Busy as ever creating this year’s sand painting.
I love October.
Busy as ever creating this year’s sand painting.
I love October.
I don’t have the inclination, the time, or the space to explain all the reasons why I signed this petition, other than to say online disagreements between people should never, Never, NEVER end in doxxing.
For those unclear on the word, doxxing is the release of personal information, including but not limited to name, address, phone number, etc., online. Some have even had their social security number released. It’s the last resort of the non-confrontational, wherein someone would rather ruin another’s reputation and/or personal life than face them head-on and discuss their differences like adults.
Doxxing is always wrong, even for the “lulz.” We have laws and courts – which don’t allow rumors, hearsay, gossip, or other public opinion, go figure – to help those who have genuinely been wronged. If it’s not enough to go to court over, confront it by asking the people involved to flesh out their views. Discuss, debate, ask questions, and be nice (read: mature). You’ll be surprised at how much rage can be alleviated by mere conversation.
I know, asking anonymous people to face their cognitive dissonance by confronting their biases … but seriously, the LEAST you can do is face the person you’ve judged and ask their view on the situation. If you’re unwilling to do that, let it go, because in the long run? Unless you’re one of the parties directly involved in a disagreement, it doesn’t concern you. If you are, doxxing (or calling for it) is a marker your argument is weak and/or you are unwilling to debate your point like a rational adult. Either way, it makes you the immature, irresponsible, and unethical side. Congrats.
Put another way: Tweeting someone’s real name and place of employment when they’ve made it clear they prefer to keep their work and personal lives separate is unacceptable.
Seeing it from a woman who professes to be on the side of science and skepticism is enraging and, ultimately, disappointing.
This is why we can’t have nice things.
Until last week, I had not been to NYC in 20 years. Having lived in the Western U.S. my entire adult life, it’s easier and cheaper to take time off in L.A., San Francisco, Seattle, even Salt Lake City, than anywhere out east. From Denver, most West Coast cities are only about two hours away by air, where the NYC flight was nearly four. Add being at the airport two hours early for the usual security theater and the trek easily wastes 1/2 a day. I’d rather arrive in Vegas by noon than NYC by 6pm.
Anyway, my last journey to the Big Apple, lo those many years ago, was pretty epic. I met friends in Baltimore and we all took a Greyhound to the NYC Port Authority Bus Terminal, where we caught the subway to the Grand Hyatt Hotel for one of the first-of-its-kind gatherings of S&M folk (the “BDSM” moniker came into use a few years later) in the U.S. So there were hundreds of players, fetishists, a giant vendor fair, and other various perversions to be had in our hotel, plus planned sessions, panels, demonstrations, play parties, and other related convention fun. Add the city was host to the Gay Games that year, going simultaneously with Pride weekend AND the 25th anniversary of the Stonewall riots … welll, when I said “epic,” I meant it. But that’s all for another post, some other time, though I wrote a little bit about it a few years ago.
My overall impressions of the city are still the same. First, the air is thick, wet, and it stinks. Not figuratively; all the jokes about the New York stench are true. Car exhaust, urine, grease and fat from restaurant exhaust, hot dog water from sidewalk carts, body odor from the crowds … I don’t have the most sensitive nose, but there were times I found it monumentally gross. On the bright side, it took my mind off the dirty sidewalks, walls, and subways. As we passed the Central Park Zoo and caught a whiff of dung, my man said, “This is where New Yorkers go for fresh air. Makes sense.”
Second, it is crowded. CROWD-ED. Even the lobby of the hotel was filled with noise 24/7. People are everywhere, at all hours, doing all manner of things. Which is neat if you’re visiting, but not having space got tiresome for us pretty quickly. We only found respite in our hotel room, but even on the 37th floor we could hear traffic, sirens, trucks backing up, and all manner of busy city noise.
Third, New Yorkers still have that good old oral fixation. Vape pens have not supplanted smoking in the least, toothpicks are something you chew on while you talk, and the gum smacking … chewing is at least more polite. I mean if you have to have gum in public at all.
Finally, New Yorkers look miserable. Not ill-dressed, not due to any sickness, but resigned. To what? To living in a smelly city with too many people and virtually no peace and quiet? I don’t pretend to know, but they look somehow beaten down. Maybe it’s a defense mechanism, but the only smiles I saw were on tourists and drunks.
I don’t want to make it sound like there’s nothing worthwhile there. We had an absolute great time. The first day was the Metropolitan Museum of Art; the second the Museum of Modern Art. Yes, they both took a full day and yes, they were packed to the mother-fucking gills with people, but totally worth it. At the Met, we arrived at opening, skipped a wing or two, and still barely made it out when they closed at 5. It’s world history in painting, sculpture, and decorative arts.
MoMa was a tad easier, even if it did involve maneuvering through the “audio zombies” – people with the audio tour implanted in their ears, who meandered this way and that without regard to the geo-positioning of their fellow humans. I bumped into more people there than on the street, with the same number of headphones involved.
What struck me most at MoMA: How small Salvador Dali’s The Persistence of Memory is and the room-sized, wall-filling Water Lillies by Claude Monet. I had thought the former would be bigger, the latter smaller. This is the perspective that happens when you only see art in books or tacked to your dorm mate’s wall, which is my way of saying, “Get thee to an museum.”
The one and only Broadway ticket we’d pre-purchased for the trip was The Book of Mormon, which I can’t recommend enough to anyone with a sense of humor about religion. It was delightful – it always skirted the edge of blasphemous without actually crossing over and had quite the subversive treatise on belief, the way we perceive and (ab)use other cultures, and human nature in general. Plus I nearly laughed my makeup off. Recommendation: Go but sneak in a flask, because a CAN of
water cheap beer will cost you an entire intermission and $12 (my short, poorly-poured rum and coke was $18).
I keep up with The Stand comedy club on Twitter and thereby managed to score us $5 tickets for two nights of stand up. The place isn’t right next to a subway stop, so I guess they have trouble filling up on weeknights. That’s too bad, because the line up both times was just stellar. It’s the third or fourth time we’ve seen Christian Finnegan and Dan Soder, but I had never seen Rachel Feinstein, Yannis Pappas, or Gary Gulman live before. We were also introduced to comics we hadn’t previously heard of, Monroe Martin in particular. And once again, we were the old folks in the club laughing hard and loud. Audience members always shoot us looks, even in backwater Texas, but you know what? The comics LOVE us. Dan Soder even fist-bumped me for being happy and animated.
(A brief diversion about comedy clubs: If you travel, try to get to one. Doesn’t even have to be at a huge venue with big names, just go to a stand-up show. I say this because it’s usually the cheapest ticket in town, you might laugh your cares away, and comics with short sets in clubs are more than likely working out material for a longer set. That means you’ll get to hear a joke before anyone else, see it evolve if it gets on TV, and see the final product if the comedian is lucky enough to get a full hour special. Plus, if you’re in NYC or El Lay, huge names sometimes stop by to work out – it hasn’t happened to me (yet), but I’ve heard stories of Chris Rock, Dave Chappelle, Louis CK, Jerry Seinfeld and others “just dropping in” for a set. For a comedy nerd, that’s like Dylan coming to sit in on a Mumford & Sons set. Ok, diverson over …)
The one overly touristy thing we did was take the trip to the 86th floor of the Empire State Building. The only thing that saved my sanity was the idea belonged solely to my man, who saw the discount tickets offered at our hotel and allowed the bargain-hunter in him to overcome his sensibilities. I blithely tried to talk him out of it, because we tend to avoid the tourist stuff – we walked around the bottom of the Eiffel Tower, but never once considered the wait to go up – but I kind of wanted to go, too. So off we went, tickets in hand, not realizing even on a slow day the line would take wandering several floors with masses of people for close to two hours.
I can see those of you who know my love cringing at this prospect. Trust me, it was special. Worst of all was the knowledge we could have skipped the line entirely by getting an express ticket, but that was $20 more each, which was not going to happen. Watching my love try not to complain about waiting was absolutely priceless, though, so I’m not sure I’d trade the experience if I could.
Anyway, two hours of wait, 10 minutes up top fighting through the crowd to catch a glimpse of One World Trade Center, the Statue of Liberty, and other landmarks in the distance, then another 20 minutes to get back down again. Hardly worth it without the express ticket, in my opinion.
We were in town for four days and mostly ate (and drank) at Irish pubs while we were there, because 1) the food was reasonably-priced, and 2) you can’t throw a rock in Midtown without hitting one. Perhaps it’s just us, but each and every one we went to had a genuinely Irish bartender, too. So if you want a job at a bar there, you should probably spend some time in Kilkenny first.
The food itself was unremarkable – burgers, bangers & mash, potato skins – until our last night, when we discovered Lillie’s Victorian Establishment. The decor can be best described as a former tea room turned bar run by a gay uncle. It’s “homey museum” or “living salon;” each table in the huge space manages to be somehow intimate. Here, just go take a look at some photos. And before you think it was all about the ambiance, I can tell you that one meal we had there was nothing short of spectacular. When we go back, Lillie’s is where I will eat every meal if I can.
My only other notes on NYC are to do your subway search for handicap accessible stations, or you’ll be taking your suitcase up and down a lot of stairs. That was fun on our arrival, let me tell ya. Good thing I work out. And don’t take a special trip to Brooklyn for the Morbid Anatomy Museum, unless you’re already in Brooklyn or plan to spend the day there. The place took us 30 minutes to get to, 15 minutes to visit (including the espresso we had in the cafe), and 30 minutes to get back. It’s worth it, just not as a side trip from Manhattan.
Also, there’s a story to tell of one of our evenings there that requires its own, separate post. Because there are a million stories in the city …
… but I’m still not sure I’m one of them. You’ll see.
I am glad to be home, though.
Where the buffalo roam.
As a registered independent, I’ve been getting mail from both the Cory Gardner and the Mark Udall Senate campaigns.
As a skeptic, I look up the statistics and other information they each claim to be true. Informed voting is important and it takes just a mouse-click to research most of it.
I’ve found, as many others have, that Gardner’s literature is riddled with half-truths, if not outright lies. This is to be expected, since the major backers to his campaign are the Kochs (mostly via their super PACs) and the Tea Party-supporting FOX News, both of whom operate with the knowledge if you spout a lie often enough, it becomes truth.
Well, someone’s calling Gardner out on it.
I can take the usual political maneuvering, vitriolic rhetoric, and mud-slinging; it’s part and parcel of elections and has been since the time of our beloved founding fathers.
The lie WILL grow and become truth if it’s ignored long enough. We’ve allowed exactly that to happen too often and for too long. Time to call ‘em out on it.
Ignorance isn’t bliss. It’s ignorance.
I don’t care for most poetry, but there are rare instances I find some that just works for me.
Ever more lavish as the dusk descends
This glistening illuminates the air.
It never ends.
Whenever the rain comes it will be there,
Beyond my time, but now I take my share.
Before you click through to read it, though, take note: Mr. James is terminally ill.
Something in your eye, too?
One of my favorite things about living on a parkway is seeing out our front window.
On a cold day like today – it’s 45° at this writing – it’s nice to sit on the couch closest to the view with a cup of coffee and catch up on some reading. Today, I read articles and blog posts related to how atheists process grief after the death of a loved one.
One of my favorite things about living on our particular parkway is the proximity to Fairmount Cemetery. During summer, my love and I ride our scooters over to check out the many markers and mausoleums of people who once were.
On a warm day like tomorrow – the forecast says it will be in the mid-70s – we pack a snack and some tasty beverages and wander about the place both on wheels and on foot. We’ve done this for five summers and always found some new beauty, tragedy, or oddity there amongst the dead. Today, I reminded him we should make our annual trek before the weather gets too inhospitable for scooter rides.
But one of my absolute favorite things about living on our particular parkway is sitting at my front picture window and seeing a funeral procession headed to Fairmount.
On a day with any weather – because death continues, unabated, through all seasons – it’s fascinating to see the hearse, limousine(s), and parade of mourners in vehicles go by. I always wonder about the deceased and feel for the families, but I mostly find myself counting the cars and contemplating my own mortality.
But not today. I just can’t.
And it’s just as serious as before, if not more.
See, this is what the Internet will look like if we don’t step up and fight for Net Neutrality:
Seriously. Cable and phone companies are trying to throttle the free and open web so they can charge people more to have faster Internet. That means users who can’t afford to pay more will no longer have the access we all democratically enjoy right now. From the folks at the forefront of this fight, Battle For The Net:
Imagine all your favorite websites taking forever to load, while you get annoying notifications from your ISP suggesting you switch to one of their approved “Fast Lane” sites.
Think about what we would lose: all the weird, alternative, interesting, and enlightening stuff that makes the Internet so much cooler than mainstream Cable TV. What if the only news sites you could reliably connect to were the ones that had deals with companies like Comcast and Verizon?
On September 10th [TOMORROW], just a few days before the FCC’s comment deadline, public interest organizations are issuing an open, international call for websites and internet users to unite for an “Internet Slowdown” to show the world what the web would be like if Team Cable gets their way and trashes net neutrality. Net neutrality is hard to explain, so our hope is that this action will help SHOW the world what’s really at stake if we lose the open Internet.
If you’ve got a website, blog or tumblr, get the code to join the #InternetSlowdown here.
Everyone else, here’s a quick list of things you can do to help spread the word about the slowdown.
Just be sure to do SOMETHING to let the greedy behemoth corporations know:
The free and open Internet genie is NOT going back in the bottle.
Revenge may be wicked, but it’s natural.
~ William Makepeace Thackeray, Vanity Fair
Everyone wants those who have done them wrong to pay.
Beware the fury of a patient man.
~ John Dryden, Absalom and Achitophel
It takes a lot of bullshit to get some people to thoughts of vengeance.
Years of abuse, sometimes.
If you prick us, do we not bleed?
If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die?
And if you wrong us, do we not revenge?
If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that.
~ William Shakespeare, The Merchant Of Venice (Act 3, scene 1)
The victim isn’t always the initiator.
Sometimes there is family. A large one. Global, even.
People should either be caressed or crushed.
If you do them minor damage they will get their revenge;
but if you cripple them there is nothing they can do.
If you need to injure someone, do it in such a way
that you do not have to fear their vengeance.
~ Niccolò Machiavelli, The Prince
Never leave anyone with nothing left to lose.
Just sit back and watch as they lose it anyway – usually by their own hand.
Was it worth it?
So Joan Rivers died this week.
Of course I loved her. Wry, brash, acerbic, and just about as politically incorrect as anyone could be. She never quit, even after being dropped by her friend and hero Johnny Carson and her husband’s suicide, both of which happened within months of each other. She was the living embodiment of my mother’s saying, “I’m either going to laugh or I’m going to cry, and dammit, the bastards are never going to see me cry.”
Best of all, she never let up. Compare her jokes from 25 years ago …
… with jokes from 2013.
That is some longevity in style right there. Not to mention some fantastic clothes.
If you haven’t, see the 2010 documentary A Piece of Work sometime. It’s eye-opening and inspirational to see just how hard that woman worked to get where she was. Remember, she rose to the top in a male-dominated profession, never hid her many plastic surgeries from the cameras, never took herself so seriously she wouldn’t poke fun in an episode of Nip/Tuck or in commercials, and didn’t take any shit from anyone. Just two months ago she stormed out of a (vapid and uninteresting, in my opinion) LIVE interview on CNN. What’s not to love?
Her passing gave a moment to reflect on the old guard of comedy. Sid Caesar died last year; Phyllis Diller and Jonathan Winters not long before that. There aren’t many left, but we have a few. Don Rickles. Shelley Berman. Dick van Dyke. Bob Newhart. Mort Sahl. Betty White. Shecky Greene. Carl Reiner. Mel Brooks.
Rather than mourn when they go, let’s celebrate they’re all still here. Carl Reiner maintains his own active Twitter account. So does Don Rickles. Even if they don’t, it wouldn’t take but a moment to wish any of them happy birthday or tell them thanks for all the laughs via any social network. Hell, send an email to their management or agent. Fan letters are still a thing, even if we no longer snail mail them. I started with a happy 85th Tweet to Bob Newhart’s profile a day or two ago.
I even re-Tweeted Norman Lear yesterday. Seriously. Norman-freakin’-Lear.
Meanwhile, what has turned out to be the final episode of Fashion Police – this year’s Emmy edition – sits on my DVR. I haven’t watched it yet. I’m saving it for a depressing double feature with the upcoming PBS Pioneers of Television tribute to Robin Williams.
Something in my eye …