Idiot Parade

Once a week, I’m just going to post a picture and a caption of something, anything, that I’ve found and love.

As found on Cake Wrecks:

I so want it for my birthday. Down in Fraggle Rock!

Sex, plus texting, equals…anyone? Buller?

Sexting.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, sexting. It sounds juvenile. It is juvenile.

Except, no, wait. A girl in Ohio hanged herself because her ‘sexting’ made her the target of abuse and ridicule.

To sum up: Eighteen-year-old Jessi uses her camera phone to take and send a nude picture to her boyfriend. A year later, they break up. The ex-boyfriend forwards the photo to hundreds of people…people at their school, who begin to torment the girl, calling her a whore. Eventually, it becomes too much, and Jessi hangs herself in her closet.

The story breaks, and everyone’s talking about what a tragedy it is and the dangers of ‘sexting’. Yes, it is a tragedy. It is always a crime for such a young life to come to a sudden and unnecessary halt. It’s also sad and awful when something like this sweeps the evening news with a bunch of specials and experts, warning parents against the dangers of cell phones and promiscuity.

This is not about cell phones or promiscuity.

Here’s the thing. The majority of the response has been along the lines of “this is why teenagers shouldn’t have cell phones”, or “this is why parents suck at monitoring”. Oh, she didn’t think ahead, she didn’t think about the consequences of her actions. I want to know why everyone cares so much. She was 18, she sent a picture to her boyfriend. Why is that wrong? Why isn’t anyone criticizing her peers for calling her a whore, when there is nothing whorish about it? Why is all the flack landing on a dead girl, instead of the immature boy who decided to make a spectacle out of something supposed to be private and sweet? Instead, it turned into this puritanical bullshit about privacy and nudity instead of what it should be about–teenagers (and legal adults, in this case) being cruel.

There is plenty of blame to go around, but Jessi doesn’t deserve any of it. She did nothing wrong, as far as I’m concerned. I have given a naked picture to a guy I was with (sorry, Dad). It was fun, it was sexy, and it’s no better or worse than actually sleeping with the person. If I misjudged his character, and he turned out to be the kind of person who would share that picture with the whole world….the fault wouldn’t be mine. I don’t think so. And I don’t think it was Jessi’s. And it’s not technology’s fault, and her parents weren’t irresponsible or negligent. This isn’t a social commentary. It’s about people being mean. End of story.

I hope she found peace.

The nuts are gone!

…nevermind.

I love you, Mom.

I knew something was up when my managers came after OpenGym. They never show up when I’m cleaning.

I’m nice and great with the kids (their words), and I saved their asses by cleaning all the time and subsitute teaching for a month and a half (my words). But it wasn’t working out (their words again).

I strongly disliked my managers anyway. But damnit, I don’t want to leave my kids. Jett finally smiled at me. He’s serious around everyone, almost never laughs; but tonight, he smiled when he saw me. Noah blows me kisses. Alesha, oh my god, she won’t let me out of her sight. Indio, too. Both of them, always grabbing my hands, because they need me RIGHT HERE. Lilah is so pretty and so quiet, like a little fae. Sweet and anything. Princess Katie…funny as hell. Never talks to the other kids. Doesn’t want to play with them. Things will be done her way, or won’t be done at all. Mandy. I know I shouldn’t have favorites, but I love Mandy. She’s loud, and a little nuts and she’s walking now. In the time I’ve known her, she has learned to walk. I love the way she yells MAAAAANNNNDYYYYY! at the top of her lungs, just to make sure we’re paying attention. And the way she stomps around in a circle, squealing nonsense. My cute little spaz. Her mom and I call her Mandypants. It worked well.

I don’t even get to say goodbye.

…at least now I have more time to study for finals. Hell.

I should be writing a paper, but the last thing my brain has room for right now is whether or not Mansfield Park is representative of the Victorian Era.

Faire starts on Friday. Mixed feelings. I can’t wait to go back; I miss the people and the general environment. In spite of all the negative things that cropped up last season, it still feels more like a home than anywhere else. Being a May Reveler is going to be wonderful. I love the other girls and I love the dance shows. However…I am anxious about my…social life. Seeing certain people I care about move on. It’s selfish and childish, but I’ve gotten used to the attention and I’ll be sad to give it up. Aileen says that he most important thing is to find someone who’s nice to me…much harder than it sounds. At least now I have a reference point.

I started casting again, first time in four years. I hate saying ‘spells’. Sounds Hollywood to me. It wasn’t with much intention, anyway, nothing with hope for a specific outcome. I’m just trying to open myself up to goodness and light, so that I have the strength and power to help myself and the people I love. Quite a few have been through emotional ringers lately. Most of my god wishes were sent towards she who happened to be in the center of it all…last I heard, she was on a better path. Whether or not my will or wishes had anything to do with it, who knows. It’s unlikely. But at least, so far, no harm has been done.

Tomorrow, the California Supreme Court will be hearing arguments regarding the validity of Prop 8. I can’t begin to describe how nervous I am. Someone is going to have to text me updates, as I’ll be in class during the proceedings and I doubt any of my professors will let me watch on my computer. The logic of allowing the majority to decide the fate of a minority escapes me. I wish there were a way to accomplish this without stepping on anyone’s belief system. People shouldn’t be sued and forced to ordin a marriage they don’t believe in, and people shouldn’t be denied the title of ‘marriage’ because they love someone of the same sex. People just need to do their own thing, stay out of each other’s business, and do their best not to hurt other people. That’s what really ticks me off. Everyone says I Don’t Want To Hurt You. I think it’s rare for someone to enter into a situation with malicious intent. But, really, what’s so difficult about not hurting someone? Be respectful, be honest, keep your promises. Above all things, be considerate and be kind. If we considered everyone’s feelings, 8 wouldn’t be an issue. This is a simple formula. Stop messing it up.

Oh, in other news, I’m no longer an eharmony reject. I deleted my profile. Just wanted to see if I’d be two for two on incompatibility. I was all set to make an eharmony reject T-shirt. Curses! Lost an opportunity for The Funny.

Watchmen premiere tomorrow night. I am geek, hear me roar. Or giggle a lot, which could possibly lead to snorting.

Trolling around the interwebs, I discovered this op-ed. Elizabeth Stewart, the author, is pissed off. She’s pissed off because she works a full day, just like her husband, and works her ass off at home as well. She feels underappreciated and at her wits end: “It’s a constant struggle to meet the demands of my various roles as wife, mother, daughter, colleague, lover, friend. I feel as if I short-change everyone all the time.”

By the time I read to the end of the piece, I felt a very close connection with Elizabeth. That may sound pretentious, because I don’t have an impressive or stressful career with an ad agency, nor do I have a husband and child to care for. But I admire her ability to juggle everything in her life, and feel her anger is justified. If I had crawled into bed just four hours earlier, while my husband was at home for most of that afternoon, I would hope that he would volunteer to be the one to get up and clean up our child’s vomit. It’s not out of resentment for the child, and it’s not because I wouldn’t be concerned and want to take care of my sick baby. There has to be an equal division of labor, that’s all.

I scrolled down to the comments, expecting to see more angry women in a little show of girl power. What an unpleasant surprise it was to read the following:

So give up your job and stop whinging. You say you need two jobs to keep a roof over your head? Downsize to a smaller roof and you’ll be just fine on your husband’s salary. And you can ditch the nanny then too and care for the child you brought into the world yourself. Son at boarding school? You chose to put him there, your problem if you miss him. Sorry, honey, but my guess is you’re not short of a bob or two – you’ve just grown acustomed to a certain standard of living and are damned if you’re going to give it up. Fine, but you’re smart enough to know you cannot have it all.
Click to rate Rating 250- Anna, London, 22/2/2009 16:40

Yes, she has a nanny. Yes, her son is in boarding school. Those both cost quite a bit of money. I choose not to begrudge her those things, because she can’t very well leave the youngest at home by herself, and if she can give her son a chance at a better education and future, more power to her.

You need to stop working and let your man take over all fiscal responsibilities until you are out of the weeds. Best of luck, girl. You have simply overcompensated.

Sigh. That one doesn’t need my commentary.

Why do women feel so angry? Glad you asked.
Well of course the irrational (and incorrect) explanation is to blame men. But in fact anger is a disease which starts to seriously inhibit women after the age of about 33. This is the age when the waning interest in them from men finally serves as confirmation that they are losing their looks. It is also the time that they reluctantly come to the realisation that ‘having it all’ is a cruel, feminist perpetuated myth.

That was the tone of most of the feedback, divided about equally between men and women. There were also a number of scoffs at this woman daring to get a bikini wax. How dare she do something that makes her feel attractive.

Obviously, she could be much worse off. There are plenty of single mothers who would die for a dual income and a nanny. I appreciate that, and I’m sure Ms. Stewart does as well. What troubles me here is the amount of people who are so sure that a woman should not have both a family and a career. I want both. I want to go to work, I want to put my education to good use, I want to teach, and I want to enjoy it. I also want to have a baby and raise her to be a loving, intelligent, and all-around wonderful human being. My mother did both. She worked in the morning, my father worked at night. We needed both incomes, and they both wanted to be with their baby. My father was ridiculed by other men for wanting to stay at home with me, and change my diapers, and clean up my sick. Not a glamorous line of work, and I’m sure there were times when the stress from work and from a child drove both of my parents insane. But they managed, and I lost nothing in the end. Two working parents. Daughter who never felt neglected.

It can be done. We can do it all. It’s shouldn’t be a question of whether or not a woman is capable of having a family and a job. It should be a question of whether or not we have the support system to do so, be it friend, boyfriend, husband, or our own parents. Wanting everything includes wanting some help from time to time…and we shouldn’t have to feel guilty about asking for it.

I frequently have people popping up in IM windows, asking why the hell I’m sitting at home on a Friday/Saturday night. I should be out at a party, with friends, beign social, whatever. The truth is, though, acting like a normal twenty-year-old woman doesn’t appeal to me in the slightest. I was considering going to The Key Club to see a couple bands I like, as well as a special appearance by Dane Cook. Instead, I opted to come home and go out to dinner with my parents. Plans for my 21st, only five months away? No big party. Forget Vegas. More than anything, I just want my Dad to buy me a drink at Molly Malone’s.

I don’t think I’m especially boring, and it’s not that I’m lazy. I do like to get all dressed up to go out. But the club scene, bars, whatever…I dunno. If I’m with people, I want to be *with* people; not performing some activity where other people happen to be joining in. I like conversation. The highlight of next week, for me, will be going to AllisonandAdam’s, having a drink, and playing Scrabble in my pajamas. Exotic, no…not so glamorous either. And I’ve had the opportunity to be both of those things. It’s just not my deal. Am I missing out on an important part of my adult life?

While we’re on the subject of what kind of girl I am…according to Stoner Philip (I actually have no idea if he smokes…sweet kid in a couple of my classes, looks a bit dazed all the time), I “don’t look like the kind of girl who’d be into comics.”

Me: (looks up, slightly annoyed that Watchmen is being interrupted) What does that even mean?
SP: (shrugs)
Me: Well, what do I look like?
SP: Like…not a dork.

When I informed that I am indeed a dork, one who plays D&D and can tie Doctor Who/Firefly into most conversations, he shook his head in disbelief…and went back to his nap.

Guess I’m full of surprises.

Play behavior is well-developed in North American river otters. Play is made up of sliding, chasing one’s own tail, swimming, juggling sticks or pebbles, rolling around in the grass or snow, wrestling, and playing with captured prey or with other river otters. Playful behavior was found in only 6% of 294 observations in a study in Idaho, and was limited mostly to immature otters.[11]

Otters can juggle. Seals can bounce balls. Dogs save people from snow drifts and fires. Gorillas and parrots can understand and comprehend human speech.

Comparitively speaking, human beings seem a little lame.

“Osteosarcoma is the third most common cancer in young people, yet during the past 20 years little research has been carried out into developing improved therapies, and survival rates have remained unchanged with only 54 per cent of patients alive after five years, says Robert Grimer, a consultant orthopaedic oncologist at The Royal Orthopaedic Hospital NHS Trust in Birmingham.”

A few other sites have quoted 65% as a survival rate, but I have yet to find anything higher.

If or when this blog generates any kind of income, I’m going to divide it evenly between the Pediatric Cancer Foundation and the Sam Loeb College Scholarship Fund.

The lovely Rebecca Woolf of GirlsGoneChild, one of my favorite ‘Mommy Blogs’, has recently undertaken a new project entitled “Portraits of an Economy“. People from all over the country are sending in pieces, describing how the economy has and is affecting them. It’s a brilliant idea, and Rebecca was sweet enough to post my entry.

I just wanted to encourage everyone to check this site out. It’s heartbreaking and inspiring, and I think anyone would benefit from sharing in these stories.

Love.