First of all this is my 102nd post. As I failed to make note of my 100th post I feel now is a good time for celebration. Yay for me!
Second of all I am fighting an inappropriate attraction to Dolph Lundgren. Now, this isn’t nearly as inappropriate as my love for Will Ferrell or even Steven Segal (yes, it’s wrong I know it) but none-the-less I feel I need to get this off my chest. (Or perhaps get Dolph on my chest, one never knows.)
This has all been brought on by my recent viewing of The Punisher, not the new one with Thomas Jane but the old one from 1989 with Dolph Lundgren. It’s a classic, trust me. But on the special feature they offer little bios and not only does Mr. Lundgren have a Master’s in Chemistry, but he was also a fullbright scholar for MIT. Hello?! I have yet to see anything remotely approaching Dolph Lundgren walking around campus either at my school or at MIT. Granted I haven’t canvassed MIT’s campus, but I’m willing to bet good money on it! And I also never saw Vin Disel at any D&D games I attended (for those of you who don’t know what D&D is I’m not going to explain). So I ask you, what’s the use of stereotyping gamer geeks and science nerds if there are men looking like Dolph Lundgren and Vin Disel out there destroying the curve hmm? In the end I suppose I simply hope that my new school will possess the exceptionally hot graduate student that wants to marry me. Or maybe have a weekend fling. Or perhaps just tell me I’m pretty. I’m really not that picky at this point.
So that’s my where-in-the-hell-is-my-body-building-hotness-oozing-incredibly-smart-highly-educated-boyfriend rant. I demand (demand I say!) that all men meeting this description take me out to dinner to interview for the position. It’s still true love if I force them into marrying me right? I mean, what’s the difference?
My love is like a plastic bag over your face.
This message brought to you by haters-not-daters. Have a nice day.
Saturday, April 28, 2007
Thursday, April 19, 2007
I don’t read the news because it makes me too mad. I get upset; I throw the newspaper, and usually I curse the heavens, the Republicans, and especially President Bush. Yes, it’s going to be that sort of blog so heed this warning before you continue.
Let’s start with abortion shall we? And why I’m more than a brood mare. I like that idea. The idea that we can pass a law that doesn’t take into account a woman’s health—I’m flabbergasted. Outraged doesn’t begin to describe me. We are so busy preserving the “sanctity of life” that a woman can be threatened and it’s only unfortunate, possibly tragic if she’s pretty. Being pro-choice does not mean I am thrilled by abortion; it doesn’t even mean I would have one necessarily—it means that I demand the choice. It means that I, as a functioning member of society demand my civil rights be upheld over a fetus that depends upon my body to grow. A fetus that has only the potential to be a functioning member of society. Once we begin to pass laws based on potential we enter a realm of ethics where there is no shallow end. The difference between infringing on a pedophile’s rights to molest children and a woman’s rights to an abortion is that a pedophile hurts a living, independent member of society. A fetus is neither self-sustaining nor independent and to deny abortion rights to women, especially without excepting for cases of health states specifically states that we are worth less than a clump of cells with nothing but “potential.”
I’ll be completely honest: I value women more than the babies they carry. Why? Because a woman is already alive. She is already here. A fetus is naught but a thing inside her until it is born. From a religious standpoint there are any number of reasons why a woman shouldn’t have an abortion. But from a legal one—there is none. We are supposed to protect a person’s right to control her body as she will. While that fetus grows inside her it is her body. That means she gets to decide what happens to it. If she can’t have an abortion, well then, what’s next? Should we control what she eats? How she lives? Whether she is exposed to second hand smoke? All of these things affect the “potential” of the fetus. And if we can do that—if we can decide what a woman wants to do with her body for her legally then we have reduced her to nothing but a brood mare. She is of no more value than her ability to carry a child to term. I refuse to accept that. I stand by anyone’s right to claim the immorality of abortion but I refuse to accept it from my government. A government should be based on ethics, not morals. And yes, there is a difference.
Why are we so very quick to fight for the “sanctity of life” until it’s actually here? Why are we willing to die for fetuses but we can’t manage to find a dime for the kids starving in ghettos and killing each other on the streets? Why is it fine to force a woman to carry a kid to term because it’s “for the child” but later, when that same child is born prematurely and has birth defects from all the crack she smoked we can casually hope it dies in the hospital? Or when it is incapable of being a contributing member of society we scoff at it and ask, “well why don’t you just pick yourself up and do what’s right? You have that choice to make.”
We’re so quick to judge. We just always need somebody to hate a little bit and fight a whole lot. For the babies. For the children of the future. We’ll do anything for our children and our children’s children. We will, in fact, give up all our civil liberties to make the world a better place. After all, it’s for our own good.
Let’s start with abortion shall we? And why I’m more than a brood mare. I like that idea. The idea that we can pass a law that doesn’t take into account a woman’s health—I’m flabbergasted. Outraged doesn’t begin to describe me. We are so busy preserving the “sanctity of life” that a woman can be threatened and it’s only unfortunate, possibly tragic if she’s pretty. Being pro-choice does not mean I am thrilled by abortion; it doesn’t even mean I would have one necessarily—it means that I demand the choice. It means that I, as a functioning member of society demand my civil rights be upheld over a fetus that depends upon my body to grow. A fetus that has only the potential to be a functioning member of society. Once we begin to pass laws based on potential we enter a realm of ethics where there is no shallow end. The difference between infringing on a pedophile’s rights to molest children and a woman’s rights to an abortion is that a pedophile hurts a living, independent member of society. A fetus is neither self-sustaining nor independent and to deny abortion rights to women, especially without excepting for cases of health states specifically states that we are worth less than a clump of cells with nothing but “potential.”
I’ll be completely honest: I value women more than the babies they carry. Why? Because a woman is already alive. She is already here. A fetus is naught but a thing inside her until it is born. From a religious standpoint there are any number of reasons why a woman shouldn’t have an abortion. But from a legal one—there is none. We are supposed to protect a person’s right to control her body as she will. While that fetus grows inside her it is her body. That means she gets to decide what happens to it. If she can’t have an abortion, well then, what’s next? Should we control what she eats? How she lives? Whether she is exposed to second hand smoke? All of these things affect the “potential” of the fetus. And if we can do that—if we can decide what a woman wants to do with her body for her legally then we have reduced her to nothing but a brood mare. She is of no more value than her ability to carry a child to term. I refuse to accept that. I stand by anyone’s right to claim the immorality of abortion but I refuse to accept it from my government. A government should be based on ethics, not morals. And yes, there is a difference.
Why are we so very quick to fight for the “sanctity of life” until it’s actually here? Why are we willing to die for fetuses but we can’t manage to find a dime for the kids starving in ghettos and killing each other on the streets? Why is it fine to force a woman to carry a kid to term because it’s “for the child” but later, when that same child is born prematurely and has birth defects from all the crack she smoked we can casually hope it dies in the hospital? Or when it is incapable of being a contributing member of society we scoff at it and ask, “well why don’t you just pick yourself up and do what’s right? You have that choice to make.”
We’re so quick to judge. We just always need somebody to hate a little bit and fight a whole lot. For the babies. For the children of the future. We’ll do anything for our children and our children’s children. We will, in fact, give up all our civil liberties to make the world a better place. After all, it’s for our own good.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
I begin my musings with this question: is it enough to survive, or should we have to deserve it?
This question was posed in the first episode of Battlestar Galactica, but I found myself posing it again as I was grading my most recent set of papers. In class we just finished reading a short story called “The Ones That Walk Away From Omelas”—a story that, in a nutshell, asks the question if you could live in a utopia at the expense of one child neglected and ignored in a basement far away from the light of day, would you? All the people of Omelas are happy, mature, incredible human beings with an incredible society. But this one kids suffers for them all; a kid kept naked in a broom closet, sores festering from sitting in his own waste all these years, starved and cut off from all human interaction. One kid who did not make the choice to suffer for his people; no, the decision was made for him as he was picked to bear all of society’s ills on his shoulders.
Many of my students would leave the kid in the closet. I can understand the appeal. A utopia is an appealing idea indeed, but it begs the question of worthiness. Is a society like that worthy of survival? If you’re willing to sacrifice another’s happiness for your own, what does that make you? You would stop disease, famine, war—all the biggies. But you resign this one child to a life of incarceration and abuse.
It isn’t comparable to war or self-sacrifice because the kid isn’t making the decision to sacrifice himself. The adults are making it for him. The kid isn’t noble or righteous, the kid is just screwed. And once you’ve done that, once you’ve decided the fate of someone else’s life without their consent or input what sort of person have you become? What is the difference between someone willing to sacrifice one kid to torture and someone willing to napalm the ghettos? If we cut down the population crime would lower; if we killed everyone but the rich and contributing society would run smoother. But everyone is quick to say that is a heinous act. We’re all quick to remember World War II and stay as far way from concentration camp logic as possible, but when the same logic is presented at the cost of only one it doesn’t seem so bad.
For all our talk about individuality and human rights we have still been taught to think of each other as part of a collective whole, or worse to think of others as part of a whole. We are special; we are unique. Obviously it wouldn’t be me in the closet because I am me. But the fact is, once you start sacrificing others’ rights, yours are never that far behind.
I worry I’ve failed to make that point to my students. I can only hope I’ve been slightly more successful with you.
This question was posed in the first episode of Battlestar Galactica, but I found myself posing it again as I was grading my most recent set of papers. In class we just finished reading a short story called “The Ones That Walk Away From Omelas”—a story that, in a nutshell, asks the question if you could live in a utopia at the expense of one child neglected and ignored in a basement far away from the light of day, would you? All the people of Omelas are happy, mature, incredible human beings with an incredible society. But this one kids suffers for them all; a kid kept naked in a broom closet, sores festering from sitting in his own waste all these years, starved and cut off from all human interaction. One kid who did not make the choice to suffer for his people; no, the decision was made for him as he was picked to bear all of society’s ills on his shoulders.
Many of my students would leave the kid in the closet. I can understand the appeal. A utopia is an appealing idea indeed, but it begs the question of worthiness. Is a society like that worthy of survival? If you’re willing to sacrifice another’s happiness for your own, what does that make you? You would stop disease, famine, war—all the biggies. But you resign this one child to a life of incarceration and abuse.
It isn’t comparable to war or self-sacrifice because the kid isn’t making the decision to sacrifice himself. The adults are making it for him. The kid isn’t noble or righteous, the kid is just screwed. And once you’ve done that, once you’ve decided the fate of someone else’s life without their consent or input what sort of person have you become? What is the difference between someone willing to sacrifice one kid to torture and someone willing to napalm the ghettos? If we cut down the population crime would lower; if we killed everyone but the rich and contributing society would run smoother. But everyone is quick to say that is a heinous act. We’re all quick to remember World War II and stay as far way from concentration camp logic as possible, but when the same logic is presented at the cost of only one it doesn’t seem so bad.
For all our talk about individuality and human rights we have still been taught to think of each other as part of a collective whole, or worse to think of others as part of a whole. We are special; we are unique. Obviously it wouldn’t be me in the closet because I am me. But the fact is, once you start sacrificing others’ rights, yours are never that far behind.
I worry I’ve failed to make that point to my students. I can only hope I’ve been slightly more successful with you.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
We interrupt your weekly scheduled broadcast to bring you this short rant about how my needs are not being met by television programming—specifically, Veronica Mars.
I recently began watching this show as I am a fan of “tv on dvd” but as I am almost caught up with the third season (those episodes currently playing) I am left wanting and unsatisfied. Let me tell you why. Veronica and her on again off again beau Logan have yet to have wild, passionate, hot monkey sex complete with a wild, passionate, hot monkey-like relationship on screen. Where’s the monkey sex people?!
I have real life. I have a great life with great adventure and lots of wonderful boring non-monkey sex related activities. I have a handful of fond memories of a romantic nature and more than a dump truck full of crappy ones. I don’t need to see what I get everyday in the real world on television. That’s why it’s fantasy. That’s why I watch it. I turn on the tube to see hot people having the sort of wonderful, wild, hot, monkian-sex fueled relationship that I usually only read about in trashy romance novels. Do you see where I’m going with this?
Veronica dates Logan: good. Veronica and Logan break up: not good, but angst so possibility of good when getting back together. Veronica and Logan get back together: good. I see none of the wild, hot, passionate monkian activity that normally accompanies such getting back together festivities: not good. Veronica and Logan break up again: still not good. I don’t want all angst all the time. Please, I would let Steel Magnolias play in the background on repeat until I shot myself in the head if that were the case. What good is a fantasy if you can’t enjoy it? It’s like seeing the hot guy at a restaurant and then having to overhear him making bigoted, idiotic comments. A perfectly good fantasy ruined. Ruined I tell you! If you’re blessed with looks and not intelligence then do all of us a favor and don’t talk. I still won’t date you but at least I can still dream about it. And if you’re going to make a really good television show with a really hot guy lead then please, please let him have wild, hot, passionate, monkey sex with the main character. It’s the least you can do for all of us that chose a college major lacking in single, straight, manly-men.
Some day I’m going to have wild, hot, passionate, monkey sex of my own. In the meantime I am obviously going to have to write a television show of my own since Joss Whedon is out of commission and he is, as of yet, the only one to fulfill all of my fantasy needs.
I recently began watching this show as I am a fan of “tv on dvd” but as I am almost caught up with the third season (those episodes currently playing) I am left wanting and unsatisfied. Let me tell you why. Veronica and her on again off again beau Logan have yet to have wild, passionate, hot monkey sex complete with a wild, passionate, hot monkey-like relationship on screen. Where’s the monkey sex people?!
I have real life. I have a great life with great adventure and lots of wonderful boring non-monkey sex related activities. I have a handful of fond memories of a romantic nature and more than a dump truck full of crappy ones. I don’t need to see what I get everyday in the real world on television. That’s why it’s fantasy. That’s why I watch it. I turn on the tube to see hot people having the sort of wonderful, wild, hot, monkian-sex fueled relationship that I usually only read about in trashy romance novels. Do you see where I’m going with this?
Veronica dates Logan: good. Veronica and Logan break up: not good, but angst so possibility of good when getting back together. Veronica and Logan get back together: good. I see none of the wild, hot, passionate monkian activity that normally accompanies such getting back together festivities: not good. Veronica and Logan break up again: still not good. I don’t want all angst all the time. Please, I would let Steel Magnolias play in the background on repeat until I shot myself in the head if that were the case. What good is a fantasy if you can’t enjoy it? It’s like seeing the hot guy at a restaurant and then having to overhear him making bigoted, idiotic comments. A perfectly good fantasy ruined. Ruined I tell you! If you’re blessed with looks and not intelligence then do all of us a favor and don’t talk. I still won’t date you but at least I can still dream about it. And if you’re going to make a really good television show with a really hot guy lead then please, please let him have wild, hot, passionate, monkey sex with the main character. It’s the least you can do for all of us that chose a college major lacking in single, straight, manly-men.
Some day I’m going to have wild, hot, passionate, monkey sex of my own. In the meantime I am obviously going to have to write a television show of my own since Joss Whedon is out of commission and he is, as of yet, the only one to fulfill all of my fantasy needs.
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
I ramble, I write, I blog. Somehow that doesn’t have quite the same power as “I burn, I pine, I perish” but Shakespeare I’m not. I have a few friends who would be willing to attest to that.
Let’s see, so much to say—where to begin? I don’t have much to rant about as things have been good. There are silly (and stupid) people posting answers to msn.com survey’s but that’s nothing new. No one has argued the right to mutilate their child’s body recently so I’m feeling hopeful on that front.
I suppose I’ll start with an update. Looks like I might move to Sin City and progress on my journey towards a PhD. I can’t wait to make everyone call me “doctor.” Granted I’ll be so very far in debt at that point that they’ll be calling me “doctor” before telling me to take out the trash, but hey, at least I’ll have the title.
Secondly and far more importantly…I saw Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles! Yeah, that’s right, I did. And I liked it! There were several moments in the theatre when I forgot my now enviable age of twenty-something in favor of being eleven again; a couple times during the movie I almost broke out in a rousing “go ninja, go ninja go!” Vanilla Ice has warped my fragile little mind. It was a fun, action-packed adventure. Me likey. I also had these wonderful deep thoughts about which I was totally going to write…and then I didn’t. So now you’re all stuck with this drivel and I would feel bad for you, but I don’t. I don’t promise entertaining writing all of the time.
I would, however, like to take a moment to discuss how very, very wrong I am. As in bad, socially unacceptable, and sexually perverse. I thought some of the turtles were cute. Yeah, I don’t know what that makes me, but I’m sure there’s a disorder name in a book somewhere. I can’t help it, when they personify the characters and make them all wounded deep down. Anyone whose read more than two posts knows I’m a sucker for the bad boys. Apparently I’m a sucker for the bad turtles too.
So that is most all of my news—the final project is in and graduation looms. My dreams of changing the world via comic books and Shakespeare are still going strong. So I leave you with these inspirational words:
Go ninja, go ninja go!!
Let’s see, so much to say—where to begin? I don’t have much to rant about as things have been good. There are silly (and stupid) people posting answers to msn.com survey’s but that’s nothing new. No one has argued the right to mutilate their child’s body recently so I’m feeling hopeful on that front.
I suppose I’ll start with an update. Looks like I might move to Sin City and progress on my journey towards a PhD. I can’t wait to make everyone call me “doctor.” Granted I’ll be so very far in debt at that point that they’ll be calling me “doctor” before telling me to take out the trash, but hey, at least I’ll have the title.
Secondly and far more importantly…I saw Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles! Yeah, that’s right, I did. And I liked it! There were several moments in the theatre when I forgot my now enviable age of twenty-something in favor of being eleven again; a couple times during the movie I almost broke out in a rousing “go ninja, go ninja go!” Vanilla Ice has warped my fragile little mind. It was a fun, action-packed adventure. Me likey. I also had these wonderful deep thoughts about which I was totally going to write…and then I didn’t. So now you’re all stuck with this drivel and I would feel bad for you, but I don’t. I don’t promise entertaining writing all of the time.
I would, however, like to take a moment to discuss how very, very wrong I am. As in bad, socially unacceptable, and sexually perverse. I thought some of the turtles were cute. Yeah, I don’t know what that makes me, but I’m sure there’s a disorder name in a book somewhere. I can’t help it, when they personify the characters and make them all wounded deep down. Anyone whose read more than two posts knows I’m a sucker for the bad boys. Apparently I’m a sucker for the bad turtles too.
So that is most all of my news—the final project is in and graduation looms. My dreams of changing the world via comic books and Shakespeare are still going strong. So I leave you with these inspirational words:
Go ninja, go ninja go!!
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