Referring to the rape victims of previous American presidents as ‘black slave mistresses’ makes the rape sound less rapey and more consensual. Please the fuck do not sit still for it.
Yes I’m a racist. I have biases toward people of colour which I can only clearly understand and can frame when I take something like the Harvard Implicit Bias test. That said, I also hated certain European accents back when and assumed the worst of people who spoke with it when I was living in TO and it wasn’t until I had a Polish coworker (thank you Wieslaw) that I finally stopped being an ass about Polish people. The point is that I have some nuance about my own racism and bias. I try not to find it funny, because racism is a kind of social death, but I do make allowances and I don’t wander through the world failing to interrogate my bias. Your senses will deceive you, and your feelings even more. Gotta challenge those bastards
Despite the protestations of some of my friends to the contrary, the language you choose around racism is important. It’s irresponsible to think my words can’t hurt people who are already disadvantaged. If your only disadvantage is that you don’t want to challenge your bias, I’m not going to be tender with your feelings.
I’m still mad at AJR for saying that the personal isn’t political. How a secular Jew could say that blew my fucking mind. <—– bias. On my part. People from disadvantaged groups have more experience of the pointy end of racism and discrimination, but not necessarily the desire, capacity or time to speak eloquently about it. My ire with Alan’s political views had more to do with his refusal to see any sexism in his behaviour than any of his other problematic behaviours, which I could go on about at great length. I learned a great deal from him, but I must acknowledge that the desire to judge badmouth people for not being perfect exemplars of whatever political stripe they own is an ongoing sore trial in my heart and a facet of human behaviour that appears impossible to root out.
There are a lot of statues that need to come down. Ten years ago I thought the statue of Lord Stanley was the best thing ever (because of the words written on the base.) Without understanding the implications of What and Where it was. Now that mofo needs to quit standing on Musqueam land.
I’m a coward. I do not want to tell other white people what to think and I do not want to quote the ‘my black friend says’ and the last three times a white person used openly racist speech I sat like a goddamned idjit and said nothing.
I no longer use Turtle Island black slang to the maximum extent possible. I try to ensure all of my humour codes white. “Ermagerd.”
I no longer tone police angry BIPOC. I used to. Even like two years ago. Now I understand it for the social violence it is. I really, really really had to have my nose rubbed in this.
I never ask BIPOC for an explanation of what they say any more. If there’s something I don’t understand I look it up, get context, and stay out of their mentions. (this means not replying to the BIPOC when I have questions because Black, Indian and Persons of Colour are not my magical mentors, they are human beings living in the world and they don’t owe me anything let alone a gold star for participation in what for me is an intellectual debate and for them is an existential threat)
If I need to go slap a person upside the head for racism and sexism on social media – for the lulz, or for the grandmotherly kindness it represents, who the fuck cares – I talk to them and them alone. I do not drag the person of colour back into the debate looking for cookies about what a great ally I am. In the first place I’m NOT THE GREAT WHITE ALLY AND in the second place it’s harassing the wrong person.
Nothing in the world looks the same and I fucking hate it. I’m crying as I type this. When I watch TV and it’s the stock magical negro warrior, or sassy black friend, or stone faced FN warrior in greasepaint, do-ragged felon, high-cheeked shaman in feathers and leathers, I see the blood in the gears of a finely meshed racist capitalism. I see the hushing of uppity women and the crushing of tender-hearted men. I see the eradication of humans in the desire to simplify life for lazy people. I see how any exploration of gender and class and race is compressed to soundbites and aphorisms; MLK quotes hang around the necks of confederate generals and there’s neither irony or history involved.
speaking of history, white Canadians got a really ghastly, edited, racist, Christianized and genocidal version and finding something better isn’t easy
oldfud version: Who the hell knows what Allegra is angry about now. Hope she feels better, lancing that boil.
Keith, Paul and I went for a walk down at the Quay and picked up lunch (which was also dinner for me – two shrimp Pad Thais one each for me and Paul. They aren’t the ketchupy noodlescapes of ordinary, they’re like real Thai street food from Yellow Tail Kitchen. Keith got bbq brisket from Re-up and he got something for Jeff for takeout, and then we watched two episodes of the Expanse and one of Miss Fisher’s. Very pleasant afternoon!
I also ran the dishwasher, which has started leaking again, and a load of laundry, and hacked away at various writing projects.
My will is 20 years old, I should probably revise it.
Huskies are work yall Please do not buy a large, active, working dog without space and temperament for it!!! Huskies have a tremendous urge to be doing things and if you don’t run their asses off they get snappy.
Really not surprised that a couple of days after the smoke dissipates I can finally feel comfy enough to write.
WIP 1 – Honey on the Moon <—- mostly
WIP 2 – Tarot for Atheists
WIP 3 – Earbuds
WIP 4 – The Dark Under the Door (ooh, horror genre, haven’t gone there)
WIP 5 – Why yes, I’m going to continue to work on the anti-racism curriculum.
Three destiel fics, using the tropes instant roommate, castmates, and doppelganger love/hate after Major Character Death.
I have found two SGA Rodney/Sheppard fics that I adore so much I’ve re-read them three times apiece. ADORABLE and HILARIOUS. One of them makes much comedic hay from a very very overused trope and I love it when something so tired can experience the inflationary glee of revival.
I found an SGA/SPN crossover fanfic that completely did not suck.
I am working on an NCIS LA/ POI crossover called ‘BAD DOGGY’. I’m never going to actually write it, because it’s mostly an excuse for bad obedience puns, but I suppose dragging Sameen Shaw and Kensi Blye into (that’s quite enough of that, ed.)
as requested short version: If I didn’t have any friends, I wouldn’t feel obliged to fight with any of them. PROBLEM SOLVED.
Allegra version: I don’t want to administer an ideological means test to my friends. Generally I don’t have to. Is it intellectual laziness or me being butt hurt that caused this problem? Why not both?? At times when you pick up the threads of a friendship that’s been dormant for years, you’ve changed too much to be a comfort to your friend any more. I’m old and I don’t bend. The responsibility for the rupture is mine. Perhaps it can be healed, but the implication was that with friends like me, he needs no enemies. PROBLEM SOLVED.
Air quality is going to be good for the next 36 hours and passable after that. TIME FOR OUTDOOR ACTIVITIES. Paul is going to be field managing at the soaring club today and he hates it with a passion since he hates paperwork, but strapping the aircraft together is a nice non-controversial activity and he can get behind that. Then he’s going to be partying and picnicking, so lucky him and it will be a great weekend to do it.
I got a text message from Alex’s father yesterday that was an absolute masterpiece of finely honed masculinist special pleading. It was meticulously written, as if I had not experienced the last 15 years of him being a complete fucking brute to Katie, his mother, his siblings and common sense. I blocked without responding, which is kinda how things are going in my life right now. I’ve already forwarded it to Katie.
All of his choices appear to be based on making Katie feel bad and not parenting his son; now comes the time to say tell it to the judge and nothing else.
I’m really pissed off about John dying. Most days I’m sad. Around the time he died, and during Worldcon, and FilkOntario and Conflikt, I get an extra specially crispy toasted feeling of pain, grief, loss and anger.
Words cannot describe and will never be able to describe how angry I am about the restaurant. The money lost was inconvenient. The damage to my relationship with Katie is, FOUR YEARS ON only beginning to be repaired, whatever you may think of our surface interactions. The damage I took to my idea that I’m a competent individual pretty much destroyed my life until I was desperate enough to start writing in earnest. I suppose I should be thankful for that, but the pain and the misery and the feeling that I want to be ill every time I drive by the old place is horrible.
I’m pissed at Paul for suggesting that we all move to the Island. (I got all excited, we could move as a family unit with kids and grand to Courtenay, blah blah. ) When I asked him if Janice or the soaring club knew about that, he said no, which meant that moving to the Island as an idea has reset to zero, since he’s not going to reduce the amount of time he spends with Janice (nor at this point would I want him to), he no longer flies alone (that was an interesting and candidly heartening piece of news), and there’s no soaring club on the Island. We all got briefly excited for nothing. piss me off.
I’m pissed at the landpeers for thinking that attaching the awning to the deck with poly cord is something worse than our nightmarishly slippery demonic hellslide of a front stoop. And not doing anywot about the roof, which can’t possible go more than another year in its current state of rot and that mofo better not come down over the server.
I’m pissed at Justin Trudeau, but I guess I don’t need to fill that in.
I’m being pretty much beyond, over and far past the line of being pissed off about Trump and his cronies, and now it’s just boredom mixed with terror, cause this is war.
This is the first post today. I am up. I have had coffee. I am contemplating the sea of options and being irritated.
I read an article about how when you’re depressed counting your blessings is dopey. Count the things you’re pissed off about instead. RECLAIM YER RAGE.
Except I’m s’posed to keep my blood pressure down, you know, just on general principles.
Walked again in Oakalla. Saw cheerful people walking who were willing to talk to Paul, which never happens. Then back to his place for singing and playing and a lovely convo with Katie. Obliviously I ain’t talking about the next stage in the liberation, but the email I send (will send) the fOlks will likely be happy making.
Paul and I went for a lovely (mostly in the shade, so we didn’t go up the hill) walk at Oakalla (which Katie spells Ocala, which makes me laugh). While we were there we saw a badly proportioned slap fight between a kind of wasp I haven’t seen before and could not subsequently identify and a kind of ant I didn’t identify.
The wasp was more or less minding its own business and scraping up moistened dirt, presumably for nest building activities, while an ant located it and started attacking the wasp. This it accomplished by running up to the wasp’s thorax at full fucking chat and booting it in the non-equivalent of the ribs. I saw it happen about eight times, Paul about three. It was thrilling, and frankly hilarious, because the wasp outweighs the ant by about 20 to 1, and yet the ant gave much better than he got.
Dishwasher’s running. It wasn’t quite full but if you wait too long you have no coffee cups, so there.
I am feeling a little less messed up today, we shall see. I do manage to practice on the twangy box every day.
Walked over to the 7/11 to get cream for my coffee and a small treat for Jeff. Walked at Lougheed Mall yesterday with Paul since the heat and air quality were not great. Air quality is going to suck for the next little while.
All the blue of the sky is gone. My eyes are gunked up. You couldn’t see the far shore of the Fraser when I got up, it’s just barely visible now.
The trip to Victoria was wonderful; the best moment of all was being able to point to the single most glorious late strawberry the world has ever seen for Alex and feed it to him. It was red all the way through and Alex ate it and then he looked for more and found more and his mother helped with that.
Mike received family gifts with thanks and immediately donned the shirt. It had just the effect I was going for pOp so big thumbs up all round. Kitchen knitted wipes also will be put to good use thanks mOm.
Two delightful teenaged boys played with their fidget spinners with Alex on the ferry. His mother broke down and got him the toy ferry that makes the honk noise. Alex is currently enchanted with ferry boats. And why not!?
Alex makes friends wherever he goes. It’s rather delightful. And Katie is an awesome mUm!
I saw Mel Gibson this morning. I literally stood next to him and exchanged a couple of words with him without knowing who he was. His kid Lars (7 months old) is unreal cute. Katie and Alex and I decided on the spur of the moment to go to Miniature World in Victoria, and that’s where he was with current s/o and batch of offspring and retainers.
As far as I can tell it’s because the movie he started shooting in Vancouver mid July is having production issues due to haze.
Katie said “That’s not Mel Gibson” until 90 seconds later when she heard him speak.
If you’ve known me a long time, you know that when we’re talking about stuff that’s unlikely, I mention ‘and me getting smooches from Mel Gibson’. Considering that I was close enough to plant one on him I’m going to have find another way of describing an unlikely event.
Alex of course didn’t care, but he freaking loved Miniature World. In Andrew Brechin’s honour I made damned sure I showed him every toilet in Miniature World.