Tag: rants

From a reader with an English teacher inside her brain

1. If someone in your past told you to put a comma wherever you’d take a breath in saying something aloud, it was a lie. A comma is not a whimsical punctuation mark for you to use and abandon at will like that moron who had a crush on you in eighth grade. Show some respect!

2. If you put LOL after everything you say online, try reading it aloud and actually laughing out loud. You sound a lot like that moron who had a crush on you in eighth grade, don’t you? Saying stuff like, “Your car is really totaled. LOL!” and “Your baby is kind of ugly. LOL!!!!” and “Your dad is cheating on your mom–LOLOL.” or “I made microwave popcorn today! LOL!” doesn’t actually seem to merit a big ol’ laugh-fest. Your message is confusing.

3. Why are so many people suddenly breaking the rules of commas, colons, and a proper lack of punctuation with the random use of question marks? It’s weird. I’ll bet all those blaring and misplaced question marks get released into the environment where they become hazardous to birds and fish. Just sayin’…

4. However, carry on with the use of the occasional uppercased word or two to STRESS IMPORTANCE. Unless it’s followed by a ton of unmerited LOLing.

Life flashing before eyes

Dear Houstonians:

Just because you voted to get rid of the red light cameras and they’ve been shut off doesn’t mean it’s now okay to run red lights. Going to and from the gym Thursday night, I saw FOUR drivers race through red lights. I’m not talking amber or amber-to-red. I’m talking other cars in adjacent lanes were at full stops and cross traffic was legally proceeding through intersections.

STOP IT!

As for the three people who ran stop signs, nobody voted to get rid of them, so you’re also still obligated to stop. Stop, by the way, is defined as not moving. At all.

Love,

Me

Spirit Day

I whipped up some collar covers for the dogs this morning in honor of Spirit Day. Putting my dogs in purple with me isn’t meant to diminish the seriousness of bullying. My heart breaks for those teens who felt bullied or harassed to the point of suicide. But as I often say, Margot and Guinness, and dogs in general, are my teachers. Dogs don’t care about your gender. They don’t care if you’re rich or poor. They don’t care what race or religion you are–or aren’t. They don’t care if you’re gay or straight.

We can teach dogs to be mean, just as we can teach people to hate. But dogs teach us unconditional love. Dogs don’t hate.

So the three of us wear purple today to remind anyone who may stumble across this photo that you’re not alone. There are people who will help you if you need help. Please stay around to find out how much more there is to life than the people who call you names, or hurt you physically, or make you feel like you don’t matter. You matter. The world needs your unique gifts. The world needs you.

Check out The Trevor Project or Hopeline if you feel alone, if you are afraid, if you need to talk to someone.

Button Sunday

Last week, Tim talked about going to College Station to be part of the official photo shoot for the NOH8 campaign. He brought me back this button! Thanks, Tim. He also let me take a couple of photos with Rex and Pixie before he scrubbed his face clean.


Dogs don’t hate.

For anyone who doesn’t know, NOH8 was born as a means of protesting California’s hateful Proposition 8. All funds raised by the NOH8 Campaign are used to promote and raise awareness for marriage equality and anti-discrimination on a global level through an educational and interactive media campaign. This matters to me foremost as a simple matter of justice–we should all be equal under the law. And on a personal level, I have gay and lesbian friends who I believe should have the same rights as me.

October 11, Monday, is National Coming Out Day. That’s been on my mind a lot in the context of the current wave of publicity and action arising from the suicides (the ones we know about) of kids who’ve been bullied or tormented in school or at home. As a longtime advocate and ally on behalf of those who are GLBTQ, I never stop believing that straight people have a moral duty to provide our voices and safe places on behalf of those who are marginalized and harassed.

Yet I find it so frustrating when those who deplore hate speech and believe it creates a climate conducive to violence descend to that same level. When we dehumanize those with whom we don’t agree, when we talk of hurting or destroying those who anger us, when we call them horrible names, we are hardly creating an environment that feels safe for anyone to thrive as themselves.

I have friends I could call out on this. That’s not how I operate. But for the past week or so, it’s been crazy how people I respect, like, even love, have given me just as much heartburn on my social networks and in e-mail as those who line up way to the other side of where I stand on many issues.

I’ve never quite been able to compose a post that adequately describes my conflicting feelings about Facebook, but here’s one of the reasons I struggle with it. I welcome the concept that people are free to believe what they believe, even if what they believe is radically different from what I believe. Certainly there are people in my life who don’t see things the way I do. But I have to be honest: Most of those people are friends or family members of long standing. I love and cherish them. I respect their right to see things another way from me, even when those beliefs vex and hurt me, and more achingly, when I know they are potentially hurtful, even harmful, to the well-being of other people I love and cherish.

However, I don’t seek out or welcome new people into my life whose beliefs will vex or hurt me, or who would be thoughtless or cruel to those I cherish and love. As an analogy, if every person is a book, I know there are a lot of books out there that I don’t want to read. I won’t burn them. I won’t ban them. I won’t fight to remove them from the shelves. But there are so many other wonderful books that I’d rather spend my time reading, and it’s part of my liberty to do so.

Facebook consistently agitates me with people who I might have known long ago, or people who’ve connected with me through other contacts, who say things and link to things that I find insulting, demeaning, even cruel. For a while, I found myself “hiding” people so I didn’t get that stuff pushed in my face every day–until the occasion on someone else’s wall when someone said hiding people on Facebook is passive aggressive “defriending.” It IS. So I did a huge “friends” purge. I got rid of the people who either update, or get comments, on their walls, in ways that I feel are hateful or defamatory (even inflammatory), or who consistently link to public figures whose beliefs I would never promote or want to be connected to. I try to fill my life with people who build up others, who look for solutions, who are positive and affirming. So why would I clutter my online life with hate, divisiveness, bigotry, and destruction?

Some of the people I “unfriended” were people I know never read me; I’m only a number to bolster their hundreds to thousands of “friends” because they use Facebook as a networking tool. In the case of writers I deleted, I’m aware of their work through sources other than Facebook, and I didn’t necessarily want frequent updates on their works in progress or their personal lives–just as I know they have no interest in me or mine. I’m not offended by that, and neither should they be.

Finally, I deleted many of those who asked that we be “friends” but who’ve never interacted with me, shown any interest in my work or my life, or with whom my only connection is that we once might have shared the same school or town. If they are genuinely interested in me, my LiveJournal is always here, always open. My e-mail address is published everywhere. I doubt they even noticed I fell off their contact list.

But what do I do about people I know “in real life,” whose company and time I’ve enjoyed in the past, but whose status updates consistently run contrary to ideals and principles I hold dear? I really haven’t figured it out yet. If they wrote those things on my wall, I’d react for sure. But on their own Facebook walls, they have the right to say whatever they want, and I don’t have the energy or enthusiasm to debate or refute them–knowing from experience what a futile effort that is. But does my silence, while my face and name are right there on their friends’ lists, imply approval? Agreement?

There are times I get so irritated by it all that I want to deactivate my Facebook account, but it provides a convenient, one-stop location for people who live far away and with whom I enjoy staying in touch–in enough numbers that e-mail would be cumbersome, even daunting. So I hover above that option but don’t take it. And I wonder if the people whose beliefs are so antithetical to mine have hidden me long ago, so they don’t have to see my occasional links and notes and updates that might vex and trouble them?

No real answers here. But one thing’s for sure–I’ll get it worked out long before the next election season for my own peace of mind.

they wanted to go to work

The Hartford Distributors shooting occurred on August 3, 2010, in Manchester, Connecticut. A disgruntled employee accused of theft had been given the option of resigning or being fired. He signed resignation papers and while being escorted from the building, took a Ruger SR9 semi-automatic pistol from his lunch box and killed eight people, wounding two others, before taking his own life.

Those killed were:

Francis Fazio, Jr., 57
Douglas Scruton, 56
Edwin Kennison, 49
William Ackerman, 51
Bryan Cirigliano, 51
Craig Pepin, 60
Louis Felder, 50
Victor James, 61

The wounded were:

Steven Hollander, 50
Jerome Rosenstein, 77

Y’all come back now.

Every few years, I like to review the Southern term “y’all” with those who “aren’t from around here.” Since I just brought it up on Facebook, I figure it’s a good time to revisit it, particularly since a comment from Chris H reminded me yesterday that some of you haven’t actually been reading every one of my posts since 2004. (And I have to wonder, Why not? Do you have a life or something?)

I begin with a reminder of a rule you should have learned early in your grammar instruction, the concept of “implied you.” You were taught that every complete sentence has a subject and a verb, then you saw a sentence such as, “Hit the ball!” Unless you were me, and immediately began cringing and ducking at the idea of a softball approaching your head at high velocity, you gave your teacher a perplexed look while you failed to find the subject. Then you learned that the subject is the “implied you”: YOU hit the ball–or (You) hit the ball, if you prefer. The subject is not actually in the sentence; it’s implied.

Keep that old rule in mind; it becomes important later.

The word “y’all” is a contraction for “you all.” First Rule of Y’all: As with any contraction, an apostrophe is put in the place of missing letters. Here, those letters are the ‘o’ and ‘u’ of “you.” This means the apostrophe will never, ever be between the ‘a’ and the ‘l’ of “all.” There are no letters missing from the word “all.” I’m not even going to write it incorrectly because knowing it’s wrong on my LJ will aggravate my insomnia. I’ll end up lying in bed hallucinating softballs with their red thread punctuating “y’all” incorrectly being lobbed at my head, and I’ll have to get up and take a Vicodin, and damn if I’m wasting my drugs on something other than the its/it’s trauma.

Second Rule of Y’all: It never means anything except “you all.” As in, more than one of you. Two or more of you. Plural. Multiples. More than one person, one child, one dog, one raccoon out back rootin’ around in the trash.

But that can’t be, you think. Because you’ve seen Southerners on TV shows and in movies, and they are forever saying “y’all” to one person. The gorgeous belle sits at a bar in New Orleans, ceiling fans clacking overhead, one bead of sweat slowly traveling from beneath her ear lobe until it’s lost inside her ample cleavage, and the Yankee journalist wanders in, wiping his face with a handkerchief (it’s an old movie), whereupon the belle asks him, in her sultry voice, “Hot enough for y’all?” Or the Yankee journalist is racing his foreign-made car along the backroads of Valdosta, Georgia, trying to catch the guys who just stole his only copy of his handwritten notes (again, old movie) from his motel room, when the local sheriff (always overweight) stops him and drawls, “Where y’all going in such a hurry?”

But, you say, there’s ONLY ONE JOURNALIST walking into the bar! Driving the car! So that means Becky is wrong!

Right?

No. It means the script was written by a non-Southerner. Or after a Southerner wrote it, some non-Southerner came along and changed it. Because if a Southerner means one person, he or she doesn’t say “y’all.” We are quite familiar with the word “you” and we can use it with the same skill with which we nail plywood over the windows when a hurricane’s coming or fill a deviled egg plate to take to the family of a recently deceased person.

I believe I understand how this misconception of a singular “y’all” infiltrated the non-Southern brain. The non-Southerners don’t know about the unwritten grammar rule I call “implied others.” People who don’t know us hear us use “y’all” when we’re talking to a single person. For example, a non-Southerner sees two Southerners greet each other, and one asks the other, “How y’all doin’?” It does seem like one is calling the other one “y’all.” But I promise, in that case, “y’all” means you, your parents, your kid who got the fishing hook caught in his lip at the lake last weekend, your ex-husband’s sister who’s graduating from Ole Miss (or Ol’ Miss, but that’s a different battle), and that biscuit eater of a dog you let sleep in your bed. The person asked understands all this, but the non-Southerner has no idea.

It’s probably counterproductive to get into all y’all, all y’all’s, all y’allses’, or your mama and them. I personally have never hoped for miracles, just a well-placed apostrophe, the use of “y’all” only when more than one person is meant, and maybe that you realize sugar is as misplaced in cornbread or on grits as a softball is in my vicinity.

A day I can love

Arts Advocacy Day: The 2010 National Arts Action Summit is a national event that brings together a broad cross-section of America’s cultural and civic organizations, along with hundreds of grassroots advocates from across the country, to underscore the importance of developing strong public policies and appropriating increased public funding for the arts.

The arts nourish our souls, help us thrive, inspire and sustain us.

Imagine your world without music. Paintings. Sculpture. Photographs. Architecture. Performing arts.

No movies. No TV. No plays or musicals or ballet or opera or concerts.

No books.

That’s a world so bleak I can’t even conceive of it.

The arts give voice and vision to our shared humanity.

They help us celebrate the natural and innate beauty of our planet and universe.

The arts encourage creative thinking and solutions to complex challenges.

They lift us out of drudgery and smallness.

Art is not a luxury. The arts make us better and more complete as individuals, as communities, as nations.

Today I bought myself a little peace of mind

Yesterday I was outside with all four dogs, watering the grass and doing poop patrol (the glamor!), when a truck stopped outside The Compound. A woman got out and handed me a flyer. The day before, her dog Fang had slipped her collar and run after the woman picked her up from Happy Tails. I know Happy Tails well–the owner is a wonderful animal advocate and a major supporter of Scout’s Honor, and many Scout’s Honor dogs board there on their way to foster homes. Happy Tails is on a busy road, and as the woman told me that Fang, a German Shepherd mix, is sweet but skittish, I understood what a nightmare she’d been living for the previous twenty-four hours.

One of the reasons Fang’s mom stopped and gave me a flyer is because Fang is drawn to other dogs, and the Compound Four are generally an enthusiastically noisy bunch when they’re outside, so Fang might want to meet them.

As of right now, Fang is on the petamberalert.com site and the findtoto.org site. Hopefully someone will find her and connect with her family. It broke my heart to see this woman’s face as she was enduring one of my worst fears–Margot or Guinness somehow lost and loose on the streets. One advantage Fang has is that she’s chipped. If she’s taken to a vet or shelter, she can be scanned and reunited with her family.

Margot and Guinness were never chipped. I’ve talked about it occasionally, but never followed through. As of today, that has been corrected. If the worst were to happen, and either of them got separated from us, I’d never forgive myself for not doing everything possible to be reunited with them.

Coincidentally, all of this happened about the same time an online friend wrote me about an experience he just had with a cat. He saw someone put the cat out in a public place as he was driving by. He circled back, found the cat, and surrendered her to a shelter. He wondered if he’d done the right thing–his hope is that she’ll be adopted, as he’s not in a situation to care for her himself.

I want to say again what I said to him. He ABSOLUTELY did the right thing. No one has to keep an animal he or she rescues if they don’t have the right home, and surrendering an animal is that animal’s best chance of finding the right home. Even if that ultimately doesn’t happen, and the animal is euthanized, there are worse things, such as: an animal who hasn’t been spayed or neutered creating more homeless animals; an animal catching and spreading parasites and diseases, including rabies, to other animals or humans; an animal becoming feral and aggressive and attacking another animal or human; an animal killed by a vehicle–or damage to people and property caused by an effort to avoid hitting a stray animal with a vehicle; cruelty to an animal by individuals who have no respect or value for the lives and well-being of strays; attack on the homeless animal by other animals (wild dogs, raccoons, coyotes, to name a few).

Thank goodness for this person (who doesn’t want attention, so I’m not naming him). I hope someone as good and conscientious as he is finds Fang and helps her get home. And should my girls ever be lost, I hope someone like him finds them, too.

He wanted to go to school

Fourteen-year-old ninth grader Todd Brown died after being shot by another student, also age 14, at Discovery Middle School in Madison, Alabama. Though there was some discussion of the shooting being gang-related, it was determined the perpetrator knew the consequences of his act, and he pled guilty. He was tried as an adult and is currently serving a 30-year prison sentence.