Month: October 2018

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I Call Bullshit

Some thoughts on Social Media, aka "Get off my lawn!"

Sometime back in the Pleistocene (y'know, six, seven years ago) I was on most Social Media, including Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.

Facebook was the first to go. Even before the arrival of the Orange Russian Wig Stand I felt it was devolving into a major political and social boxing ring. I was as guilty of fanning the flames as anyone else, and what finally caused me to step aside, do some self-examination and finally close my account was a comment left on my wall by the cute barista who worked at the Starbucks by our apartment that said, "Why don't you ever post anything positive?"

Facebook was like heroin (or at least what I imagine heroin must be like). I was constantly looking for my next fix, and the withdrawal was just as painful. Zuckerberg knows that. That's why your account isn't immediately closed. He knows there's a better than average chance you'll relapse and come crawling back for your next high.

It was months before I could honestly say I no longer had the urge to click that icon and reopen my account. I breathed a sigh of relief when the thing had finally been deleted.

I'm now in pretty much the same ready-to-quit mood with Twitter as I was with FaceBook. Twitter (at least when I first joined in 2008) used to be fun, but lately it's turned into a feculent vat of toxic hell stew thanks to the 2016 election.

Are there still islands of something nice, something fun? Yeah (check out Myrna Tellingheusen and the other residents of the fictitious Vaca Muerta Estates for a good time), but mostly now it's just two tribes lobbing venomous grenades at each other and an open sewer of nothing but horrific news and outrage.

I've reached the point where I can stand to be on it a couple minutes at most every other day (mostly to catch up with Vaca Muerta and some tech news), but after ten years I'm thinking of shuttering my online presence there as well.

The only remaining social media that I still enjoy and spend way too much time on is Instagram. Maybe it's because I fancy myself an adequately artistic photographer or perhaps it's just because I'm a visual person. Either way, I still enjoy the platform. Yes, even it is getting politicized to a degree, although at the moment its remaining fairly civil. (Where do you think I find the anti-trump memes, anyway?)

But what's annoying me about Instagram is how it's spawned a whole new generation of people who fancy themselves famous for simply being on the platform. "Instagram Models" is apparently a new profession. Along with "influencers." Influencers of what? Do you think because you're 20 years old, have six-pack abs and judging from your photos—apparently can't get your hands on a single shirt anywhere in the world you go—you're are going to influence…what, exactly? What are you influencing beyond furthering  the rampant narcissism that's consuming our culture? Do you really think people are going to buy the same brand of jockstrap you're wearing because you're posing on a beach in Mykonos?

Someone brought this up the other day by not-so-ironically posting on Instagram, "Public Figure: two words guaranteed to get you removed from my followers. Who decides that they're a public figure, and why? Sorry, take your self importance somewhere else."

I responded, "Add to that  "influencer" along with "Instagram Model," aka I don't have a real job but I'm (at least temporarily) pretty and whore myself out to rich sugar daddies just enough to travel the world and take (primarily shirtless) selfies."

But do I follow these men and enjoy looking at their shirtless selfies? Of course I do. They're pretty. And as long as I can ignore their self-importance I can enjoy that. Do they influence me? Not one whit. Am I being shallow? Possibly, if not probably. As I joke, "My Instagram feed consists of bears, vinyl collectors, drag queens, d-list celebrities, and men who don't seem to own a single shirt among the lot of them."

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I Approve Of This Message

For those of you who have been living under a rock (or simply aren't fans—WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE?!) the eleventh season of the "rebooted" Doctor Who had its worldwide premiere yesterday with a new Doctor and a new show runner. I was excited for these changes before I saw last night's premier, and I'm even more excited now having seen this first episode.

In the interest of transparency, I'm completely unfamiliar with Ms. Whittaker's previous work, so I don't know if what we saw last night was her normal acting persona or if she'd been studying David Tenant's Doctor intensely after landing the role. But OMG…the facial expressions, the vocal inflections…she's at least initially coming off as a female Tenant, and I'm okay with that because—as Ben pointed out—we need a fun, joyful Doctor again.

I immediately came to care about these characters, and while in seasons past it's taken me quite a while to warm up to new Doctors, this time I was all in from the get go! She's—as they say across the pond—brilliant!

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It's Kind of Sobering

It's kind of sobering to realize that most—if not all—of the adults I knew as a child (including some beloved teachers) are probably now dead.

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I Hate To Sound So Pessimistic…

…but after the Kavanaugh shit show last week, and the fact that the pussy grabber in the White House actually managed to pull off getting that other  pussy grabber appointed to the Supreme Court, I have very little hope for the future of this country.

Women, be afraid. Be very afraid.

POC, be afraid. Be very afraid.

GLBT, be afraid. Be very afraid.

Muslims, be afraid. Be very afraid.

In fact, if you're not a rich, white, heterosexual "christian" male, you should probably be looking over your shoulder as well, because they will eventually come for you too. We've seen this story play out countless times in the history of our world, and it never ends well.

My question is who will "save" us? Will we be speaking Russian or Chinese when The United States takes its dying breath and the dust settles?

I seriously would like to know what the Orange Wigstand's response would be if Russian troops landed on the west coast.

I think we all know.

While the number of people who hate Shitler's guts far outweigh the number of knuckle-draggers in his base, I fear the so called "Blue Wave" expected in November is never going to materialize. Please prove me wrong. Between general voter apathy, the knat-like attention span of the population (the Kavanaugh crap show will be an entire month in the past by the time Election Day rolls around), Republican gerrymandering/voter suppression/dirty tricks and expected-yet-undefended-from Russian interference next month, if the Democrats do make gains, they still won't be substantial enough to flip the balance of power in Washington.  And at that point WE. ARE. FUCKED.

Please, please, please…women, LGBT, people of color, and the vast majority of whites who are patriotic and care for this country, get off your asses and vote. This may be your last opportunity.  I'm not being hyperbolic here; our country is sliding into fascism much the same way Germany did in the 30s, and apparently a sizable portion of the population is okay with that. There's a small, angry mob of white-hooded nationalists and tiki-torch sympathizers who have decided that all their woes are because of the "other," and the Shitgibbon (who they're too stupid to realize doesn't give a fuck about them other than they're useful tools who fawn over him, stroking his narcissistic sociopathy) view him as their holy savior. It seems that now the main goal of republicans is not to actually govern or reach compromise; their singular focus has become "owning the libs," even if it means burning everything this country was founded on to the ground.

With Twitler today spewing garbage that is a hair's breadth away from labeling Democrats Enemy of the People, I have very little hope that we are in for anything other than VERY dark times ahead. Mexican kids in cages? You ain't seen nothing yet—especially if you're not a rich, white, heterosexual "christian" male.

Fleeing the country is not an option for Ben and I or the vast majority of our friends, and I'm sure that when the shit really hits the fan, our borders will be closed tighter than Melania's coach. (Has anyone considered that Agent Orange's border wall is more to keep us in than to keep anyone else out?)

So please, if you care one whit about this country, if you're not ready for "Trump Youth" or jackbooted thugs marching in formation down your city streets—or simply about staying alive and not ending up in a camp—get off your ass and vote November 6th because you know the Shitgibbon' s minions will.

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A Man Buys a Robot Lie Detector…

A man buys a robot lie detector that slaps people when they lie. He decided to test it out at dinner one night.

The man asks his son what he did that afternoon. The son replies, I just did some homework." The robot slaps the son. The son then says, "Okay, okay….I was at my friend's house watching a movie."

The man asks, "What movie were you watching?" The son replies, "Finding Nemo." The robot slaps the son again. He then says, "Okay, okay…we were watching porn."

The man says, "What? At your age I didn't know what porn was!" 

The robot slaps the man.

The man's wife laughs and says, "Wow. He certainly is your son."

The robot then slaps the mother.

I thought long and hard (no pun intended!) about posting this because while it has nothing to do with rape,  it seems the heightened awareness of sexual assault thanks to the Orange Shitgibbon and his Supreme Court nominee is making anything related to sex a veritable minefield.

What do you think? Is the shelf-life of sex jokes rapidly approaching their sell-by date?

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Confessions of a Proud Beta Male

Again, from John Pavlovitz:

A Trump supporter just called me a "Beta Male."

I was on social media, expressing my respect for survivors of sexual assault, in the wake of the President's vile and reprehensible public ridiculing of Christine Blasey Ford—and he dropped (based on his commentary following) what he thought was some leg sweep, knockout punch, mic drop, designed to leave me in a quivering mass on the floor.

Apparently I was supposed to be insulted.
I wasn't it.
I felt complimented.
I felt validated.
I realized I'm on the right track.

"Beta Male," seems to be a Trump fan's word for a man with decency, self-control, and compassion; someone a woman wouldn't need to fear being around when alone or vulnerable.

It's the label they slap on any man who is sickened by the misogyny on display in this Administration, who pushes back against the cultivating of a lowest-common-denominator expression of toxic masculinity, who rejects the idea that dehumanizing a woman and talking about grabbing her by the genitalia, is something decent men do.

Based on my observations, in the minds of these folks, Beta Males:

are capable of deep empathy for people who are suffering.
yield to a woman's consent regarding her body and her needs.
are burdened to be sources of gentleness and restraint and kindness.
don't need to display physical dominance in order to feel validated.
aren't a physical or emotional danger to women around them.

Sign me up.

With what we're seeing unfold right now in America, the last thing we need are more men like this President and the men who emulate him; perpetually insecure man-children who've never been able to find a fully formed understanding of what it means to be a gentleman and human being. We don't need anymore knuckle-dragging cavemen who are terrified of strong women and intimidated by sexuality and orientation that doesn't fit their brittle Old Testament sensibilities.

I want my son to be a Beta Male. I want him to be a safe place for the women around him. I want him to respect their humanity and honor their wishes and see them is equal. I want him to see in his father, someone who is secure enough in who he is, not to need to damage someone else to prove his worth.

I want my daughter to be surrounded by these Beta Males; men who value her enough to let her decide what happens to her body, who see her as more than a tool for their self-gratification, who are not intimidated by her strength or intellect or accomplishments, who don't leveraging religion or guilt or fear to coerce women into anything.

If Donald Trump is an Alpha Male, if Lindsey Graham is an Alpha Male, if Brett Kavanaugh is an Alpha Male—count me out. That's not exactly a mark I'm interested in attaining. I'd rather sleep at night knowing that I've left this world more compassionate and loving than I found it.

If being an "Alpha Male" is what this Administration is cultivating, employing, and perpetuating—I'll gladly be a Beta Male.

I think that just means I'm being human.

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Visiting The Ghost

As I posted a week or so ago, after spotting the house on Zillow where I lived during high school and until I moved out on my own in 1980, my sister and I resolved to pay a visit to the old place to see it in person since we figured it would probably be our last opportunity to ever do it.

So this past Monday morning we headed over, made the arrangements to get it unlocked (ah, the wonders of technology), and figuratively stepped back in time 46 years.

As I wrote previously, naturally there had been many changes—and I can now report that really none of them were for the better. We joked it would take $50-75K just to get the place (including the rear/side yard wasteland) back to what it was when we lived there. The only real positive improvement I saw was the fact that at some point they'd removed all the popcorn ceilings…

But despite all the years and the numerous families who have passed through those walls, the energy of the place was still the same as I remember it. It felt calm. It felt safe.

The house seemed neither larger or smaller than I remembered. The infamous ghost chose not to acknowledge our presence; perhaps it had no interest, had been exorcised, or had simply moved on.

Naturally we took lots of photos, but none worth posting that really show anything more than what I'd put up previously from the listing itself, save this:

2018
1978

Same location, just a little closer in this time…

And this, the obligatory in-my-old-bathroom selfie: