The nerve and/or common sense of people waxes and wanes like the seasons. Still, an open statement by a newly elected government official in Kentucky implying a business owner has the right to refuse service to a black person are troubling to me.
Why? I mean, really: Kentucky? Figures, right?
One, the sentence is basically true. I did not say it is legal, nor do I mean it was right and just, nor do I imply it is acceptable. It is simply true, in the human scheme of things, and specifically when uttered from a brainless hillbilly teabagger like Rand Paul.
Two, it's a bit like Lars Vilks and his brilliant move to prove the basic human right of free speech by painting Mohammed's head on a dog. He got slapped around by a few Muslims last week for it, inevitably. He was perfectly free to do what he did, and the result, I would say, was a rather robust act of free speech in rebuttal. I think maybe drawing Mohammed is fine. Drawing Mohammed as a dog and flaunting it is a crude and stupid bitch slap, intended to inflame the non-issue of free speech, which is only free in both directions. See here.
Three, take both of the above and call it what it is: baiting, thinly veiled as a political mating call. What, you're telling me the comment needed to be made? Why? We did not understand it? We need to know it? Was it educational at all? Did he seek to show us all the way of truth?
Nah. It was a moment of loud-mouthed political imbecility, more and more common of late, wrapped in a tea-stained flag and spat out offhandedly by a cheesy, well-used politician who needs a platform and, by God, will make one out of something noisy for expediency. Never mind I remain convinced that he believes every word he said.
This is in contrast to that brainless poop-licker John Boehner, who a while back was paid well enough by the healthcare lobby to actually state in public that American healthcare is the best in the world and needs no change, despite obvious facts to the contrary. That's just good old politics, and my using Boehner as an example was a simple-minded act on my part: one can only assume our current president is deeply funded enough by BP to sweep their recent oily assholery under the White House rug.
This thing is different. This is an old Southern precept, reforged again as a firm and solid stance, fueled by ignorance and hate and blind stupidity and a political machine driven most recently by the dollars spent by a goddamn Australian national who needs to protect his American tax write-offs and assets through media manipulation. Just sayin'.
Paul needed a result, and he'll get one soon enough. And when it raises it's awful head it'll show itself in many ways, including outrage and indignation from all quarters, and probably some vicious senselessness, like the comment itself. And when that happens Rand Paul will hitch up his putrid little redneck self and shriek in indignation “see? I told you they were animals!” It'll get tossed about on one side: Beck and Hannity and O'Reilley will call it much ado; on the other side, Olbermann will pop a blood vessel during his diatribe and Maddow will simply do what she does (which is always a wonder to behold, to me) and then it'll become yesterday's old story. Yet the nail will still have been driven into the word “freedom” far enough to prove, yet again, that nailing a word to a wall means you can charge admission and call it what you want, and someone will buy a ticket to see. What they see is a greasy little Kentucky fuckhead, spewing the same asinine hate we've all heard of, but never grows old for some.
I need to stick to the simpler things in life. Here's Prudies latest batch of imbeciles. Read the letters here.
Stuck Mother – Oi vey, woman, You mentioned you're “a young mother”, but this? Really? Recap: You are remarried, first husband is a sex offender, new hubby seems of good stock and wants to adopt your son – the progeny of the sex offender, who incidentally wants back in the boy's life.
Yeah, yeah; I understand that there are all kinds of really creepy, shitty things orbiting this little story, but there are too many black and white things that should (but apparently didn't) simplify this matter for you. Allow me.
Thing one: you are your child's mother. Do you get that? This child is yours to do with as you please, literally. From the tone of your letter I have to assume you don't want to do abusive things, which is heartening, but why the fuck are you even asking about this? You have one job – and only one job – to do, as relates to this child, and that is to be his mother. That includes feeding, caring, nurturing; all manner of subtasks that mothers sometimes understand innately. Sometimes they don't. Sounds like you are in the latter category about your status and role. Glad I could clear it up, genius.
Thing two: this deck of cards may or may not have been dealt without your permission, input, or your bet on the table. Having said that you better suck it the hell up, because these are the still the goddamn cards. Your son will have some things to learn someday, get it? If you can't look him in the eye and tell him (Now, later – your call) truthfully and straight-up, then you really suck ass as a mother, and should surrender him.
In short: the real dad needs to be told to fuck himself (if that's your choice) and the boy needs to be adopted (if that's your choice) and you need to grow the fuck up meantime. The consequences of your actions today do not trump the shitty situation, but today your responsibility as a mother trumps everything, no matter what anyone says.
Note: you don't sound like you completely lack instincts here. Listen to them and start trusting them some day soon. He'll grow up with or without your instincts present.
Not Happy About It – Did I write this letter in my sleep and send it to Slate? Recap: you can't find a job and it bothers you when recruiters notice this fact.
Really? Gosh. How...unusual. Not.
I went jobless 18 months. It bothered the shit out of me the whole time. When I finally realized I'd better just get some money in the bank and turn my back on a 17 year career, it was both liberating and humiliating. Turns out I needed the former as much as I needed the latter.
Let me tell you about recruiters for a moment: you are not a flesh and blood human being with skills and feelings and a strong will and desire to achieve greatness. You are a limp tool they use mercilessly to make their money. You bill for hours, they get paid. You are the whore, they are the pimp. You please the client, they keep you, and everyone continues to make money.
There is no argument about what you are. You are just haggling over the price, Xaviera.
In the end, you are about as valuable to a recruiter and the hiring company as a filing cabinet, a desk, a wastepaper basket.
Fuck the recruiter, and fuck what they think, and besides, how hard is it to say “this market has been particularly hard on me for some reason”?
Here's my little story, which might seem similar yours: One day I was the co-owner of a lovely and robust consulting startup making $300K a year; some crazy religious zealots flew some big airplanes into some big buildings in New York and 18 months later I finally got a job selling computers at Circuit City for seven bucks an hour. In the interim, $65,000 worth of cars were repossessed, and I found myself driving a 9 year old Windstar my mother bought for me. I owned a pretty pink stucco home in Southern California which I had to dump at a loss to avoid foreclosing, then I was living at my folks house with my 4 kids, then we stayed at my sister's house, then we rented a double wide after I started at CC.
Everything was gone, including my dignity.
Slow and steady. Eventually I got my career rebuilt, and though things are tight in this market we're holding our own while my wife finishes school.
Just go make money, now. Get some time under your belt. You don't need to put McDonald's or Best Buy or whatever on your resume later. When people ask about that employment gap in your resume tell them “I was doing some interesting post-education study, like a sabbatical” but putting “fry cook at Hardee's” on the rez is just stupid.
Get out there and put a little money in the bank, even if it's ten bucks an hour setting tile. Note: get knee pads and good boots if you do the tile thing. I still have scars on my palms and knees from it.
You don't need to take over the world today. You can do that later.
And for God's sake don't stop looking for the right gig, and don't give up. Your attitude will be whatever it is – just move forward and use the recruiters to your advantage, as they do to you.
Almost Fed Up – I know EXACTLY what you're saying! Recap: your daughter is being screwed out of her rightful place as sole salutatorian because some little brainless tramp pulled a good grade in some remedial course. Schools these days pull this shit all the time, giving credit to stupid children while the brighter (and MUCH harder-working) ones are lumped into the same level as the lazy, lower class kids. Oh, and there's a boy there too who was made co-valedictorian even though he...
Huh? Oh. This isn't your daughter. It's your sister in law. Ah. I see.
Lemme circle back: I know EXACLTY what you're saying! You are a shit-picking nagging twat-headed intrusive manipulative snot, and there's an injustice afoot that has nothing to do with you, and you feel compelled to snuff it out in order to achieve a sense of smug self superiority over members of your family who you find unsavory. I should mention that you probably have a history of doing this sort of thing.
My advice: you don't need anyone's advice, do you? You have probably already fired a few salvos of snippy invective at your mother in law, and there will be no stopping you. Fuck advice: off you go. Tear them apart. I mean, they're only family. Make the world better, Supergirl. Show us all, by example.
To anyone reading this: aren't you glad this fucking bitch isn't in your family? Some example, huh?
Not Willing To Share – This is the funniest letter I have read in quite a while. Here goes: your boyfriend thinks it's okay to share a hotel room with an old friend – a woman – while out of town, and you don't. Somewhere in there I thought I read “I trust them both,” but I was laughing so hard by that time I might be wrong.
First – this room-sharing thing is neither right nor wrong. Seriously. He shares the room, he doesn't – who cares? How can there be any question about this?
(Ah, lemme tell you.)
Second – you trust them both. This is good news.
Third – You said “I do feel a little guilty asking the friend, who was recently laid off, to get her own room, but I am not running a charity.” What, you're paying for the room? You have a control issue here, bred of jealousy I think, but that's STILL not the point.
(The point is...)
Fourth – this issue is only an issue because you have no idea what he's thinking, nor he what you're thinking. This is likely because you and he are entirely too young and too stupid to have a fucking clue what is right or wrong in this case, four years together be damned. You still don't know him well enough to trust him. If you knew each other at all, this would never have come up.
Finally – I won't make any comment on this sentence: “He has made plans to meet up with a female college friend who lives in that area.” Wait. Yes I will: if she lives in the area, why does she need a hotel room? Ah, no matter. You trust her, right? Just let it happen. Really.
A weekend in the woods with my wife, gallons of beer and adequate fishing gear and good food in attendance, was just the right thing. Didn't want to come home. Sorry I did, actually.
But only a dreary job and a couple spins of the hour hand and the weekend is upon me, with lawns to be mowed and kids to play with and preparations for the Indy 500. Funny - I won't watch the race being help not more than 8 miles from my home at Lowes Motor Speedway, as I gave up watching the endless circles of NASCAR when I was about 15, but the Indy 500 (itself endless circles, yes, I know) pops up and I get all excited. More beer, home made salsa fresca, wings. The race isn't until the following weekend, but preparations are in order.
Until next time, Flysters!