Bravo!

From Guy Branum at the Huffington Post:

A few nights ago, a segment on The Daily Show chided the gay community for encouraging a boycott of Chick-fil-A following the assertion by Dan Cathy, President of Chick-fil-A, that gay marriage was against God's plan. The segment pointed out that living a life free of involvement with corporations opposed to one's own political beliefs was impossible, so the politicization of fried chicken sandwiches was pointless. The interesting irony of the piece was the correspondents in the piece with Jon Stewart were Jessica Williams and Wyatt Cenac, the two black correspondents on The Daily Show, a fact which brought to my mind the many times civil rights movements have used the most trivial of points to argue their cause. Trivial points, that, with surprising frequency, end up involving food. If history is a guide, Chick-fil-A might just be the best way for the gay community to make our point.

In 1960, there was no legal barrier to a black man becoming president. From a federal legal perspective, distinctions based on race were officially nearly non-existent. But black people couldn't sit at the lunch counter at the Woolworth's in Greensboro, North Carolina, and that was a problem. African Americans could still get food from Woolworth's, it's not like this issue was any actual impediment to their lives. It was just an indignity, an indignity that re-instantiated a stratified culture, that told every kid, black and white, growing up in Greensboro that African Americans didn't matter. In 1960, four men declared they would no longer suffer that stupid little indignity, and it helped change the world.

In 1930, Britain owned India. Indians played almost no role in the political, judicial or economic governance of their own country. Gandhi didn't choose to make his point by disrupting courts or assassinating the viceroy, he made his point more subtly. He made salt. Gandhi picked the lamest, most random, but also most fundamental British law to disobey: Indians were only allowed to buy salt made by the British and taxed by the British. It was a tiny thing, but it also meant that every time an Indian ate, he or she was in a tiny way paying for her or his own oppression. So Gandhi marched for 23 days, from his home to the sea, and made salt in defiance of British law. It didn't do much to throw off the shackles of British rule, but it taught the Indian people the fundamentals of what their independence movement would be about: Self-reliance and refusal to cooperate with a system that did not value them.

The arguments against a Chick-fil-A boycott are many: we lack the numbers to do any real damage, we lack the solidarity to do any real damage, we will terrify middle Americans by acting like thought police, and hey, gay guys are too weight conscious to eat fried chicken sandwiches anyway. I don't care. We need to boycott Chick-fil-A, not to send a message to Dan Cathy, but to send a message to ourselves and our friends.

Gays are an interesting minority group for three significant reasons: we are relatively invisible, we are diffuse, and we are popularly portrayed as frivolous. Boycotting Chick-fil-A can help us address these problems.

Unless we say it, you generally can't tell if someone is gay. Popular culture attempts to refute this with images of flaming queers and surly dykes whose homosexual nature is undeniable, but the simple reality for all gay people is that we have, to some extent, the option to hide our homosexuality. Many point to this as a reason our oppression is less grievous than racial discrimination: an Indian can't hide his skin color, but we have the option of just pretending we're not gay. But that is not a defense mechanism, it's a prison.

(more)

So What?

So what if Chick-Fil-A is now reporting that the amount of bigot-fueled money they raked in on "Chicken Appreciation Day" was record setting? Does that mean that the same troglodytes who took time out of their busy day of Bible Study and gay obsessing to stuff their pie holes with hormone-injected, genetically modified chicken tits are going to do that EVERY DAY?

I think not.

But what the professional gay-haters fail to realize is that unlike this one day spike, the continued avoidance of Chick-Fil-A by GBLTs and their supporters is going to affect their overall bottom line as time goes on—and had the added benefit of showing us exactly who our real friends aren't.

I will admit that prior to all this happening I'd eaten at the restaurant only a handful of times so I was never a huge consumer, but now, myself, friends and family have vowed to never set foot in the place again.

Enjoy your one day of hate-fueled financial splendor Mr. Cathy. It's not likely to repeat often enough to offset the business that your stupid, prideful pronouncements have permanently lost your company.

 

Oh, SuhNAP!

From AMERICAblog:

God is in the nuggets

The God of Gluttony smiled upon all those waddling through long lines at Chick-fil-a Wednesday to celebrate their pride in being heterosexual, bigoted and obese.

Sitting in their idling cars with the AC running, they waited their turn to take communion in the form of a typical American factory-farmed chicken breast laced with all the natural goodness of antibioticsBenadryl, and arsenic (sorry, "organic" arsenic), then rolled in white flour, powdered sugar, butter, salt and deep fried.

In a culture that readily accepts highly-processed substances as "food," it was only a matter of time before we found people going to the same trough to meet their other needs, from spirituality to political expression.

In a matter of days, we've seen the meteoric rise of a brand new symbol of moral righteousness: the greasy fast food bag. Long thought of as mere garbage, this former agent of death is now the exulted symbol of a desperate people's moral compass (life imitates art). Politicians like Sarah Palin and Lindsey Graham proudly pose with it (oblivious to how gay their photo opps actually came off). I imagine Republicans will soon be signing pledges of loyalty to their chicken god.

The scenes were repulsive. Supposedly civilized people turning to the drive-through window for a super-sized order of malnutrition, warped spirituality, and bigoted political discourse.  (Obesity and arteriosclerosis all being part of God's plan, praise the Lord.)

Though not a God you or I might be familiar with.  Rather, a cheap fast-faith God who shares their prejudices, along with free refills of hate and intolerance

Can. Not. Wait.

Anyone know if it's going to be shown simultaneously on BBC America, or are we going to have to wait years to see it?

Faces of Hate

Know your enemy.

40 years ago they would've been wearing white hoods.

Hell, if they could get away with it today they'd be wearing white hoods, because homophobia and racism are just two sides of the same coin.

Mountain Lion Update

I've had Apple's latest big cat loaded now for one week, and I have to say that I've yet to have any real problem with it. While I know others have had nightmares upgrading their machines and are less than impressed (my experience a year ago), mine went off without a hitch. After using it for the last seven days, I can say the word that best describes it is snappier. Everything about it is faster, and I see a level of refinement that was sadly lacking in Lion.

The one feature I like the most is the Notification Center. Granted, I don't get a whole lot of email these days, but it's nice to see the emails pop up when they do arrive à la the notifications in Outlook on Windows. I also think Power Nap is pretty cool, although its function was something I erroneously believed had already been a part of the OS prior to this.

Another thing I really appreciate is the Twitter integration. I tweet a lot, so it's pretty cool that it can be done from so many places within the OS.

Wired has a good rundown on some of the lesser-known features here and I highly recommend checking it out.

On Death and Dying


(Image stolen from Just a Jeep Guy)

One of those TMI memes going around that I actually feel like answering…

1. How would you like to die? How don't you want to die?

Other than the "peacefully in my sleep" thing, I would have to say the next best way would be while under anesthesia.

The list of ways I don't want to die is more extensive (and almost stolen verbatim from Erik): burning, drowning, choking, chemically dissolving, being impaled, squished, shot, or disemboweled.

2. Do you want to go before or after your spouse?

Due to our age difference, in all likelihood I will be exiting stage right many years before Ben. Ignoring the fact I've had health issues that my dad never had to face and I follow his lead and live a relatively healthly life well into my 80s, Ben will always be twenty five years my junior and have the age advantage. But after a little medical scare we had last week, I realize that Ben could just as easily precede me for any number of stupid reasons. I try not to think about that because I've already buried one partner and don't want to ever have to do that again.

All the more reason to focus on the time we have together now and not worry about what may or may not happen tomorrow.

But in a hypothetical world where I actually have a choice, like Erik said, I'll go with door #3: the Beetlejuice route where Ben and I both go at the same time. (Which pretty much precludes going peacefully during sleep or while under anesthesia.)

3. Have you planned your wake or funeral?

Anything in writing? No, but I have mentioned to friends and family I would like my body to be cremated and the ashes scattered in San Francisco and/or Sabino Canyon, north of Tucson.

4. How do you want your body laid to rest?

See #3 above.

5. What do you think happens to you after you die?

The atheist in my says it's simply "lights out" (like under anesthesia), but there's still a small, irrational part of me who wants to believe that there is something more to us than our physicality—and that somehow continues on in some form after the breathing and brain activity ends—hopefully to return again in some new intelligence. But even if the energy that powered me simply dissipates into the universe, that's fine too.

When going through my cancer treatments (nearly) ten years ago, believe me these themes were on my mind a lot, and I came to the conclusion that since there's no way of knowing for sure, why dwell on it? If you simply blink out when you die, you'll have no awareness of it, and if there's something more it will probably be so far removed from what we've been told to believe that it will be incredible. The only thing I can honestly reject out of hand is the bullshit that's been foisted upon us by organized religion.

Bonus: If you died today but could be frozen and brought back in 100 years, would you?

Oh hell no. Why? Two words: Culture Shock. Can you imagine someone who died in 1900 being brought into the 21st Century?

I Work With Idiots

It seems that every day at work has a different overriding theme. Yesterday it was printers. Today it's passwords. On password days, it's like a cloud of st00pid descends upon this office and everyone simultaneously forgets the same passwords they've been using for the last three months.

First thing this morning I had an email from user #2 telling me user #1 had been locked out of her account because it wasn't accepting her password. I reset the password to our standard default, checked off User must change password at next logon in Active Directory, and emailed the new, temporary password to #2 to pass on to #1 since #1 wasn't answering her phone. Quelle surprise.

User #2 acknowledged the email and told me she'd passed on the information. Two minutes later I get an urgent email from user #1's supervisor telling me that #1 still couldn't get in. I wrote him back, including the new password again in case she there had been some miscommunication.

Five minutes later, I get another email from the supervisor telling me that it didn't work and she had now been here for 90 minutes and unable to do any work, blah blah blah.

At this point, I got up, walked over to user #1 and noticed that she had the temporary password written down on a slip of paper—minus one character.

I looked at her after seeing this. "That's what they both told me it was."

TWO SEPARATE PEOPLE had passed on the password incorrectly, even though in both emails, I had put that password in 16 point, bold type. I pointed this out to her (loud enough that her supervisor could hear it) saying, "It helps if people pass along the correct information."

Naturally, once she typed in the correct password it let her in and prompted her to select a new one. I hung around long enough to make sure she got it changed, and then went back to my desk. I checked the emails I'd sent to verify that I hadn't left out that one character.  Nope, it was there.

Five minutes later I received an email from a different user. "I'm locked out. It's not taking my password."

I work with IDIOTS.