laguera25: Dug from UP! (Default)
2017-07-03 06:42 pm
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Message in a Bottle

I can't seem to settle my mind anymore, and my bones keep rattling after. Book reviews and travel plans and social commentary and story ideas all whirl and tumble around in my head, and when I go to bed at night, I fall asleep to the promise of posting them in the morning, but in the morning, I wake up and shuffle to the toilet and then shuffle into the sunroom to stare at the computer screen with gummy eyes, and nothing gets posted. The incisive critiques of the books I've read molder into a vague, indifferent muddle in my head, and the outrage inspired by the ludicrous political doings of the fool in the President's chair dissipates into a leaden apathy. It's impossible to persuade the willfully blind when they do not wish to open their eyes, and you cannot change the world from behind a keyboard, furiously as you might peck at the keys. Would that you could.

The Internet is a wondrous invention, but the ability to peer into others' virtual living rooms exposes you to a great many things you would rather not see. For instance, before I ventured into the wilds of Facebook as a means to communicate with distant relatives, I had vastly overestimated the basic literacy of my countrymen. Surely, thought I in my naivete, surely most Americans can read and write at a basic level. Nope. No, they cannot. Grown men and women scrawl incoherent gibberings that would embarrass an orangutan and proclaim them the wisdom of Solomon. "Who needs school?" they cry as it is painfully obvious how much they do, or how woefully they ignored or misused its gifts. History is replete with the stupid and the inarticulate, of course, but in the pre-Internet era, their faults weren't displayed for the world to see. Once upon a time, people weren't proud to be ignorant, uneducated, and stupid. But those days, like Jefferson and Lincoln, Dickens and Wordsworth, are gone, gone away, and now the fool is king.

Maybe that's why it's been so easy to fall silent. When I started my first blog, I did so because I wanted to belong. On the Internet, I could not be judged by my looks or my imperfections, but had to be judged by the content of my character. If people disagreed with my opinion, I could rest easy in the knowledge that it was my opinion alone that provoked their response and not the palsied tremor in the finger that typed it. They disagreed with me, not the body I came in, and for someone accustomed to being judge before I finished entering a room, to the necessity of proving my worth before being offered basic courtesy, it was a revelation. The Internet, for all its flaws, pitfalls, and squalid dens of iniquity, was the great equalizer.

But as movie!Galadriel once said, the world has changed. Anonymity is no longer the order of the day. Where once we counseled prudence and safeguarded our privacy behind pseudonyms, now every aspect of our lives is lived in the public sphere. Where we work, where we eat, the movies we see and the books we read--all of these things are on open display, and because it is posted under our real names, it is easy to uncover who we are in the offline world. We're no longer abstract voices in the ether, but faces and bodies and professions and economic strata and religious creeds and political affiliations, and with that knowledge comes all the judgment and supposition so many of us wanted to leave behind.

I can handle being labeled a bitch or a cunt or an asshole; it's part and parcel of life on the Internet. But being derided as a crippled bitch or a retarded cut cuts far more deeply. It's a devaluation not just of my opinion as it stands on its merits or lack thereof, but as a devaluation and dismissal of me, of who I am at the pith and marrow. It's not my ideas they disdain, but me, the soul-spark called Guera, and nothing I say will matter because I am me. Flawed body means flawed mind, the end, forever and ever, and even if God shoved His hand up my ass and used me as His Divine hand puppet, my voice would go unheard because everyone knows people like me are poor misguided souls with no minds of our own, put here to teach our families patience and remind strangers how much crappier their lives could be, so be grateful, you whinging peasants, or the Lord will smite you with a stroke or give you a handicapped child.

I can't say these things publicly. Maybe I could have once upon a time, before anger and outrage became performative and good faith was the naive wish of the sheltered and privileged, but not now. Few would listen, and those who did would either condescend and tell me it was all in my head, the frightful bogeys of exclusion and rejection that have dogged me from childhood, or wag their fingers and tell me my unhappiness is all of my own making and I should just purge all negativity from my life, as if it were as easy as flushing a toilet(and all while moaning on their own blogs about how misunderstood and unappreciated they are. Hello, pot, I'm kettle. Would you like a winch for that beam in your eye?).

And therein lies the rub for me. I like the idea of people very much, but the reality of them is a bitter disappointment. I find them irksome and intrusive, too loud and too blinkered and far less clever than they believe themselves to be. And yes, I include myself in that misanthropic assessment. The pleasure they bring is seldom worth the effort expended to know them. There are wonderful people out there, and I treasure and delight in them as a dying man treasures another breath, but they are few and growing fewer. Most revel in being as cruel, petty, spiteful, and obnoxious as possible, and it's demoralizing to wade into the world to find that there's more mutual respect and decorum to be had in a shit-flinging poo fight at the monkey house.

I'm tired. That's the long and short of it. I'm tired of knowing I'll never be heard, that never again will my opinions be weighed on their merits alone, of knowing that even my family thinks I'm too stupid to have a credible opinion on any matter weightier than what to have for dinner, and that my only intrinsic value lies in how my existence shapes their character and improves their prospects in the hereafter.

I'm tired. I'm tired, and I want to be quiet, but to be quiet smacks too much of surrender, and I don't know what to do.
laguera25: Dug from UP! (Default)
2017-05-22 03:21 pm
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Haunted By My Mother's Ghosts

It's started again. Of course it has. Now that she's decided to pull up stakes again and move back to Florida, my mother is badgering me to do the same. It started this morning with a wheedling, disingenuous email enumerating the myriad wonders of Florida living and a nice, two-bedroom villa she found. Since she just told Roomie a few days ago that she bought a new villa next to my grandmother's, I suspect they are one and the same, and that though she bought the villa for herself, she'll now couch it in terms of having done it for me all along. Mysteriously-multiplying villas aside, she extolled the virtues of living near dozens of restaurants, bemoaned my limited lifestyle, and emphasized the presence of "medical care."

The stridency of this last item baffles me. I'm nearing forty, not seventy. I've always thought that when I was a young child, perhaps even an infant, the doctors(perhaps even the same pitiless oafs who told her not to name me since I wasn't long for the world)told her that I wouldn't live much past forty, and now that the appointed hour draws nigh, she's hoping to draw me home so that I can die in the bosom of my loving family.

Well, fuck that.

I don't know if the doctors whispered such a prophecy to her all those years ago, and even if they did, they made plenty of others that never came to pass. I'm not blind. I'm not mute. I'm not profoundly retarded. I survived. I endured. I clawed a rickety life for myself and snatched a few fragments of happiness from this hard old world. If the doctors got one right and my time is growing short, I have no intention of crawling home to spend what remains of it being smothered and steamrolled by people who thought so little of me and what I could've been that when my father drew up his will, it was not to provide for my life, but my assumed institutionalization.

If this is to be my end, then I would have it be such an end, as Theoden says before he rides out for the last time to meet the enemy. I will go to Atlanta for a last dose of Kiwi sunshine and spend time with him who loved me best and watch a few more sunsets over the mountain and read a few more books, and when it is time to quit the battle and go to meet Him who set me on this journey, I will go quietly, without fanfare. I will not be the set piece for one last drama with my mother wherein she plays the grieving mother. Let Roomie scatter my ashes in a shady spot for the ages or use them to plant a tree upon the ridge.

If she isn't preparing for my imminent demise, then I can only surmise that my grandmother's increasing frailty has raised the specter of loss, and of her own mortality and triggered yet another frantic, obsessive episode I'll have to weather. Whatever the case may be, the next few months promise to be an exhausting emotional grind.

Lucky me.
laguera25: Dug from UP! (Default)
2017-05-15 05:12 pm
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How the Dog Days of Summer Whine

If I could say anything to the world today, it would be that summer approaches. It's grown steadily warmer inside the house, and soon, the dogged whirling of the ceiling fan will be no match for the heavy, sticky heat. When that day comes, Roomie will rinse the AC filters, and the aging behemoth in the living room will drown out the television with its lugubrious hum. If anyone were to drop in on us during the summer, they'd assume we were deaf, victims of thirty years of listening to metal at high volume, because the volume has to be set in the twenties to compensate for its neighbor's throaty roar.

By June, the bedroom will be sauna. The small wall unit will take the edge off, but I will still wake in the morning with sweat tricking into the crack of my ass. Such is the price you pay for living in an uninsulated shanty in the South. And yet, miserable as it can be when your hair is plastered to your scalp in an unbecoming clump and you're swilling fluids to stay ahead of dehydration, I wouldn't change it. This town is flawed, and sometimes I dream of Tallahassee and the safe routine of easy excellence, but it's quiet and peaceful, and its isolation has allowed me to save up for adventures like Dragoncon and Rammstein in Vegas.

Speaking of houses, my mother bought a villa in Florida. Because why not? Never mind the four properties she already owns down there; she needs this one, too. Oh, and by the way, she and PC will be moving down there this fall. Apparently, they've decided to become stereotypical snowbirds and winter in Florida while spending their summers here. She claims it's because my grandmother is getting frail, but I suspect she's just lonely and homesick and restless again.

It's her life and her money to do with as she pleases, but I shudder to think of the property and estate taxes with which she's going to saddle me when she finally succumbs to the COPD she steadfastly refuses to acknowledge. Mayhap I'll be able to sell a few when the time comes.
laguera25: Dug from UP! (Default)
2017-05-13 12:23 pm
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(?) Is a Burning Thing

If I could say one thing to the world today, it would be that the irksome, burning needling in my side continues. It's something that's happened before my period for years, but it's particularly bad this month. I'm not sure what it is. I've gone to the doctor about it three times, and each time, they declare they can fine nothing amiss and look at me as though I'm just a fretful little woman or a lonely cripple looking for attention, so I've just learned to live with it. I suppose I'll live with it until either my appendix pops like a balloon or a cyst ruptures or the pain gets so steady and so acute that they can't insist it's all in my silly head. If it does, I hope it has the decency to wait until after Dragoncon.
laguera25: Dug from UP! (Default)
2017-05-12 09:47 pm

An Image to Uphold

If I could say one thing to the world today, it would be that I am okay. There's an irksome, needling stitch in my right side and my period is late, but I'm still here. Every day brings a new dumpster fire in the political arena, and the country remains perched upon a dreadful precipice, its future as a democratic republic in precarious balance, but there is still hope, and as hope endures, so shall I. I ate today and looked out my window to see a blue sky and green grass and frolicking dogs, so yes, there is hope.

In matters less momentous, I've been reading and watching crappy paranormal shows and counting down the days until Dragoncon. Time flies of late, and it's less than four months until we're off to Atlanta for five days of fun, food, and geekery. The hotel is set, and since we've been saving judiciously, money should be of scant concern, especially since we're unrepentant cheapskates who'll make do with whatever foodcourt victuals we find. As long as I get an Urban autograph and photo op and a Skurge Funko, I'm happy.

And a visit to the aquarium, of course.

I've been working my way through a replay of Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess. Oh, non-existent readers, long had I forgotten the RAEG of the field chase and subsequent jousting match with King Bublin. I went at that for more than an hour, and frankly, by the end, I was perfectly willing to let that little turd, Colin, remain a permanent fixture on Bublin's spear, but I was damned if I'd let the game have the satisfaction(Reason, alas, takes a hasty holiday when I'm frustrated.). Sheer, seething butthurt bested code in the end, but I called it quits before I hurled my controller through our elderly TV. Link can just sit and think about what he's done for a few days. I'm too old for daily blood-pressure spikes anymore and don't want my end to be a massive stroke brought on by telling a conglomeration of polygons and meticulous code to go fuck itself and suggesting that he cram his less-than-helpful companion up his narrow, inept ass. Sideways and sans lube.
laguera25: Dug from UP! (Default)
2017-04-25 10:21 pm
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Withdrawing Into the Citadel

We're bunkered in for the time being in an effort to save money for Urbancon 2017. I've been reading and playing Paper Mario: The Thousand-Year Door. I wish I could add writing/ficcing to the list of daily activities, but my inspiration seems to have evaporated. I haven't written more than a few half-hearted journal entries and inchoate scraps of fic in more than a year. Sometimes I toy with the myriad unfinished fics sitting on my hard drive, but none of them seems worth the effort. Every time I start, I stutter to a stop, and who's going to read it anyway with my sterling track record of leaving fics unfinished? So fuck it. I'll read other people's stories and stop looking for a sense of connection that I'm never going to find.
laguera25: Dug from UP! (Default)
2017-04-24 04:27 pm
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Adulthood Blues

On the heels of joy, reality intrudes. We had to replace the rear tires to the tune of $200, and two days later, storms wiped out a surge protector. None of the equipment plugged into it, thank God, but that was another $40 unplanned dollars spent. The bill for the communal water pump is due next week, so there goes another $55 dollars. Add in $25 for lawn maintenance and possibly another $100+ for staining my ramp so it doesn't rot out from under me, and it looks like it's going to be a lean month. Bah.

At least the library is free.
laguera25: Dug from UP! (Default)
2017-03-24 10:15 pm
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A Bum Deal

Age is unkind to a body, especially one so ramshackle as mine. It has always ached on some level, battered by spastic muscles and misaligned bones and the constant thrum of anxiety, but it has recently added another twinge and throb to its ailing repertoire: My ass hurts. A hemorrhoid, mayhap; I've been prone to them since adolescence, a consequence of the aforementioned anxiety and spasticity. Or maybe as I've aged, my ass has compressed, flattened by years of immobility. I've never beheld my glutes in the mirror, but I do know that they certainly aren't maximus, and I have the sneaking, unhappy suspicion that if I were to stand upright, I would bear an uncanny resemblance to Michigan J. Frog. Guera Noshanks, they would call me in the sprawling lore of a fantasy novel, the wizened, stringy crone hunched in the corner of some filthy tavern that smelled of hay and malt and festering B.O., and I would be the bearer of the pivotal prophecy. At least until I dropped dead, felled by a convenient embolism right before the truth is revealed.

Hemorrhoid or a simple case of Flat Ass, this is no small concern for someone who has no choice but to sit(And on a related note, I can't tell you how cheered I am by all those studies that claim sitting shortens the lifespan. Whee!). Whatever it is, I hope it subsides soon.

Still no joy in Mudville. I doubt there will be, truth be told. His career has picked up under new management, and I doubt he'll have much time for con appearances anymore. I can't fault him, and I'm glad there'll be new projects this year, but a pathetic, wistful part of me is sad that I won't get the chance to be touched by his kindness this year.
laguera25: Dug from UP! (Default)
2017-03-08 01:05 pm
Entry tags:

The Spirit in the Window

Still no joy in Mudville.

Roomie has gone off to run errands, and I am alone. On the one hand, I'm glad because I have a few hours to myself to think my thoughts and scratch my ass and watch TV without interruption, but on the other, I'm ill at ease. I'm exquisitely aware of my vulnerability, my physical limitations. If something unexpected were to happen, my options would be few. If I were lucky, I could escape the house to safety, short pants and my dignity. If I weren't, I would die. The end. It's a sobering thought to entertain, and sometimes I wonder how often able folks have similar thoughts. Not often, I suspect, else they wouldn't routinely do such stupid things as trying to annihilate a spider with a butane torch or leaping off a short bridge in an effort to demonstrate the unrivaled circumference of their sacred testes. I envy them such serene unawareness of their fragility.
laguera25: Dug from UP! (Default)
2017-03-07 02:26 pm
Entry tags:

Frustration

Another day, another Dragoncon disappointment, but they have invited a bunch of NASA nerds, perhaps as a backlash to the government's anti-science stance. Bravo to them. I'll have to seek out a few of their panels and demos.

Speaking of science, congratulations to Jason Isaacs for landing a plum gig on Star Trek: Discovery. I have but scant hope in a show whose pre-production has been a mess from the get-go and whose debut has been pushed back three times, but God bless Space Tavington. I might pick it up on DVD someday(yes, I'm a crusty old Luddite who still has a DVD player). I do feel bad for John Cho, who was so excited when Michelle Yeoh was cast because it was assumed she was the lead.


After years of relative stability, my panic attacks have returned. I can't pinpoint a specific cause, but it wouldn't be a stretch to say that the current political climate plays a major role. Nothing is certain. Everything is under siege, and our institutions have given lie to the idea and ideals of representative government. Jokes about self-interested politicians have been around forever, but the truth behind them has never been on such alarming, ostentatious display before, and the comforting notion that even politicians had lines they wouldn't cross has been obliterated. The entire foundation of the country is crumbling underfoot, and who knows what waits for us at the bottom of the abyss. Nothing good. Nothing kind, and while I feel pity for myself and sympathy for the folks who saw the danger and did their best to avert it with their vote, I can feel no such things for those who continue to support this perverse, craven administration and insist that trampling civil rights and fomenting racism and xenophobia is making America great again. Yes, yes, reach out and build a bridge and blah blah, but I'll be damned if I'll waste my time and empathy on a moron who sees the chaos and the fear of his fellow countrymen and stubbornly, belligerently refuses to admit that there is a problem at all, let alone that they had a hand in it. If good people wouldn't be consumed in the oncoming conflagration, I'd let the idiots burn without a pang of remorse. Gandalf I ain't.
laguera25: Dug from UP! (Default)
2017-03-06 01:15 pm
Entry tags:

Checking the Logbook

Every day, I check the Dragoncon guest list, and every day, I am disappointed. To be fair, they haven't announced anyone of note yet except Matt Smith and Billie Piper. Aside from the voice of Mario, they've only announced authors. Which, great! I might go see them if I can discover their hiding place at the con, but they just don't tweedle my tweedler like the actors do. If they announced Stephen King, say, I'd break my neck getting there, but Sherrilyn Kenyon is not in the same league.

Library holds are wondrous things. I peruse the catalogue of 281 member libraries, choose the treasures that catch my eye, and a week or so later, they're ready for pickup. It's not as much fun or as soothing as browsing the stacks myself and losing myself in the delicious smells and somnolent silence, but it does ensure that I'm not tempted to just grab a bite of lunch or pop into Walmart to fritter away money on a DVD I won't watch for three years. It makes life a bit duller, but finishing each month with a financial cushion, however slight, is a nice feeling.
laguera25: Dug from UP! (Default)
2017-03-02 02:08 pm
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Roaring and Sputtering

I love medium salsa, but my digestive tract does not. ~moans~

Yesterday, we had a FANTASTIC thunderstorm, and by "fantastic", I mean a terrifying maelstrom that spewed hail and lightning and tore transformers from poles. Had I been home, I undoubtedly would've been in a fetal position on the floor with my pants in an unspeakable state of filth, but I was at the movies and thus was insulated from the roar by Lego Batman. It was cute but lacked some of the charm of The Lego Movie. It was too aware of what it was meant to be and occasionally tried too hard too be funny. Lego!Alfred was adorable, though, and maybe I'm an old sap, but I felt bad for the Joker when Batman told him he meant nothing to him. Batman was nice, but I want more Emmett.

In ominous news, I fear the car's transmission might not be long for the world. It felt very sluggish last night. I'd take it to be looked at, but our trusted mechanic has disappeared. Whether he moved or shut down entirely, I don't know. If the car dies, I have no idea what we'll do.
laguera25: Dug from UP! (Default)
2017-02-27 11:45 pm
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Dispatches From Limbo

They're calling for severe weather on Wednesday, so Roomie and I will be seeking sanctuary at the library and the movie theater. We might even catch a double feature. This might not sound like much, but I haven't left the house since the first week of January. I simply haven't wanted to, and on the more practical side, you wouldn't believe the money I've saved. No excursions mean no temptation to buy DVDs I won't watch and food I won't eat, and since we don't go further than the library, we need very little gas. Life might be a little dull at the moment, but my Dragoncon nest is getting exceedingly well-feathered.

I wish I had more to report, but not much happens when you don't leave the house.
laguera25: Dug from UP! (Default)
2017-02-26 11:44 pm
Entry tags:

An Early Winter

There aren't enough drugs or booze in the world to cope with the political climate in this country right now. Each day brings some new gobbet of calamity, some new assault upon decency and common sense. Facebook is a quagmire of cruelty, stupidity, and hysterical propaganda from both sides. To ignore it is to be coward, but to wade into it is an invitation to gibbering insanity.

It's times like these that I miss LJ-era fandom. I was never a BNF, and more than a few people found me an abrasive ogre or an insipid bore whose fics waffled interminably on before petering out into pathetic incompleteness, but there was always something to do or watch, and there were so many comms on which to lurk. You could feel at home even if nobody every knew you were there, and if you couldn't cope with anything else, you had a place where someone, somewhere shared your OTP or your headcanon or your hateboner for that one godforsaken character who should've been dunked into boiling pitch three seasons ago. You might only cross paths once, or you might be friends for years. Either way, there was a frisson, however fleeting, of recognition and connection. Now there's just a maelstrom of me me mes, and all those clean, well-lighted places are gone. It's very lonely. It's also the way of it now, and I find that sad.

If only it were different. If only I had not grown old.
laguera25: Dug from UP! (Default)
2017-02-21 02:27 pm
Entry tags:

Stirring

Booked my hotel for Dragoncon and plotted the route to Gus' Chicken, which I've wanted to try since I saw it on an episode of The Best Thing I Ever Ate. No sign of Karl Urban or the lovely Craig Parker yet, but there is plenty of time, and I'm excited all the same. Five days without Internet and limited TV and time to stop obsessing over the unfolding drama of current events. Privileged? Certainly, but hiding in my home isn't doing anyone any any favors, least of all me. So, I'm going. Not for Great Justice or to make a bold statement. Just for me. Because I can, and life needs to go on.

In the meantime, however, I'm content to stay home and take refuge in my books and in libraries, which still exist. There is still hope and goodness, and I must remember them.
laguera25: Dug from UP! (Default)
2017-02-19 06:57 pm
Entry tags:

What Might've Been

Last night was a carnival of suck in which I had a minor panic attack. This one featured heroic ass cramps, the sweats, back pain, and clammy hands. Whee! I can't pinpoint a cause, but I suspect it's rooted in the swirling vortex of incompetence and uncertainty generated by the Trump regime. It's hard to feel safe when your President declares the press an enemy of the people and holds multi-million-dollar rallies to feed his gargantuan ego.

Roomie and I are watching Clone Wars. This nominal kids' show fleshed out and humanized Anakin and the greater Stars Wars universe far better than the craptabulous prequels. I actually feel sorry for him even though I know how he ends up, and I'm on tenterhooks to see how the inevitable downfall plays out. If the embarrassing, cash-grabbing, shoddy prequels had been created with this much forethought and attention to detail, they might have converted me into a bona fide Star Wars fan.

I wouldn't mind if someone throttled Jar-Jar Binks, though.
laguera25: Dug from UP! (Default)
2017-02-19 12:58 am
Entry tags:

A Small Step

My optimism is still MIA, but I did get the ball rolling on Dragoncon this year. I wasn't sure I wanted to go, and frankly, I'm still not, but I need something to look forward to. I know it's frivolous, but it's also something that doesn't smack of terror and hatred and a fundamental undoing of everything I have ever known or hoped about my country. Besides, I need to get out. I've become a recluse since the inauguration, and five days in Atlanta with Roomie, surrounded by unrepentant nerdery, will do me good.
laguera25: Dug from UP! (Default)
2017-02-17 04:05 pm
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To Future Generations

As disappointing as I found the result of the election, the days since have disappointed me the more. Despite blatant evidence of Trump's corruption, collusion with the Russian government, and gross temperamental instability, as well as his brazen disregard for security protocols, an alarming number of my countrymen refuse to see he's a danger, and of those who do see, they don't care. They're too busy celebrating what they perceive as a victory. Now that their "man of the people" is in power, things will become as they ought to be. Women will know their place, and the unborn babies will be saved from the endlessly-churning murder mills. Those lazy poor people(read: poor non-white folks, not them, never, never them, the good, white, God-fearing Christians)will stop sucking the government teat and get a job. Those dirty, job-stealing immigrants will be rounded up and shipped back to Buttfuck, NotUSA, where they belong. And fuck those dirty phantom voters, too. No more money will be wasted on educated the useless retard children God foisted upon sinful parents as punishment and a lesson in humility. Maybe some charitable soul will feed them apple juice and crackers and teach 'em about Jesus and how to roll quarters for a princely twenty cents an hour. Those filthy gays will be punished and forced back onto the fringes, where they can't offend "decent" folk with their perversion and those decent folk won't have to behold the scandalous horror of two men holding hands. And now those stupid, college-educated hippie treehuggers won't be able to stop a man from earning an honest dollar just to save some water and trees and some dumb animals no one will miss. It's everything they have ever wanted.

I keep waiting for them to realize that the cost of their twisted, WASPy utopia comes at the cost of everything the hold dear and have taken for granted. Free speech, personal autonomy, freedom from government interference, freedom of thought and movement. How can they not as twenty-one states introduce bills to limit voting rights and curb lawful protest? How can they not when DHS and customs agents are demanding to access travelers' cellphones in order to paw through their contacts and social-media accounts, prurient children in search of an illicit thrill? How can they not when Congresspeople are dodging town hall meetings with constituents and the White House's mouthpiece, Kellyanne Conway, admits the administration has no intention of listening to "losers"? How can they not see that dismantling the EPA will have generations-long consequences for everyone, not just the idiot liberals they so despise?

But they keep on celebrating, because they finally stuck it to the libtards. They won. Who cares if it cost them everything they claim to cherish, if it will end in ash and bitterness for everyone, if there might not be a planet over which man has dominion according to their sacred Word of God? They won, and now all those snotty, entitled, mooching pissbaby dumbasses will have to suffer like they did for eight years under a black President. They would rather cling to this Pyrrhic victory and fiddle while Rome burns than abide the idea that they have been used, might have sold their beloved country to a fool for the right to hate.

As someone who's lived at ass-level from the day I was born, I know have terrible and selfish people can be, how much some of them delight in being petty tyrants for the black-minded fun of it, but I never imagined that so many of them would so gleefully sell themselves out for the chance to win. If decency and fairness could not act as bulwarks against oppression and lunacy, I thought self-interest would. They might not care about free speech for the hippies or abortions for those irresponsible skanks who had sex with someone who wasn't them, but they would care about affordable medical care for their own families and clean air and water for their children. They would care about a foreign power meddling in the affairs of the Greatest Country in the World(TM) and thinking they could fool red-blooded American patriots. They would care that the President has nigh-incoherent meltdowns at hour-long press conferences, where he harangues Jewish and African-American reporters and besmirches the dignity of the office. They would care that Betsy DeVos' policies endanger their children's right to an education. They would care that grossly-unqualified people are being appointed to public office.

That they don't has been a stunning blow to me. I've never thought my fellow Americans, or people in general, for that matter, were fundamentally good, but I did think, naively, as it turns out, that they possessed a scrap of self-preservation and would, therefore, defend the principles expounded in our Constitution, if only to preserve them for themselves. More fool me.

I'm not sure where the country goes from here. I'm not sure where I go. I can only apologize to the future generations we have betrayed and hope that they will learn from our willful folly.
laguera25: Dug from UP! (Default)
2017-02-13 10:24 pm
Entry tags:

Cometh the Whovians

More announcements from Dragoncon. It's stacking up to be rather Whovian-oriented, which is splendid for the Whovians, but I'm rather indifferent to it. There's still plenty of time for them to announce someone who tickles my fancy, though, so there's no reason to despair. And yes, my fingers and toes are crossed for Karl Urban.
laguera25: Dug from UP! (Default)
2017-02-12 03:17 pm
Entry tags:

Looking For the Bright Spots

Hey, did you know that it's totes okay that Betsy DeVos is Secretary of Education because even though she had zero knowledge of, and thus no commitment to, the federal laws protecting special ed, she'll build "special schools" for disabled people with fantasy money, and those schools will be totally equal to the regular schools in terms of educational opportunity? So saith my mother when challenged about the appointment.

I hope she burns in hell.


In less-infuriating news, I'm trying to read Salamandastron by Brian Jacques, but it's just not clicking for me. It's too much like the previous four books in the series, except now there's sulky, teenage badger angst. Whee! I realize these books are for children, but a little diversity of plot wouldn't have hurt. At this rate, I'm not sure I'll get through the series.

In fannish news, Dragoncon announced the voice of Mario, Luigi, Wario, and Waluigi as a guest. Woot! He seems like such a cutie pie, and not at all how I envisioned him. So there's that to which to look forward.