channonyarrow: (patriots question pride not america // c)
( Jul. 19th, 2010 02:32 pm)
I have a seriously tempting, crazy idea.

I'm thinking of joining the Tea Party. Like, all officially and shit.

You can hit your away buttons now.

See, though, the thing is this: they claim this, on their website. "Tea Party Nation welcomes all patriots, regardless of gender, ethnicity or national origin to join us and help save this great country."

We can quibble about whether this is a "great" country or one that's really, really fucked up, but the thing is - there is utterly nothing about my politics, which are, at best, liberal, that makes me not-a-patriot.

According to Merriam-Webster, patriot means "one who loves his or her country and supports its authority and interests".

The fact that I'm not waging revolution in the streets suggests that I support America's authority and its interests. I don't love this country the way I love, say, gin, but I'm pretty sure it's preferable to living in Chad. Let's face it: all those things that people currently dismiss as "first-world problems"? I have those, and I have them because I live here. And I like them. So I'm happy living here.

I'm certainly happy living here because I don't have to deal with armed insurrection in the streets. I may not like the people who choose to become police officers, but I find a police presence is better than no police presence. I respect all significant laws of the land. I, in actions if not in words, respect America's authority by allowing it to have some say in what I do as I conduct my daily business. I don't, for example, evade my taxes, and I do carry the state licence that proves I can operate a motor vehicle.

So that's the first part of their statement out of the way.

They are concerned with gender, ethnicity, and national origin next; not a problem for me, since I'm Whitey McWhiterson, born right here in the US, and they don't seem to, on the face of it, have a problem with women in the ranks. That's out of the way.

To save this great country - well, again, we can quibble about whether it's great, but on the face of it, I like living here. So I'll concede that one on the basis of the rest of the argument.

See, I think this country needs saving too.

I think it needs saving from our pollution. I think it needs saving from fiscally-irresponsible corporations. Hell, I think it needs saving from corporations period. I think it needs saving from the fear-mongers and the hate-mongers, and the people who preach something they don't believe because they get money for pandering to the fears and hates of morons who can't figure out a gimmick to make a buck when they're smacked with it. I think it needs saving from people who think that the right to bear arms means the right to bear them right into Wal-Mart. I think it needs saving from the companies and individuals that tout America First and yet manufacture and sell products made overseas, to the detriment of the American economy and the workers at the bottom of the food chain. I think it needs saving from people who don't understand that what we pay for now is what we get later, and think that it's not worth paying for the health care or the education or the feeding or the support of someone who is not-them. I think it needs saving from greed, from hate, from inattention, from me-first, from not-in-my-backyard, from a national posture of arrogance, from the belief that enough armed people can effect a change somewhere we have no business being, from our dependence on oil, from the death penalty, from the people who want other people to shut up, from your god, and from Puritanism run amok.

I think it needs, above all, to be saved from ignorance, fear, and the beliefs of childhood. Life was easier when I wasn't making the decisions, sure! That doesn't mean that the 80s were a wonder time that should be brought back.

I think, therefore, that the Tea Party had better reconsider their welcoming statement on their website and think about whether they want me in their party - because you bet your ass I wouldn't be working for their definition of what will save America. I'll be working for mine.

And I'll be doing it under their umbrella. In their names.

Why not? They're doing all kinds of shit in my name - I want my name back. I want the right to call myself a patriot back. I want people to not assume, if I call myself a patriot (I generally don't, but that's not the point) that patriot means I want to burn the niggers and the fags and the ragheads. (And the Tea Party had better not try to argue that they don't, because their actions speak otherwise.)

Most of all, I don't want to see their America. Their America is not one I know, recognise, or love, but I seem to be trapped here with a significant number of total blowhards who think they get to dictate out of their own fear and moronic idiocy what I think and do and know and care about. And that shit cannot stand.

So, since the Tea Party and I are in agreement according to their welcoming statement, I think I should join them. I want to save America too.
channonyarrow: (azrael fucking demon // arintinwe)
( Apr. 9th, 2010 06:55 pm)
I have comprehended a new thing.

I get really uncomfortable the very rare times that someone says, essentially, "Are you married?" as the follow up to finding out my name and clearly as the preface to asking me out. For a while, I figured that it was because my skeeve radar goes off - I am not the sort of person you just ask out, ask anyone who's seen me - and I distrust why you would ask and assume it has something to do with a lifelong desire to have someone you can debase and abuse and rah rah, my self-esteem is showing again.

But now I get it. (Yes, it bugs me for several hours when it happens, because I get annoyed that I evidently project "easily victimised" on all spectra.)

It bugs me because you don't even care to know me.

When the sum total of the information exchanged is "Hi, I'm so and so, I was watching you across the room," (or similar) and I say "Nice to meet you, I'm thus-and-such," DO NOT FOLLOW THIS UP BY SAYING "So, are you married?"

Hand to god, I will start responding to this with "No, and obviously we're totally compatible, because we are both carbon-based."

I like to laugh at the relationship surveys as much as anyone else, I really do. I like to mock Cosmo and the rest of them just like I like to mock cheerleaders, Oregon, and the colour mauve.

But dude, let me tell you: asking me if I'm married means that you don't even care. Srsly. If you really, truly, gave a shit (and didn't want someone you thought you could beat into catering to your filthy fetishes and living in your basement wrapped in only a burlap sack) you might want to try asking ... oh, maybe about ANYTHING I HAVE INDICATED I CARE ABOUT, given that I'm standing in the tech department and acting vaguely teacherly today. There are THINGS THAT COULD BE DISCUSSED HERE.

We could: find out that we're in a similar course for a similar reason! That we both really like X, Y, and Z! That we've both had Access/Visual Basic/Web Servers/Underwater Basket Weaving, and that we both found it fun/challenging/bloody impossible/ticklish! That we think the weather is being awfully crappy lately, but it looks like the sun is coming out! That I don't like X cuisine, but you know a fantastic X restaurant, meet you there at six? (Okay, whatever, I know that sounds like dialogue from a lame seventies movie.)

Apparently, Cosmo actually got it right: women like to be friends first.

In short, saying "Are you married?" when ALL YOU KNOW IS MY BLOODY NAME, is saying "I don't care about you as a person AT ALL," even if you don't think it is. You may think it's the most pragmatic statement ever, because it indicates that you'd like to ask me out, and it might even be that you choked in the clutch and said the wrong thing.

However: it reeks of desperation. If I were the sort to accept desperate offers, I would be living in Pakistan with some guy I met in a gay club in Valencia years ago. It's also REALLY FUCKING ANNOYING, because I am fundamentally tempted, every fucking time, to say "No, but I only got out of jail a week ago." Or "No, but only because I ate my husband." Or "No, but I'll marry you if you'll be my getaway driver - I think the cops are on their way." Or even "No, how big's your life insurance policy?"

At least ask me out, first! It's my job to say that my husband/wife/god/dog forbid it! That's how you get to know people!

I do not negotiate with terrorists, I do not pay with only pennies at the store, and I do not cater to desperation.

I also totally love the double shot of looking racist when I turn people down. "It's not your race I object to, it's the fact that you want it to rub the lotion on its skin that I object to."

I also have trouble believing that I'm discoursing on the art of getting a date. Let's take off the eau d'desperation and talk about other things! Like that you should not ask YOUR INSTRUCTOR (ie, me) whether I know X person at Hempfest. I hate to say it, because I LIKE hemp (hemp, not, not, not (infinitely fucking NOT) weed) as a concept. I think we should use more of it! I think it's awesome, ecologically friendly, and makes fucking durable paper. I also like hippies! I AM a hippie (in designer boots).

But, and I hate to say it because it turns me into my mother, I don't think "Ah, Hempfest - a joyous celebration of the miracle of hemp, which is totally ridiculously and arbitrarily mistreated by the government."

Instead, I think "Ah. You're one of the dicksmacks who ruins every fucking music festival I ever go to, you stoner bastard. Let me take your totally private and personal drug and jack it up a totally private and personal region of your body; I still haven't forgiven you for the business about looking for the cops under the fucking bed."

Bonus points, of course, if you also tell me that you've designed LOTS of web pages already, and you TOTALLY know what you're doing, even though you:
a) cannot put your style code in the right place;
b) cannot use the right fucking code in the first place wtf (wtf because I had LITERALLY WRITTEN IT ON THE BOARD);
c) cannot figure out how to upload an image to your server;
d) do not listen when I explain the somewhat complicated process;
e) do not even realise that I explained the process;
f) clearly cannot hear me over the sound of your own awesome ... which is obviously why you're taking an evidently (supposedly) remedial course in web design and I am instructing it. Like, for money and shit.

I am just on a tear today.

Oh, and other!dude? If you come back to my lab again and sit there and play games, I will throw you out. I haven't forgotten that you're Broken USB Drive Guy, and I hate you.

Aside from all that, I failed to file my unemployment today because I was in so much pain I forgot, I have like WAAAAAAY too many fucking textbooks to read this weekend (I get to do remedial networking AND remedial Operating Systems because I don't have the slightest clue what a kernel is, or a web garden, but the one makes me hungry and the other makes me think of bees, because dude ... worker processes? Yes, I AM a Mac.) and I need a Sherpa for Fridays because hauling 2 computers, FIVE textbooks, a calendar, and my files/power cords/etc around really sucks.

Seriously. I picked my purse today because I could put two of my damn textbooks in it. This apparently triggered the textbook gnomes, and my bossish person gave me four fucking more.

To read over the weekend.

Last point: I hate pirates, I hate Simplicity, and I hate sleeves, and I want to finish the fucking coat so I can post the pictures of it, but I also want to NEVER finish the fucking coat, because the fucking coat is fucking evil. I may buy a camera, but I also may save that money and pour it directly down my throat, in the form of bottles of gin, because that would be less painful.

How are you?
channonyarrow: (smite // enriana)
( Aug. 9th, 2009 11:33 am)
New concept: internet feminism.

This is not, as internet Asperger's is not related to real life Asperger's, related to real-life feminism, as the goal of Internet Feminism is not equality in all its munificent facets. No, the goal of Internet Feminism is "to be taken so incredibly seriously."

This leads to humourlessness. This leads to insulting other women who "aren't feminist enough". This leads to all kinds of incredibly-insulting behaviour to both men and women, all justified under the label of "I'm a feminist."

I am not now, nor will I ever be an Internet Feminist.

Things I will continue to do: make fun of people regardless of gender and without gender as my basis for humour; find rape and abuse jokes hilarious; not conflate MY feminism with only listening to Internet-feminist-approved music (and consuming other media with the same criteria); refuse to take Internet Feminists seriously; find multiple genders and sexualities attractive, without regard to the latest Internet Feminist Manifesto.

You know what? If you gotta defend it that hard, it ain't worth having. If you gotta talk smack about how other women aren't feminist enough, rather than talking about how access to healthcare is being denied to women in far vaster proportions than to men, then you're doing it wrong. If YOUR LIFE is personally threatened by the existence of someone like Millionaires, or the Pussycat Dolls, you need to GET a life.

You know the worst thing about Internet Feminism? It's the sort of "activism" where all you have to do is bitch about it in your blog, you don't have to do anything about it, because Christ knows, it's easier to whine about the Millionaires than it is to write to their parent corporation and suggest that publication of such music is distasteful and you will not be consuming any of that company's media in any form until such acts are off their label.

Except - I forgot! - that the main point of Internet Feminism is that you don't actually have to follow through and curtail your own life - you just have to bitch about it to prove that you're an awesome feminist. Follow through need not exist.
channonyarrow: (get on your knees and pray // pms_queen)
( Dec. 10th, 2008 12:08 am)
Oh holy shit.

I take back everything previously said about not having any sort of rage-induced shenanigans. GAME ON BB. GAME. FUCKING. ON.

OH HELL YES.

ETA: Wow, I talk a lot. We will see if there is another reply, or if there is only FEAR.

ETA-SQUARED: WOW, I AM SUCH A FUCKING GENIUS. I fail at stealthy-email-addressing. GO ME.
channonyarrow: (transmet calm before the storm // daruma)
( Nov. 1st, 2006 09:45 am)
Due to, basically, an insane amount of shit, I'm moving this month. Obviously, if for some reason you have my address, I will not be at it for long, but I don't know where I'm moving to - at this point, I'd take a fucking hot air balloon over the Gobi as long as it wasn't my current apartment. So, um, don't send anything.

I do not like it when I need to get a lawyer and then make someone cry, but I am damn good at both, so we shall see how this plays out. But SUPPOSEDLY they contacted me to raise my rent in February and JUST NOW got around to noticing that I never paid it. Because, of course, they TOTALLY sent me a letter, rather than how they apprised me of the other rent increases they have done, by having the apartment manager STAPLE IT TO MY FUCKING DOOR.

Oh, and bear in mind, when the rent went up on the fifth (who the fuck, other than unethical bastards, raises the rent in the MIDDLE of the payment time? Especially on a Friday, when EVERYONE GOT PAID - oh wait, I KNEW they were unethical) and I did not - funny - pay the fifty dollar increase, they informed me of that, and I PAID IT even though I thought it was horseshit at the time?

I call bullshit, bullshit, and more bullshit. Hence the lawyer, and hence the moving. And the funny part is that this is, as far as I can tell, entirely brought on by my request for the phone number of the property management company.

I think I should just assume that Nano just got skullfucked until it begged unless this gets sorted out really fast (or else unless I can start moving like NOW and just move slowly until Dec. 1).

*sighs* I wish I could afford to buy now.

Ah well. Now it's time to make someone cry!
.

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