from the Grim Reaper as well. But why so soon... why interrupt her work, her social activism, her writing, her teaching, her motherhood, her PLANS?

Rage, rage, against the dying of the light.

~*~

Once upon a time, I was devastated and confused beyond telling, and there are times I unwillingly return to this state when I cruise around Feminist Blogdonia. I once had many friends there, and happily, proudly populated my blog-roll with them. Most are still there, even as they have exiled me. A major fallout on a fairly-large email list, left me persona non grata among many of these people... all (but one) much younger than me. Most had college degrees (even advanced degrees) and there was no question that I was waaaay out of my league. Blundering in with my uncouth redneck sensibility and using the wrong language was bound to happen. When it did, and I was tarred and feathered in short order (leaving me dazed and confused, even now), PF was one of the people who comforted me and explained things (see link above). This is part of being a woman, this is also a struggle of feminism... that women should learn to work together. It is not surprising that we don't know how; that instead, we savage each other. We have been raised to do that, after all. She wrote to me, "When a friend of mine tells me I've misunderstood her, I listen to that." And she did.

How precious to find the person who listens. Her students were so lucky.

I can't add much to what others have written... please read Kittywampus, since she knew PF better than I did and has also collected obituary-links. Some have used her given name and some have not, and I am confused about whether that is acceptable, so when in doubt, I don't. But other people have, and if you are in the Women's Studies field, you may have known her. Please go check out the links and pay your respects.

I once told PF that I believed the advent of Women's Studies was the death of activist feminism, an (honest) opinion I lob every now and then, to see what the professors will say. (It's a dead horse, so I no longer beat it, but I did for years.) Most of them have just sneered back, huh UH! and shook their heads forcefully, nary missing a beat. But none took the charge seriously. When I said it rather offhandedly to PF, she emailed me specifically and asked me to elaborate, and kindly asked for evidence. Wow, really?! Nobody ever did that before, so I chronicled some of my decades-long observations. She emailed me and said yes, those are great points (!) and we need to CONNECT women's studies to activism, always, or it is just an academic thing, no different or any more enlightening or important than other academic pursuits. And in her life, she did this... she belonged to all kinds of activist groups and also supported many activist women. She walked the walk and talked the talk. And how RARE is that? (Unfortunately, this brings me back to my anger that the rare jewels are taken from us, while the baddies are here in full force--gahhh!!!) PF asked me to have patience with the Women's Studies grads and see them as having been "prepped" by her and others, for the activism that I might teach them... a hand-off, if you will. The idea that we were working together was such a radical one, such a great concept. We would all, gladly, work for PF, and make sure her newly-radicalized students fulfilled her dreams.

PF leaves a life-partner and son.

Goodbye, my friend. We should all have your zeal, your energy, your drive, your love, your essential decency and morality as applied to women... well, your feminism. Just plain feminism.

Anthony Dellaventura 1948-2010

I don't remember our first conversation, but it was probably about Catholicism. Later, we moved on to every other subject in the universe. But in the beginning, I can remember that we were discussing health supplements and alternative medicine (he was an almost-daily customer in the store where I work), when the rather intimidating ex-NYPD cop suddenly reached out and touched the St Jude medal I was wearing.

"Patron saint of lost causes," he mused, in his heavy New York accent. Luhwust Cuhwuzzes, is how it sounded to me.

"Yeah," I agreed.

"Are you a lost cause?" his voice turned suddenly gentle, and I was caught off guard.

"Probably," I admitted.

He narrowed his eyes. "You are not. You are a very intelligent and beautiful person." He seemed to be speaking very honestly, and I was struck silent, which never happens. I was embarrassed to be complimented.

"You don't believe me," he was inspecting my face. All at once, I was aware that he had been a professional interrogator. "You believe what all these assholes say," he waved his hand around, as if to encompass the whole world (and particularly the Catholic Church) in "all these assholes" and I laughed.

He narrowed his eyes again, "Really. It isn't funny. You do. Well, don't. They dunno shit." And then he smiled. An amazing, award-winning smile.

And for a few years, Tony Dellaventura brightened my life. I saw him nearly every day. He drove an enormous custom Harley-Davidson and dressed in leather; tattooed from head to toe, able to bench-press 200 lbs at age 60, he was a striking figure. His name was Snake; the name tattooed on his throat, right above a snake. It was a long time before I knew his real name.

"Are you tattooed everywhere?" I once asked, curious.

"Every inch," he assured me. And he said he had a dragon down below, the dragon's tail becoming, well, you know.

I'm sure my eyes popped, "Didn't that hurt?!?"

"Oh hell yes," he said, matter-of-factly.

We argued about politics mostly, after it was discovered that we were in near-total opposition, yet agreed on certain libertarian basics: Let people have their guns, their dirty movies, their weed. (The mention of weed being illegal made him roll his eyes.) He particularly liked Ron Paul (as I wrote here once before), and was suitably impressed that I had gone to the Peace Center Amphitheater to hear Congressman Paul speak, even as a lefty. We would argue until we were interrupted, or until he would get thoroughly pissed off and walk away from me. But he was never rude.

Sometimes he would return later in the day, "And another thing..." and reply to what I had said earlier. He always heard me out and let me make my point, sometimes granting that I was right. It was during these conversations that I would hear references to his experiences as a cop; things he had seen that influenced his views in often surprising ways. Even as a fairly right-wing guy, he would freely admit (for instance), that gay people were unfairly targeted, since he had seen it himself so many times. And his New Yorker-honesty and bluntness always impressed me a great deal, since it was steeped in the harsh reality of what he had actually witnessed.

He ate a very healthy diet, almost fanatically so. When he told me he had pancreatic cancer, I was shocked; he seemed like Iron Man. (I knew the odds and I was upset.) And after that, Tony lost weight rapidly. He went back to New York City for treatment, then returned to South Carolina. I wanted to take his photo at one point, but he wouldn't let me, "I don't look so good right now, wait until I look a little better."

I didn't see him after that.

From Tony's obituary in the Staten Island Advance:

STATEN ISLAND, N.Y. — Anthony (The Snake) Dellaventura, 62, of Huguenot, a lifelong Staten Islander and a retired NYPD detective and private investigator whose rough-and-tumble workdays were dramatized in the television show “Dellaventura,” died Thursday in Calvary Hospital’s hospice in Brooklyn, after a long battle with pancreatic cancer.

I have never seen the TV show named after him, but I loved knowing someone who was the subject of a TV series.

He was exactly the sort of larger-than-life personality that great TV-characters are made of.

Mr. Dellaventura joined the NYPD in 1969. After two years in uniform, he spent five and a half years as a plainclothes anti-crime officer, charged with posing as a drug dealer. Described as a “cop’s cop,” he later was assigned to the Organized Crime Control Bureau, and was promoted to detective in 1981.

A fourth-degree black belt in martial arts and a weapons expert, he had been in a shootout with a robber in the parking lot of the Staten Island Mall.

Upon his retirement in 1984, he opened his own private investigation company and was hired by attorneys trying to uncover hidden funds during divorce cases, property owners looking to rout crack-dealing squatters, and film studios who wanted to destroy bootleg copies of new releases being sold by vendors on city streets.

The secret to his success in business, he once told the Advance, is being both a good sleuth and establishing confidence and good faith with clients.

Known as “The Snake,” he told New York Magazine in a 1992 profile that his friends gave him the nickname “because of the way I strike, like a cobra. But you couldn’t pay me a million dollars to beat someone up or kill somebody.”

He also said he was willing to do anything necessary for a case, as long as it didn’t include breaking any laws. Instead, Mr. Dellaventura’s hulking physical presence and intense face — he rarely cracked a smile — were often enough to intimidate even the most hardened criminal.

Actor Danny Aiello portrayed him in the drama “Dellaventura,” which recreated some of Mr. Dellaventura’s real-life cases during its run on CBS from late 1997 until early 1998. The episodes were based on events straight out of the detective’s caselog, with details changed for confidentiality.

Mr. Dellaventura told the Advance in an interview when the show debuted that he was pleased with Mr. Aiello’s performance, noting the actor resembled him physically — minus Mr. Dellaventura’s collection of more than 240 tattoos, which would have taken a makeup artist hours to recreate.

Mr. Dellaventura also served as a bodyguard for notables including Jack Dempsey, Sid Caesar and Harry Connick, Jr.

A deeply committed, born-again Christian, he was an active member of Faith Fellowship Ministries in Sayreville N.J., and Grace Fellowship Ministries in Greer, S.C., where he had a second home.

“He was just a tremendous friend to people,” said his wife, Susan. “You could call him at 3 in the morning and he would get up and drive to California to come to your aid.”

Mr. Dellaventura’s passions were rooting for the New York Yankees, riding his Harley-Davidson through the mountains of South Carolina, boxing, and watching old movies.

Most of all, he loved spending time with his family.

Surviving, along with his wife of 20 years, the former Susan Villani, are his sons, Anthony, Philip, Nicholas and Salvatore, and his daughter, Lucianne Dellaventura.

I met Susan and Salvatore, but not the rest of his family. My thoughts and prayers are with them.

I will miss you, my friend, as well as our spirited arguments and your solemn promise that you would settle the hash of anyone who messed with me. Your wild tattoos and multicolored, humongous Harley, making all kinds of rumbly noises in the parking lot. Must be Snake, I would think.

Reflexively, I sometimes still think it's you.

There are only a few in the world like you. So few. If you have indeed found that Afterlife we so often argued about, put in a good word for your favorite Lost Cause. I love you, and we sure do miss our favorite ex-NYPD cop here in Carolina.

Rest in peace.

Fall for Greenville 2010 - Vote for Tom Clements!

There I was, wringing my hands, wondering how I was going to pass out Green Party leaflets for the election.

Fact is, I had no leaflets to pass out. We are a POOR party.

In particular, I wanted a leaflet highlighting Green Party candidate Tom Clements, who I believe may have a tiny shot at the SC Senate seat... or he might, if we could afford a commercial, which we can't. (NOTE: Complaints about SC lefty poverty have been repeatedly addressed on this blog--hint, hint!) But since the Democrats are stuck with the talented Mr Greene, while hard-core, right-wing incumbent Jim DeMint is waaaay out there on a Tea Party limb, I figured Tom might at least score some protest votes. But people must first LEARN HE EXISTS.

And there I was, wondering what to do. Must do something. But I simply had no time to do anything and desperation was settling in.

Think, Daisy. You have to think.

Okay, I thought, what did people do back in the day? How did these things get done?

Well, they called ME, that's what they did.

Wait, WHO called me?

OLDER, ENTRENCHED ACTIVISTS with no time to do anything; people with children and grandchildren called me, since I was often unemployed with bundles of energy to spare.

Light bulb: I need a young person!

I realized, we must get the kidz involved. It's time to pass the torch!!!! The Circle of Life (cue Elton John) and all like that.

And so, like magic, the chosen young person POPPED right into my head. The only young person I know locally who could make the easy connection between capitalism and Green Party values; a vegetarian who gets it. A bit shy, but we can work with that. (But if he should be asked a question by someone after presenting them with a leaflet, I was certain he would be knowledgeable enough to answer it.)

Thus, I contacted South Carolina Boy (herein known as SCB), whom I have only met twice before. And the marvel of youthful energy took over. SCB actually KNEW HOW to make leaflets (on green paper!) and designed and made them for me within two days, pausing only to get a tattoo. He brought them down to our wild and woolly upstate street festival, Fall For Greenville, where we met for our third time. I was dazzled by his efficiency, bowled over by his lefty enthusiasm. (I seem to recall I had some of that, once!) And we then had a delightful time talking about anything and everything, as we sat in front of Quiznos and taped lollypops to the green leaflets advertising TOM CLEMENTS FOR US SENATE ... and then proceeded puttering around... weaving our way through the heavy crowds, offering them to the kids or anyone else who seemed likely to take them. Saturation, was the objective. (I made sure the Greenville News people got two.) One woman donated a whole dollar to our campaign!

Yes, I am quite aware it isn't GREEN to tape suckers to paper that will likely be tossed out, but I knew I couldn't get anyone to take my leaflets any other way. This is DeMint country, okay? (In fairness, I stole that idea from the 90s Clinton-campaigners, who also faced a semi-hostile local electorate.)

The place was packed, but as you all probably know, I ain't shy, and I plowed onward. SCB followed me somewhat tentatively, but jumped right in after a couple of minutes. Everyone likes suckers! Instead of the usual, expected greeting of "Tom Clements for Senate!"--I decided "Would you like a sucker?" was more hospitable. Then I'd say, "You hafta take the paper if you want the sucker," and they would usually laugh and agree. Good humor counts!

I don't know if we successfully spread the word or not, but we rained green paper on the place. Hopefully, people have now heard the NAME of Tom Clements.

As for me, I am doing well in other respects.

I first met SCB when his name was Rachel. For this reason, it's been hard for me to switch pronouns when I discuss him, say, with Mr Daisy. I've noticed when I meet trans people who have already transitioned, I don't have any problem with pronouns. For SCB, it has been more difficult. I think this may also be true because we met specifically in Feminist Blogdonia, which tends to be 'female territory'... I now understand how difficult transition can be for family members and lifelong friends of the transgendered individual; not necessarily due to any disapproval or hostility, but simply out of habit. Gender is very ingrained in our minds, and when we meet people, we file them away instantly as male or female. That habit-of-mind is hardwired over a lifetime and is very hard to break, especially if you're in your 50s; changing something as simple as "he" or "she" can be tough, after someone is already 'established' as one or the other in your mind. Luckily, SCB is very sweet, amenable, and doesn't sweat that stuff, which is good. (At one point, I blurted out, "People probably think you're my daughter!" for example, and then instantly felt like a yahoo.) Actually I did think of Rachel that way for awhile, and now I'm starting to think of SCB as my son, or specifically, as my political son. Both of us talked about how people admonish us "not to get upset" when we address political issues in a detailed, wonky manner. (Here in the south, people think all lefties are crackpots, while right-wingers are regarded as simply concerned and patriotic Christians.) We enjoyed relating stories to each other about that... I hoped I sounded older and wise, but probably not! It was fabulous to talk to someone who is as political in their thinking, and in the way they view and analyze the world, as I am. Here in the upstate, we are an endangered species.

We had a great time, and I think we helped get Tom some votes!


At left, Mac Arnold and his famous gas-can guitar.




In addition, we saw some great bands! On this page, photos of my favorite local band, Mac Arnold and Plate Full O Blues... he was FREAKING GREAT, his trademark gas-can guitar making indescribable sounds while his bad-ass bass player kept up the chunka chunka chunka; too awesome for words.

We also saw/heard: 5th and York, The Calvin Edwards Trio, Plain Jane Automobiles, Dangermuffin and the always-amazing Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit, who serenaded our departure. (You could hear em from three streets west.)

If you are in SC, for godsake, VOTE FOR TOM CLEMENTS FOR SENATE!

~*~

You've never heard old gas cans that sound like this. I'm sure you haven't.

Mac Arnold and Plate Full O Blues - Blues in a Holler (from Bele Chere video, 2008)

What I learned from blogging this year, a cautionary tale

Confession: I have not had tons of fun blogging this year. I've had repeated troll invasions and I've been banned from other blogs, because of things I've said here. People are getting testy. Politics makes strange bedfellows. Etc.

During President's Obama's ascent, everyone on the left was very lovey-dovey. Now that it appears his administration may well be going to shit, tensions are rising. People are showing their true colors. And as I said, this year hasn't been as much fun.

My New Year's Resolution is to remember why I started this thing: to have an outlet for MY OWN opinions, whether they are popular and well-liked or not. And to have fun doing it.

I promise to be ever-more frivolous, whimsical and self-centered in the coming year. I will write about more old movies and similar silly things that are special to me.

I also promise to ban the trolls forthwith, instead of letting them get the upper hand. My deepest apologies for bad moderation.

~*~

What I have learned from blogging this year, in no particular order:


1) "Activists" you have defended in arguments on the net, will not necessarily defend you in return. In fact, you can usually count on them not doing it.

I haven't figured out the reason for this, unless it's because most internet "activists" have not done any actual activism in real life. They believe blogging/online-brawling equal 'activism' (hence the quote marks). They don't really know what is required by activism in the real world, where day-to-day compromises and coalitions are crucial and necessary for progress.

What we unequivocally learn in real-life activism is that you must defend your allies in return; this is not an option. But online? No such understanding exists.

The bottom line: blogging is consequently reduced to social networking, not political networking. We should probably not be surprised it replicates the pettiness of high school cliques, rather than the expedience and cohesion of a political party, group or collective.

Still, it is terribly disappointing.

2) Ageism is so prevalent and accepted in Blogdonia, nobody is allowed to mention it.

Any time you say anything about this on ANY feminist blog? i.e.: Gee, where are the old women? Why aren't any women over 50 [1] ever linked/quoted/asked to guest-blog? Why are most of your participants so young? Why is the 802456th thread about Joss Whedon necessary again? Etc... these questions are not welcome or considered relevant or important. You will be told to shut the fuck up in various and sundry ways... even down to outright banning and blacklisting. Ageism is not a political issue, it is some damn grandma bitching. (As many feminists and progressives have proudly placed the concerns of young people OVER those of old people in the recent health care debate, we should probably not be surprised at this phenomenon either.)

For these reasons, I do not ask these questions any more, on any blogs, of any blogger. I confine my criticisms to my own blog, since I am likely to be edited, censored and/or banned whenever the issue is brought up.

3) It's okay for feminists to brag about their connections to influential men... even right in the front-page sidebars of their blogs! (boggle)

I know, shocking. Back in the day, such "male identification" would get you tarred and feathered in short order. If your daddy, husband, boyfriend or significant male-other was important, rich, influential, well-known, etc. you kept your mouth shut at all costs. If this fact should be belatedly discovered, you had to bring the goods, girlfriend. Your husband is the production manager of an alternative newspaper? Then you owe us an article and a mention! Your daddy is a rich banker? Then we expect a donation! Your boyfriend is a local rock and roll star? We expect him to play a benefit! Etc. And yes, you did this without argument if you wanted to belong to the collective. (It was the LEAST we could do, after all, as feminists obviously benefiting from male/heterosexual privilege.)

Nowadays, it appears this feminist-based privilege-sharing has been lost. These new feminists just want you to know who their fella is, as sheer proof of their wonderfulness: "My boyfriend is ____, am I hot or what?"--again, hearkening back to high school, and how cool one must be to get a date with the most popular dudes.

(sigh)

At left: Daisy discovers many Big Bloggers think she is a nuisance.

(4) Welcome to the camp, I guess you all know why we're here...

Links are the coin of the realm in Blogdonia. If you go and offend the wrong people, the Big Bloggers will put you on the unofficial master-blacklist [2] and refuse to link you. They usually only link multi-degreed, highly-connected folk like themselves, but occasionally, they will mix with the rabble, and deign to link someone from the lower echelons. If you want to BE one of those lucky people the blogging-royalty shines their (very limited) light on, you'd better behave yourself. Do not inform them they are full of shit (even when they are), on your blog or theirs. Do not point out their mistakes or correct them. They don't want to hear it. (By contrast, lower-echelon bloggers are usually grateful for the attention, any attention.)

Kiss ass. Tell them how wonderful they are, how insightful, how politically right-on. Remember in the 70s, how everyone was nicest to the neighborhood dope dealer, even when he became obsessed with conspiracy theories and didn't seem quite right? Same thing here, only now it's the Big Bloggers, and instead of handing out joints, it's linkage.

Keep this in mind and you won't go wrong.

5) "Of course I'm respectable. I'm OLD. Politicians, ugly buildings and whores all get respectable if they last long enough."--John Huston as Noah Cross in Chinatown.

This year saw the passing of a rich, white, famous, privileged heterosexual male politician from one of the world's most influential and well-known families. Everybody went into spasms of grief, while your humble narrator was rude enough to point out that he had let a young woman die in his car in 1969 (whom he possibly had impregnated, so the rumor went), and so, fuck him.

Good God, the torrent unleashed.

From the left, from the right, from feminists, from all kinds of people. I had to delete a FEMINIST (!) from my blog over it. I was told that because this rich white man had done so much for the peepul, for da wimminz, for the poor bedraggled masses, that it was horrendous of me to say "fuck him"--as if my comment had any power at all, compared to his and his family's considerable power. I was also repeatedly informed that one possibly-pregnant Catholic secretary dying a horrifically-slow death, drowning inch-by-inch over 12 hours, was a small price to pay for having a solid liberal in the Senate.

Don't I realize that?

Others reminded me that I was being a rude redneck, reminding everyone of such things at the time of the man's DEATH. (And what about HER death? When do we talk about THAT?)

I was stunned by this display. Beyond stunned, I almost wondered if the right wing was correct, that the Left has no moral compass. (The New York Times dutifully censored all reader-comments that mentioned said young woman on the Senator's obit page!)

How can anyone justify and/or write off the slow-death of an innocent woman? I am still stunned over these reactions, these lengthy equivocations.

Obviously, some people's deaths are more important than others. Women's deaths are automatically less important; working-class deaths hardly rate the newsprint. And young women labeled "sluts" for partying with married senators? Even less. We see the points being taken off; her value lessening and lessening in the eyes of the media, as well as Blogdonia. Meanwhile, I wondered, what does it take for the dead senator [3] to get points off? As far as I could see, he was untouchable.

This was a very educational experience for me.

Some, we see, are more human than others.

At left: Daisy reacts to repeated troll invasions.

6) You must never, I repeat, never, engage the gun freaks.

They will not leave you alone.

I was stalked for a solid month by one in particular, who then brought along his like-minded droogs. And I am pretty libertarian when it comes to guns--own as many as you like, I don't care. What I did was question the common sense of GIVING OUT AN ASSAULT RIFLE at a political rally, as well as make a nasty vegetarian remark about BBQ going perfectly with the whole violent motif of the event. And BAM, they were all over me like proverbial flies on shit, as if I had said I wanted to ban ALL guns.

I think the Second Amendment rocks, but it's Larry Flynt syndrome all over again: We like the First Amendment, but we also wish scumbags like Flynt were not the poster children for it. Unfortunately, they are exactly the people who WILL be the poster children, since they ARE the scumbags. The question becomes, do you want to make an exception for Larry Flynt? I say, no.

Do I want to make an exception for assault rifles? Well, I haven't decided, or at least, I certainly hadn't decided until meeting up with these rightwing gun freaks. Now, I am inclined to say: Full Second Amendment rights for everyone who has not engaged in any hate speech or stalking. If you have, we should rightly take away your guns, for safety's sake.

If you can't decently handle the First Amendment, why should we believe you can handle the Second?

7) Women all over the world are tired of sweaty boobs!

Yes, my most overwhelmingly-popular post this year was about how women aren't allowed to take off our shirts, due to the almighty sacred titties, which must be covered up always, amen. A hugely popular post (for me, anyway)--I stopped counting after about 10,000 hits. But I guess I struck a nerve! The post was linked on sites like Reddit and StumbleUpon, where the women were uniformly, screamingly positive. I guess I'm not the first gal who ever wished she could shed her shirt to simply duck under the sprinkler for a second...

It's notable that the post just got a new round of linkage in Australia, where the women are enduring a long hot summer right now... the original post was written in July. As summer entered the Southern Hemisphere, the post was widely shared once again. I am deeply honored that I have voiced the feelings of so many women, of all ages, classes, races, countries and backgrounds.

And for the record, the men are still complaining. While they love love love to look at the boobs, they seem very distraught over the idea that seeing them everywhere might become commonplace... they may actually catch sight of old, wrinkly, fat or weirdly-shaped ones. (The fact that we have historically been forced to look at their old, wrinkly, fat or weirdly-shaped boobs, doesn't seem to occur to them.) They want women without shirts, of course, but... do you mean... ALL WOMEN? It seems to terrify them.

Obviously, we're on the right track!

~*~

Thanks to all my regulars who have supported me in the past year, particularly as the trolls periodically invaded. My Christmas Facebook Friendship Drive is officially over, but please let me know if you'd like to friend me anyway... I was delighted to meet so many new readers!

Happy New Year to you all!

~*~




[1] The standard reply to this complaint is: But we have women over 40! I have no idea why they consistently employ this rather inane non sequitur, as if it makes any sense at all. It's like saying, wow, we don't have any people from New York, but we have people from Canada! We don't have any green beans, but we have popcorn! Um, okay.

[2] Of course, this master-blacklist doesn't really exist. ("The secretary will disavow any knowledge of your actions.") From what I have been able to discern, the non-existent blacklist is mostly drawn up over obscenely-expensive drinks in trendy Manhattan/DC/Los Angeles/other-coastal-area bars. Thus, if you live in one of these cool areas, you can worm your way into an invitation and actually get to talk to these people in person! And you can then have significant input on the makeup of the master-blacklist (that doesn't really exist, of course).

[3] I almost used a rock-band name here (Dead Kennedy), but decided that would be disrespectful, so I refrained. Footnote because I want credit for wit anyway!