Burning Stupidity

So, after a grand jury declined to charge an officer in the shooting death of a Ferguson, MO youth, the mindless hordes did the only thing reasonable to achieve justice: they burned down a dollar store, then went to a neighboring town and burned down a craft store. What idiots. Yes, I understand that there is frustration at long-term problems. Yes, the officer was white and the youth was an unarmed black teen. There are hot-button issues at play here, or are being exaggerated by some for prestige or attention. So what. The mindless thugs claim they want 'justice,' then demand that a pre-determined answer be given. They demand justice, then refuse to let the justice system work. A grand jury is supposed to have more information than is used or presented in a trial. They decided that there wasn't enough firm evidence to justify a trial. By definition, they are better informed than you are. Respect their decision. It isn't simply a matter of white cop/dead black teen. Witnesses gave differing stories as to what they saw. I don't know exactly what happened, and neither to they ones screaming for a specific outcome. Apparently the jury didn't feel they were 'beyond a reasonable doubt.' What I find most baffling and abhorrent is the mob's reaction. Burning cop cars? Not a good idea, but I can understand the connection. Burning down an innocent store? That's just stupid. Another complaint by the mob leaders is that the police treat them like animals. With this mindless violence, is there any question why they might see you that way? There is an irony at play here as well. The mob keeps demanding 'justice,' then circumvent the justice system. They are effective acting like a lynch mob, which should give them pause. Or maybe they are just too stupid.

Resurection

I might be dead. I think I'm not, but with apologies to Rene Descarte, what do I know? I started this blog as an anonymous way to post various ramblings, observations, and rants about life. It worked splendidly. The anonymous part, any way. When life got too busy to regularly post, I was a little concerned about the effect it would have. I was right. The most disturbing thing of all happened... nothing. Nobody called, nobody questioned, nobody worried. For all anybody knew, I was dead. And maybe I am.

Strange Bedfellows

I have been crossing a picket line lately, and I’m not sure how I feel about it. My home state of Rhode Island gave me plenty of examples of bad union behavior: nepotism, corruption, shoddy work. I developed a deep feeling that although they may have been good at one point in history, they had outgrown and outlasted that point. They were a victim of their own success. Now that laws protected workers and wages, there wasn’t much more for them to fight over except ever higher wages and even more benefits. So it wasn’t a big deal to me that when a local company had a lockout, that I worked a position that was available. (The company’s contract offer wasn’t sweet enough for the union. Never mind that most people in the country are getting fired or reduced wages, the union wanted higher wages and better benefits... see the first paragraph). The wages are among the highest I’ve ever had, and the benefits are more generous than anything else I’ve heard of. So it is a good opportunity for me. So what is the problem? Republicans. I’m Independent, but lean Democrat. Mostly Republicans make my skin crawl. But when they announced a war on unions, it wasn’t a big deal to me. Let them, I thought. What inspired them to make teachers, police, and fire fighters their first targets? Those are good, helpful people. That’s who they think are ruining the country? I can’t support that sort of narrow-minded anti-intellectualism. So that's the problem. Do I continue to support busting a union, even though it looks as though I support the Republicans’ broader platform?

Product Love

The first new car I ever bought was a 1999 Subaru. Sturdy, efficient, hardly complaining, it outlasted my marriage, took several cross country trips, and faithfully hauled cargo.

After a decade of use, I drove it across country yet again, and it did just fine.

I recently took it on a modest-length trip, about twelve hours distant. On the way it achieved 238,570 miles- the average distance to the moon. I've driven the equivalent of going to the moon. I don't have a picture of the odometer with those miles on it, though, because I am actually on my second odometer, I wore the first one out at 100,000 miles. That, in itself, is amazing to me. I can remember when cars didn't even have space on the odometer for 100,000 miles- and now my car is wearing them out. The leap ahead in quality is encouraging.

The amazing part about the trip was that I almost didn't make it to the moon. Several hundred miles short of that goal, the engine started bucking, shuddering, and refusing to run above a certain speed. We were in the Dakota hinterlands, and had little choice but to push on as best we could, even if slowly. We puttered along, eventually reaching a small town mechanic that agreed that the engine had a serious problem, and wished us luck in reaching a big city where somebody could fix it.

We limped on dutifully, the top speed the car would tolerate steadily dropping lower. It was a wondrous sight to turn that corner and realize we had made the city. The dealership was very convenient, and we made the mileage goal just before dropping the car off at the mechanic.

We feared driving it like that had caused fatal damage to the engine, and when they diagnosed that we had broken one of the timing chains, we were sure it was time for a new car. A bearing had also collapsed, the ball bearings getting so hot that when they fell onto the belt cover, some melted through it and some welded themselves into it.

But the mechanic put a new chain on it, and fixed the bearing.... and did a compression test that was as good as some new cars...and started it up... and we drove away.

The slogan is 'Love. It's what makes a Subaru a Subaru.' THIS is why I love my Subaru.

The Soul Reason

A friend of mine recently had a miscarriage. She is fine, but it just reinforces how wrongheaded the ultra-right conservatives are who think that life begins at conception.

If that was a separate life, not just a preterm fetus, then my friend's body is responsible for ending its life. That would make her guilty of murder, no? Or at least manslaughter. Yet no reasonable person would charge a woman that miscarries with that.

The argument that life begins at conception because god ensouls the two cells also falls apart with miscarriage. If god is all-knowing, why would he bother if the baby isn't going to be born? Or go the other way: what about when twins happen? Do they each get half a soul? Or did god play it safe and pack extras? What if god puts two souls in for twins, then it aborts? My friend could be charged with mass murder.

Wanted and Unwanted Sympathy

An acquaintance of mine recently had a miscarriage. It was expected; there was pain, and the doctor confirmed that there was no heartbeat. So when she passed the grape-sized blob and attached thread, there was mostly relief that the pain would stop. A quick flush, some rest, and she was ready to continue on with her life.

Her mistake was in telling people that she was pregnant so early. When people find out that she is no longer pregnant, they always seem to want to offer sympathy. The natural response presupposes that women want and need to have children: they offer sympathy that her pregnancy failed. (Not spoken, but suggested, is that SHE failed as a woman).

The problem is that she was lukewarm about the pregnancy all along. In some respects she is a little relieved that she doesn't have to go along with it. She knows that the timing was bad for her and her partner; she has even expressed doubts about her partner's long-term viability. So she is fine with the miscarriage.

She just doesn't know what to say to people when they they say how sorry they are that she isn't pregnant any more. "Thanks; now can we talk about YOUR cervix"? "Okay. I'm accepting cash and chocolate"? "That's okay; it was delicious"?

Another friend of mine got some remembrances of her deceased husband recently, and it quickly brought tears to her eyes. She said it was good to remember him, that it helped keep the memories fresh and vivid, but that most people were hesitant about bringing him up out of fear that it would bring that sadness. What they were missing was that the sadness is just an indication of how much she loved him, and it was good to know that others missed him as well.

Mensans tend to be an affectionate, hands-on crowd. Most, but not all, are enthusiastic huggers. When there is a weekend gathering, a simple color code is employed. Attendees put red, yellow, or green stickers on their badges to indicate that it is okay to hug, not okay, or that you need to get permission first.

It might be good if we could employ that system for our everyday interactions. "Yes, please talk to me about my dead husband; the tears are natural and not unwanted" or "Give me sympathy for my dead fetus if you like, but I don't really need it." It would make navigating every day interactions more rewarding for both parties.

The Experience Whore

The East Coast had a rare earthquake recently, and although it was mild (about 5.9), my first thought wasn't for the damage or for people's safety. It was: why wasn't I there? I desperately wanted to experience an earthquake.

It isn't just earthquakes. I have a yearning for all sorts of experiences, both natural and social. I've briefly been in California and Seattle, both quake-prone locations, but nothing happened. The one hurricane I have direct experience with was so mild we went out and walked around in it, wondering if we should try flying kites.

I wouldn't be so jealous if the women I know didn't have a long list of experiences behind them. As a group, them seem to blithely have taken hash, acid, mushrooms, heroin, and coke. They've had one-night stands and threesomes and rape. There has been skipping school, blowing off work, drunken partying, and thievery.

And the consequences? None. They are happy, intelligent, and well adjusted. If they wanted to write a story about tripping at a party and waking up in a strange hotel room, they have the authenticity to make it feel real.

I don't. Yet I'm the one that fancies himself a writer.

So when my hometown experiences a disaster, my first emotion isn't empathy.

It's jealousy.