misshepeshu: (hitler says wtf)
I've been craving muffins but lacking the energy and initiative to make my own, so I decided to buy a six-pack from Trader Joe's, because while not as good as home-made, it lacks most of the gross stuff normally packed into store-bought muffins, like mono- and diglycerides, mold inhibiting chemicals, etc. This morning, as I grabbed one from the pack to bring to school, I noticed that the label said "Mini-Muffins."

These are not mini-muffins. These are the size muffins I would make when I bake, and there's nothing "mini" about them. These muffins, by my estimation, probably contain somewhere in the area of 300 calories. There's nothing "mini" about that, either; that's just over 1/4 of my ideal daily caloric intake. These muffins are "mini" only when compared to the monstrosities from Costco, which clock in between 610 and 690 calories.

It astonishes me how we're continually desensitized when it comes to serving size, because food manufacturers want to push more on us. The larger size catches our eye and fools us into thinking we're getting a better value, and the bump in ingredient cost is minimal compared to the cost of everything else. And because we don't bother to divvy our muffins into halves (the Costco muffins should be cut into thirds or quarters if we want to go for anything resembling a reasonable serving size), we end up eating the whole damn thing, or tossing the leftovers.

Anyway. Mini-muffins, my ass. The fact that they're called "mini" is kind of obscene.

Prop. 8

Nov. 5th, 2008 09:11 am
misshepeshu: (DIEINAFIRE!)
I have any number of things I've been meaning to write about for the last couple of weeks, but finding out that Proposition 8 passed in California is making me angry to the extent that I can feel a small nugget of rage constantly tickling the back of my head.

I can't even write anything that's more coherent than that, not right now. I'm just MAD.

In good news: Holy shitballs, President Obama. This is amazing.

But that tickling feeling? Not going away.
misshepeshu: (DIEINAFIRE!)
This is probably old news to some of you, but I'd only recently caught wind of the text for the proposed legislation to authorize the Treasury to bail out the various concerns that spontaneously imploded last week (and by "spontaneously," I mean "we've been expecting this shitstorm since last year"), to the tune of $700 billion.

But the best part of this shit fiesta is the shit frosting that's topping a veritable masterpiece of shit-cakery: Section 8 of the proposed act, entitled, with an admirable brevity, "Review."

Sec. 8. Review.

Decisions by the Secretary pursuant to the authority of this Act are non-reviewable and committed to agency discretion, and may not be reviewed by any court of law or any administrative agency.


Wow. That's not just balls. That's...that's, like, swingin' around a hairy pair the size of a 5-mile asteroid and using them to smack the living crap out of the taxpayers in the face before dive-bombing from a great height and creating a crater the size of a small country off the coast of New York.

(Yes, I know the analogy is terrible. Just...go with it, OK? I'm kind of too infuriated to make my stupid analogies less stupid right now. The other analogy that came to mind involved Paulson taking a red crayon to the Constitution, crossing out all of Articles I and III and writing "SPRING BREAK WOO!" all over them before streaking across the quad.)

(And THEN smacking everybody across the face with his 5-mile-wide balls.)

Coincidentally, we're covering judicial review of agency actions and regulations right now in Administrative Law, and this definitely makes me a lot more interested in my readings.

I'm deriving comfort from the fact that Congress has reacted with a collective "DUDE YOU'RE SHITTING US RIGHT" and "NO YOU CAN'T HAS BAILOUT NOT YOURS." Oregon's very own Peter DeFazio, bless his heart, kind of exploded all over this proposed legislation, and it's great to watch.



I love the quiet venom in his voice as he intones "It's about $1 billion a word." Made me want to run up to him and plant a big juicy smooch on his cheek, Bugs Bunny-style.
misshepeshu: (hitler says wtf)
On my way back from the airport tonight, I saw a billboard off of Holgate featuring a close-up of a skateboarder that said "Portland CityFest 08 with Luis Palau", followed by the names of a bunch of bands that I didn't know. Like, even remotely.

Pretty much for that latter reason alone, I said to myself "Bet it's a Christian music festival." Not that my music knowledge is comprehensive or encyclopedic, but I know the big names for pretty much every sub-genre well enough that I'd be able recognize what flavor of festival it'd be from the headlining names. My complete lack of familiarity meant it was one of the very few sub-genres I don't know at all, which pretty much left Christian music and polka.

So after I came home, I looked up Portland CityFest website, and tried to determine if it was, in fact, a big ole Christian music fest.

And I couldn't find out shit about shit. Look through the different pages for CityFest. Look up the bio on Luis Palau as written up on that site. The only thing that might clue you in to the fact that this guy is an evangelical Christian who's all tight with Billy Graham would be the phrase "good news," which, if you've grown up in heavily Christian communities, is a coded phrase for "thar be much Jesus preachin' ahead, aye."

For some reason, this deliberate downplaying--no, HIDING--of what CityFest is and what Palau does pisses me off. Dude, feel free to throw yourselves a Christian music festival. Have a freakin' ball. But don't be drawing in people with promises of free music and X-Games style exhibitions without letting 'em know what the fuck they're in for. I hate being preached to. HATE. IT. And I know that if I'd wandered into this festival and found myself being bombarded about how Jesus died for my sins from a freakin' stage when I'm least expecting it, I would seriously want to punch a bitch.

I have a lot more respect for people who are up front about their Christianity and their urge to convert me from my heathen ways. I can at least refuse their offers, engage them in a debate or hold up silly signs that make fun of their silly signs, depending on the context. And I can't imagine WHY this festival is veiled so heavily behind all this blandly coded talk other than to pass as something it's not so that it'll attract non-Christians, making it easier to ambush poor non-believer bastards who just want to see some dude do a 540 on his skateboard and clog their arteries with fair food. This feels like a sneak attack--the SURPRISE BUTTSECKS of evangelism, if you will. "Sorry, honey, I had absolutely no idea that was the back door. No, really. So very sorry. Won't happen again. But hey, now that I'm in here, can I just tell you about how the son of God was made flesh 2000 years ago...."
misshepeshu: (Kitten claws)
This entry could be subtitled: "In Which Candy's Implicit Gender Biases Are Laid Bare."

So [livejournal.com profile] benefitz has worked up a decent lather about Vanessa Mae, who is by turns a brilliant violinist and one of the most appalling defecator-on-things-I-hold-sacred. I'm in a bit of a lather about her, too, and I was trying to figure out why I react to her so strongly and so negatively. There are many components to it, but this bit in the standard biography blurb that appears on all her music pages sums up a good chunk of what bothers me so much about her and what she's done to classical music: "Bringing commercial sensuality to the often sterile world of classical music, Vanessa-Mae moved from a classical recording career into the field of popular music with her 1994 breakout album, The Violin Player."

Commercial sensuality.

Never have two words made me want to shit kittens more. It brings forth images of airbrushed Maxim models, fake tits on Playboy bunnies and simulated orgasmic expressions on cheap beer commercials. Whatever our world lacks, it's not commercial sensuality. And bringing it into the world of classical music doesn't just feel wrong, it feels like a desecration.

First of all, I object to the characterization of classical music as sterile. Listen to Artur Rubinstein playing the Rach 2, or János Starker's heartbreaking interpretation of Bach's Cello Suites, or Murray Perahia making the Goldberg Variations ripple with life and tenderness and vivacity, or Vladimir Horowitz making a Chopin étude his bitch, or Nigel Kennedy turning Vivaldi into cantering horses and cracking ice and spring screaming and fucking and bursting into full bloom, and tell me that stuff is sterile--just try. Classical music is sterile only if you're not making an effort, if you're not listening with an open mind and an open ear. Music is sex. Music is life. No music is sterile (though Autechre and Kraftwerk make efforts to that end sometimes).

What I love so much about classical music is how the sex is underplayed, buried underneath layers of petticoats and corsets and chemises and stockings and endless pieces of structure--just as I love soul and funk for laying that sex bare, for giving us those dirty beats and sexual lyrics with only the thinnest of veneers separating us from the hot hot fizznuckin'. So when some tarted-up girl arrives on the scene and fakes an orgasm for us while playing the violin on a cheap pop video--and I mean it's not even a good fake orgasm, is the thing, it's a BAD fake orgasm, it's the kind of fake orgasm you'd see in videos with titles like "Barely Legal XXIII: This Time, It's Not Barely Legal XXII"--and she's suddenly hailed as some sort of wunderkind who has revitalized the music so it's now better than before? That makes me mad. ("No, Mungo!" "AUUUUUUGH, THE WAR WOUND.")

And I wouldn't be nearly so angry and repulsed if it weren't for two things:

1. Vanessa Mae's fusions are, without exception, mind-bogglingly horrible. She doesn't even have the decency to arrange them in a pleasing, thoughtful manner; she slaps on a crappy, thumpy techno beat with too much midtone and no variation, and then dials up the horror to 11 by adding elements like electric guitar stylings straight from Buttrocksville, 1987. I'd have more respect for it if it showed more thoughtfulness, inventiveness or aesthetic sense, but to my ear, it doesn't.

2. The blatancy of the sexualization bothers me deeply. Classical music certainly isn't immune to hot people in flattering outfits; as Ben pointed out, lots of opera singers wear revealing clothing, and there are all sorts of comely violin players whose good looks probably haven't hurt their career any. But Mae veers sharply into a sort of jiggly T&A I already find deeply irritating in pop music; to see it encroach on classical music, where it's certainly not the norm (I am really, really, REALLY not interested in seeing, say, Arcadi Volodos shiver and moan his way through the Rach 3 while wearing nothing but vinyl hotpants and sequinned pasties), makes me hop up and down like the angry little monkey I am.

I feel like it's a betrayal by Mae in two ways: as a classical musician, and (this is where all sorts of weird implicit bias crap starts swarming out of me, kind of like ants after you poke at an anthill) as a woman.

I'm a good little third-wave feminist, and hey, if she wants to present herself in a way I find kind of tawdry and hilarious, then go for it--it's her choice, her body, her life. At the same time, though, I resent that she's so successful at it, and I hate the fact that her main schtick (hot Thai/Chinese babe plays the violin while skimpily clad!) has made her a household name in many parts of the world, whereas I didn't even know who Jascha Heifetz was until ten months ago.

I really don't like how beauty takes over and eclipses everything else when a female celebrity is involved. A female entertainer's value is inextricably tied to her beauty and youth; we're much less forgiving of women than men. And I think I feel that in some ways, classical music (with the exception of opera) insulated people from it. Not to say that classical music isn't deeply sexist--it is. How many female composers do you know off the top of your head? Or female virtuosi? Nonetheless, I only have the vaguest idea of what many of my favorite performers and composers look like, male or female. I could pass Martha Argerich or Nigel Kennedy on the street and not know it, and I really enjoy that aspect of my love and appreciation of classical music. Classical music is more purely about the music for me, and I resent the way Mae's body has been blatantly used to sell it. That she's happily doing this makes if feel like a betrayal to her gender--she's dragging her body into an arena where, if not necessarily free from the baggage of beauty, at least had more of a level playing field in that one regard. The homely nerd can--and regularly does--become the revered genius.

Or was it all an illusion to begin with? I don't know. It's late, and I'm cranky.
misshepeshu: (words of wisdom from eric)
So I got into a conversation with my co-workers today about the killings at Virginia Tech, and they hit allllll my sore points.

"Violent music did it!"

"No, the violent video games did it!"

"Also, violent TV and movies!"

"And did you see those creepy plays he wrote?"

Gaaaah.

Look, if we want to use creation, consumption and enjoyment of violent media as any sort of reliable measure of mental health, I should be a raving, gun-toting lunatic by now, instead of a reasonably bright girl with very strong non-violent convictions and zero desire to ever possess a gun.

I tried to explain that violent stories and killing have been part of our culture for a long, long time. Fairy tales are often incredibly disturbing (that is, before we started sanitizing them so they were safe for the kids--and don't even get me started on the whole "think of the children" issue), and if you want to talk violent and fucked-up, let's peruse some Greek and Sumerian mythology, mmmkay? Violent preoccupations are nothing new; if it's not one thing, it's another. Back in the day, children and teenagers helped their families hunt and butcher animals, got into fights and played violent games with their friends and siblings.

I hate this species of nostalgia with a passion, this idealization of Ye Olde Tymes as being somehow better and gentler and kinder. Hate. Like, a layer cake of hate, with buttercream hate frosting in between. With every generation, it's a song that never changes, but that is replayed as if it's a fresh, innovative refrain. Waltzing will rip asunder the very fabric of society! Skirts that display women's legs will destroy civilization as we know it! No, jazz music will! No, make that rock and roll! No, make that Catcher in the Rye! No, it's those goddamn hippies! No, that awful rap music will destroy society for sure! No, it's those video games with red pixels that look like real blood if you kind of tilt your head and unfocus your eyes! No, bad industrial music played by people in even worse make-up will do it!

The lack of acknowledgement that these murderers are statistical outliers bothers me deeply. Millions upon millions of people read and write violent stories, listen to violent music, play violent video games, watch and love violent movies. Only a fraction of a fraction of these people are broken in dangerous ways.

How about this: I'm willing to bet that every mass murderer ever convicted ate rice and/or wheat on a regular basis all their lives. I'm seeing a dangerous pattern here. We need to stop this grain consumption now. Clearly, some dangerous substance in rice and wheat is responsible for the murderous urges. Let them eat quinoa! I mean, how many mass murderers ate quinoa on a regular basis, right? I rest my case.

Okay, spelt might be fine, too. However, I'm not sure about barley or corn. I'm pretty sure every mass murderer has consumed fairly significant amounts of both.

The biggest difference between Now and Then, near as I can tell, is that people who are determined to kill now have better firepower at their disposal and greater population densities to work with. It's easier for a single person to kill a whole lot of people in a very short time than it used to be.

At least nobody here has had the stupidity to bring up the South Korean issue--not around me, at any rate. It absolutely astounds me that people in any way think it's significant enough to comment on, other than as a piece of demographic information. Cho was South Korean. So what? He was also male, 23 years old, heterosexual, unmarried, and a college student. The fact that South Korean officials have apologized for Cho's actions makes me sadder than I can say, because they have nothing to apologize for.
misshepeshu: (Kitten claws)
I'm a regular Mary motherfucking Sunshine today. The Supreme Court has upheld the law banning intact dilation and evacuation (otherwise known as partial-birth abortion, a term I hate hate hate--almost as much as I hate the term "pro-life").

What can we do? Not too much, unfortunately. But the fight isn't over yet. Here are people to whom you can shuffle some cash, should you feel inclined:

Planned Parenthood

NARAL Pro-Choice

Feel free to write your Senators and House Representatives, too, and let them have a piece of your mind. There's a certain "closing the barn door after the horses have bolted" air to it, but it can't hurt.

And then there's voting. I can't vote--yet--so y'all will have to do it for me. Let's see a slightly less fucked administration come into power in 2008, eh? (Oh, hey, that's setting the bar high! "Less fucked than the Bush administration, please!" HahahahaCRY.)

Sarah and I were talking today about what would make us throw our hands and give up on America. Given recent events, our moods are, shall we say, pretty goddamn dire. We both agreed that a Constitutional amendment banning gay marriage would do it it, for sure, but swear to God, if they repeal Roe v. Wade in my lifetime, I'm going to see if Canada wants a tiny, foul-mouthed Chinese Malaysian with a law degree.

Awfulness

Nov. 2nd, 2006 05:32 pm
misshepeshu: (Blackbeard)
The Court of Special Appeals of Maryland recently made a decision regarding Maouloud Baby v. State of Maryland, wherein they said "Once you say yes to sex, he's in--no changing your minds, you filthy harlots." Which is fucked up in any number of ways, but once you read the details of what happened, the What the Fucking Fuck quotient rises pretty dramatically. To wit:

Gory details under the cut, in case you don't want to read 'em. )

Under current Maryland law, once consent is given for sexual intercourse and intercourse has begun, it cannot be withdrawn, so if somebody manages to coerce a "yes" from the victim, they're pretty-much scot-free in terms of rape charges (however, if I'm not mistaken, they may still be charged for sexual assault). It doesn't matter if, say, you find out during the act that the guy has an STD, or that it really, really hurts, or you've discovered he's not using a rubber, or any of that. No number of nos can reverse that initial yes.

I don't have any words right now to describe how disgusted I feel, though the word "stab" features quite prominently in my mind.
misshepeshu: (DIEINAFIRE!)
Y'all are familiar with the various instances of pharmacists refusing to fill patients' prescriptions of the morning after pill and birth control pills, right? Some pharmacists even went as far as to refuse to transfer the prescription.

A while back, on the Heated Debate tribe in Tribe.net, we debated this issue. Was a pharmacist obligated to provide a prescribed medication to a person, even if it ran counter to their moral beliefs?

A relatively large number of people thought it was no big deal, and that the pharmacist shouldn't have to fill the scrip. This appalled me on several levels, and I couldn't help but think that people's laissez-faire attitude towards this was largely informed by the type of medication being dispensed. Hey, it's just birth control pills, right? Just a buncha harlots wanting to fuck without paying the consequences.

To which I say: well, yeah, and that's the harlot's business, and none of the pharmacist's. But that's ignoring all the other conditions for which the birth control pill is prescribed. I was on BC for many years because of oligomenorrhea, for example--I wouldn't get my period for a year or two, and then when it arrived, I'd bleed for a month, sometimes two. Not fun. A friend of mine was prescribed the pill because it helped with her debilitating menstrual cramps, and missing a dose made her ill, so getting her prescription filled on time was definitely an issue.

But aside from that, allowing conscientious objection presented real problems to people in small towns with only one pharmacy. If the one pharmacy refused to fill the scrip, people would sometimes be forced to travel long distances to get it filled, and sometimes, health conditions, work schedules and/or lack of funds made this sort of travel impractical, so the prescription would be filled late, if at all.

In short, allowing pharmacists to refuse to fill prescriptions was basically taking the personal health decisions out of the patients' (and the doctors') hands and putting them more-or-less squarely in the pharmacist's. And hell, most of the time, we're not even necessarily talking about health--we're talking moral objections, here. By giving the pharmacists the freedom to choose which medications to dispense and which ones not to, the patient's ability to make healthcare decisions are infringed upon.

(I also personally think that any pharmacists stupid enough to seriously believe that birth control and Plan B are abortifacients deserve to have their licenses yanked, because goddamn, what kind of crappy biology and biochemistry classes did they take?)

I also think this policy sets incredibly bad precedent. What if it weren't birth control at stake? Let's say there's a health nut pharmacist, and one day an overweight guy walks up to the counter to fill a prescription for, say, cholestrol-lowering medication. The pharmacist could, conceivably, offer a moral objection to this: clearly, if this man exercised more and ate a reasonable quantity of healthy food, he wouldn't need these medications. That he would have such an easy out was repugnant to the pharmacist; if he wanted to eat his own weight in Twinkies, then by God he should have to pay the consequences. No Lipitor for you, one year!

My example was pshawed as an example of slippery slope reasoning.

Then today, I read about a pharmacist who refused to fill somebody's post-surgery Vicodin prescription, subtituting it instead with a medication containing codeine which, surprise surprise, the patient was allergic to. Luckily, the patient spotted the codeine and sent it back with an explanation, but the pharmacy still refused to dispense the Vicodin until they heard from her doctor and confirmed her codeine allergy. Unfortunately, by the time the whole rigamarole was played out, the doctor's office was closed, and the woman had to make do with aspirin the whole night.

I don't think my slope was all that slippery after all.

Abel Pharmboy, a pharmacy professor with a PhD in pharmacology has more words on this issue, all of them worth reading. I think he has it right: because of their unique position, pharmacists need to put the welfare of the patients ahead of their own values system. If the prescription is valid, they need to fill it. Otherwise, you get a system in which a pharmacist can conceivably refuse to fill prescriptions because they don't believe in opioid usage, or because they think birth control pills cause abortions, or because overweight people with high cholesterol offend their health nut sensibilities. Allowing some pharmacists to stand in judgement of somebody's healthcare choices is an incredibly bad idea--especially when some of them don't display signs of ominiscience so much as nulliscience.
misshepeshu: (DIEINAFIRE!)
"High temperatures from Portland to Eugene were expected to reach no higher than the low 90s."

The original projected high for today was 92. Yeah. NINETY-FUCKING-TWO MY FUCKING FANNY.

HOLY CHRISTO IT'S HOT

They did this all weekend, too. They projected 97 degrees yesterday, but it went all the way to 103 where I was at in SE Portland, and friends of mine in Newberg said that their thermometers registered something like 106 or 108. Are the weather people consistently misunderestimating the heat just to fool us into thinking global warming isn't happening? 'CAUSE IT SO ISN'T WORKING.

We haven't quite hit peak heat yet, I don't think--it's usually about 4:30 or 5 p.m. over here. So we may conceivably break the 100-degree barrier for, what, the fourth day in a row?
misshepeshu: (Test Tube)
Note: I started this a few weeks ago, when Jay posted this entry about the carbon dioxide ads from the Competitive Enterprise Institute; I just never got around to finishing it. However, after watching An Inconvenient Truth last night, I feel inspired to finally complete and post this.

[livejournal.com profile] theotherjay brought to my attention a series of commercials made by the Competitive Enterprise Institute, all of which note that carbon dioxide = LIFE, and look at those evil, evil people trying to lower carbon dioxide emissions, they must be anti-LIFE or summat, those monsters.

The issue of anthropogenic sources of air pollution--specifically, trying to deny that it impacts the environment, especially with regards to climate change--makes me see red. In a lot of ways, the global warming debate reminds me of the way Intelligent Design has been handled: science is quite clearly on our side, but enough scientifically illiterate people have been bamboozled by misinterpreted and misrepresented data that they'll chirrup back information that's quite clearly wrong, but that has gained cachet simply because it's been repeated so many times.

In Which Our Intrepid Heroine Starts Frothing at the Mouth! )
misshepeshu: (words of wisdom from eric)
As [livejournal.com profile] heyokish might say: Here's a big pile of stupid.

I wrote a long, long thing about this on Smart Bitches.

I've just recently realized that I love debate and argument with a freakish intensity.
misshepeshu: (DIEINAFIRE!)
Kate Rothwell, more than any other blogger I read, makes me want to hug her after I read one of her entries. She's charming and funny and kinda cranky sometimes and just really, really adorable. (She'd probably object to my characterization of her.) Anyway, her Thursday 13 yesterday was pretty awesome: Thursday Thirteen Reasons I'm Personally Threatened by Gay Marriage.

That entry of Kate's had a link to a Baptist numbnut's detailed list of why Gay Marriage Will Ruin America and Allow Satan To Enter Your Children's Crotches. Now, shooting down a dimwitted thumper's arguments isn't particularly hard to do, yet I feel compelled to do it, anyway. Must be because I'm bored at work, or something. *koff* So, here goes: )
misshepeshu: (COLBERT RLY?)
Sigh of relief when I saw this headline: "Senate blocks same-sex marriage ban." I knew the probability of this amendment actually passing was pretty damn small, but it would've been worrying indeed if it had received the 60 votes needed to move the amendment along.

(I am depressed, however, at how state constitutions are successfully being amended one at a time.)

This quote from Sen. Sam Brownback, R-Kansas, made me snort-laugh: "We're making progress, and we're not going to stop until marriage between a man and a woman is protected."

Right. Without this amendment, rampaging hordes of fags and dykes are going to storm churches and county offices across the country and put straight couples in headlocks until the men agree to take it up the ass, the women agree to wear only Birkenstocks and flannel from here on out, and everybody swears to memorize every Sondheim musical and Indigo Girls album ever produced. And needless to say, all straight couples will be gay-married by lottery. It'll be chaos, I tell you. CHAOS.
misshepeshu: (DIEINAFIRE!)
By pressing down a special key, it plays a little melody.

And the melody goes "WHAT IN THE EVERLOVING SHITFUCK IS WRONG WITH THE MOTHERFUCKING CDC?"

I'll tell you what. You know it. )
misshepeshu: (Default)
Grizzly-polar bear hybrid discovered.

Interesting news. The fact that they produce fertile offspring is a pretty good indicator that they're not different species, and that any differences between the two bears is largely due to type--unless my understanding of the way biology works is wrong. Which is possible. Because the last biology class I took was in 1996.

But that's not what caught my attention. What caught my attention was HOW the bear had been discovered.

A sport hunter had shot it.

Here's a snippet from the news article:

The DNA results were good news for Martell, who had paid $50,000 for guides and a permit to hunt polar bear. Before the tests came back, the 65-year-old hunter was facing the possibility of a $1,000 fine and up to a year in jail for shooting a bear for which he had no permit — as well as the disappointment of an expensive hunting trip with no trophy.


Does anyone else feel nauseated by the fact that not only did this person kill for fun, but paid $50,000 for the privilege?

In a world full of obscenities, this seems especially obscene to me. How this person spends his money is his business, to be sure, but the fact that he chooses to spend it on killing something--something he plans to use purely for display purposes--strikes me as, well, immoral.

At the risk of sounding like a callous bitch, I'll admit that as a whole, I have a hard time feeling sad when I hear about people who have been killed and/or eaten by wild animals; it's hard for me not to view it as a sort of act of karmic balance. Hey, at least I'm not being hypocritical, because in the highly unlikely event that I'm killed by an animal, I'd like to request that the animal not be sought out and harmed or killed solely on my behalf, unless the animal is found to be rabid or otherwise ill.

Not that this sort of wish can have any sort of legal weight.

Back to polar bears. Here's a depressing tidbit: they're drowning. Because of global warming.

Reading these sorts of things makes me want to yell, and then cry, and then kick something.

Wow, do I sound like some kind of half-baked hippie dipshit or what? Buh.
misshepeshu: (Default)
I just noticed that the e-mail form for contacting Napoli via the South Dakota Legislature website allows you to attach files. In a burst of inspiration, I wrote him an e-mail and attached the receipts for my donations to Planned Parenthood and NARAL Pro-Choice. The e-mail I sent him was as follows:


I just wanted the senator to know that, thanks to his words about abortion and rape as recorded on PBS's News Hour, I've made a donation to Planned Parenthood--specifically, to the fund earmarked for fighting the abortion ban--and become a member of NARAL Pro-Choice. Attached to this e-mail are the receipts for my donations. I only hope they make it through.

Keep up the good work, senator. You're number 1 in our hearts, minds and ovaries.

[My legal name]
Portland, Oregon


As gestures go, this is both more petty but also more concrete than Googlebombing the everloving fuck out of this fuck. On one hand, he probably has aides who screen his e-mail for him, so the odds of his actually seeing this e-mail are slim to none, but on the other hand, I'm doing something (however small and poor the effort may be) to support the organizations that will be doing what they can to challenge this abortion ban.

Those of you who plan to donate or already donate to pro-choice organizations, you might want to try writing to Napoli (and/or Senator Julie Bartling, who was the bill's main sponsor, and/or Governor Mike Rounds, who signed the bill into law) to let them know what you've done, too. Attach the receipts, if you can. It's petty, but by God it feels good to let these assholes know in some way that we're going to fight them every way we can.

THEM!

Feb. 19th, 2006 04:07 pm
misshepeshu: (words of wisdom from eric)
I just discovered that there are black ants coming into my apartment via the kitchen window.

ANTS.

ARGH.

Above and beyond all that, there's only one word that I can use right now to describe the state of my apartment, and that word is "distressing." (Yeah, Michael, it's THAT BAD.) I need to sweep, clean the bathroom, wipe ALL the counters down thoroughly, put away all my chocolate bars in closed containers and clean the catboxes. If I had a bucket, I'd probably mop, too, but I don't, but I will some time soon because GODDAMN this place needs it.

Back into the fray I leap!

Fucking ANTS! *killkillkilldieraaaaaaaaaar*

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