Remember when I said that I wasn't done talking, but I would stop for the moment? Well, white women, here's one of the moments when I start talking again. It's Halloween. So can we get something straight?
NO BLACKFACE. Period. No brown or yellow face, either.
If you want to dress up as Storm or Mulan, fine. Do it. Just leave your face the color it is.
I don't care how cool you are, how down you are, how your college roommate didn't mind (partly because I bet she did, but hey, maybe I'm wrong), how you just wanted to honor the character, or how you didn't mean to be offensive. I have no doubt you didn't wake up thinking "How can I piss a whole bunch of people off and look like an ass today? I know ~ Blackface!" I get your intent wasn't to be an asshole. Guess what, though?
You are about to be an ass. It's not rocket science. It's not "reverse racism." It's not in good fun (and yes, people of color can, as a general rule, take a joke). It's you ~ being an ass. So, how about we just don't do it?
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
Wednesday, October 30, 2013
Thursday, October 24, 2013
Did You Notice?
Yeah...my standard, break-the-seal approach of posting eye candy to get me back to blogging didn't work so well this time. I in no way, shape, or form blame the eye candy. Nor can I blame a dearth of topics. I have, just since the last post, collected:
* a great story about a sybian (link NSFW), that I have permission to write about, so long as I don't name names
* more news about the troll
* thoughts on menopause
* a burlesque show, a cool band, a night at the roller derby, two new blog-worthy restaurants, and a non-festival festival
* grocery shopping made easier with a new cart
* a clean mammogram (yearly screening, no health-scare involved)
* the florist I have been looking for since I moved to NOLA
* and a purple dachshund, should any of us ever need one.
And yet...I am blah. Writing seems so...something. Bothersome. Don't get me wrong ~ I'm getting my work done. My columns and articles are written. Even making some tentative in roads with a new novel. But I have emails backed up a couple weeks in my inbox. I have people I haven't called, texted, or smoke signaled, who are probably getting a little tired of hearing "in the next day or two..."
I'm not Depressed, like Episode Depressed. I'm just...blah. But I'm here. And life is good. Busy and happy. Did you see that list up there? That's all just in the last seven days, for crying out loud. I'm just not writing about any of it. Or calling. Or emailing.
Maybe in the next day or two...
Meanwhile, I leave you with a purple dachshund, because really, when don't we need a purple dachshund?
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
* a great story about a sybian (link NSFW), that I have permission to write about, so long as I don't name names
* more news about the troll
* thoughts on menopause
* a burlesque show, a cool band, a night at the roller derby, two new blog-worthy restaurants, and a non-festival festival
* grocery shopping made easier with a new cart
* a clean mammogram (yearly screening, no health-scare involved)
* the florist I have been looking for since I moved to NOLA
* and a purple dachshund, should any of us ever need one.
And yet...I am blah. Writing seems so...something. Bothersome. Don't get me wrong ~ I'm getting my work done. My columns and articles are written. Even making some tentative in roads with a new novel. But I have emails backed up a couple weeks in my inbox. I have people I haven't called, texted, or smoke signaled, who are probably getting a little tired of hearing "in the next day or two..."
I'm not Depressed, like Episode Depressed. I'm just...blah. But I'm here. And life is good. Busy and happy. Did you see that list up there? That's all just in the last seven days, for crying out loud. I'm just not writing about any of it. Or calling. Or emailing.
Maybe in the next day or two...
Meanwhile, I leave you with a purple dachshund, because really, when don't we need a purple dachshund?
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
Friday, October 18, 2013
Home Again, Home Again
We are home. Finally. Technically, I was home for 8 days last month. Lithus was home for 6. I say "technically" because it didn't feel like it, and truthfully, I hardly remember it. The clean bill of health from my heart doctor came through the same day we got word Bart died. After that ~ well, all of you, my dear readers, are old enough and experienced enough to know how grief works. Then there was another tour in Utah. Two very long weeks. But now...now, we are home.
Hopefully, I'll feel like writing again soon, too.
For now, to help break the seal in my all-time favorite way, I give you something lovely to look at.
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
Hopefully, I'll feel like writing again soon, too.
For now, to help break the seal in my all-time favorite way, I give you something lovely to look at.
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
Saturday, October 05, 2013
Basking
Thursday was my birthday. 44. I love birthdays. I love my birthday. I love your birthday. I love all birthdays. I think they are important and should be celebrated with gusto. After all, your birthday is the day we got you, and that's worthy of great celebration.
That being said, we are in Richfield, Utah. There is only so much one can do to celebrate a birthday in Richfield, Utah. Lithus made me dinner. With cake, of course. But you know what else? He found a spa. Richfield has a spa. With an aesthetician.
So here I sit, two days later, basking in the relaxed sleepy glow of an hour facial. Cup of coffee nearby, my computer on my lap, and my sweetie next to me on the couch. So far, 44 doesn't suck.
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
That being said, we are in Richfield, Utah. There is only so much one can do to celebrate a birthday in Richfield, Utah. Lithus made me dinner. With cake, of course. But you know what else? He found a spa. Richfield has a spa. With an aesthetician.
So here I sit, two days later, basking in the relaxed sleepy glow of an hour facial. Cup of coffee nearby, my computer on my lap, and my sweetie next to me on the couch. So far, 44 doesn't suck.
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
Thursday, October 03, 2013
A Matter of Style
I've had a couple conversations recently about engagement. Not the happy, we're getting married, kind, but the interacting with assholes kind. Believe me, I would much rather have had the former. However...
Interestingly enough, in all of these conversations, nonaggression (my style) has been conflated with "nice." Wow, is this a mistake. A friend of mine even said that he is often called in to shut someone down when nice didn't work, so he understands and respects my style. Offered to engage Robin the Troll for me. What intrigued me about his offer is that I have friends who ask the same thing of me, knowing my style. Now, this is not to call him out (*waves hi*), not only because his offer was well meaning and respectful, but it is to point out that we, as a society, do tend to conflate nonaggression with nice. Let me assure you, though, that once you have been on the receiving end of my nonaggression, you won't make that mistake twice.
Now, don't misunderstand ~ I, too, understand and respect a different style. One that is aggressive. One that is in your face. (Admittedly, I do not, and never will, understand name calling. It is infinitely counter-productive, inherently abusive, and demeaning, both to the recipient and to the speaker. Still, there are innumerable ways to be aggressive and in your face without resorting to name calling and those I respect.)
As for me, though, I don't hit my caps lock key. I don't use exclamation points. I don't call names or tell people to sit down and shut up. On the rare occasions I use italics, it's as a way of saying "this is an important part; listen closely", not as a way of expressing my own emotions. I am not nice. I will take you down. I don't need to tell you to sit down and shut up, because that will be your response ~ to my very nonaggressive shut down of your sad, misguided point.
I don't need someone to come in and close for me. I don't need anyone to come in and "show (me) how it's done." Trust and believe ~ I got this. In fact, if you need a closer, let me know.
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
Interestingly enough, in all of these conversations, nonaggression (my style) has been conflated with "nice." Wow, is this a mistake. A friend of mine even said that he is often called in to shut someone down when nice didn't work, so he understands and respects my style. Offered to engage Robin the Troll for me. What intrigued me about his offer is that I have friends who ask the same thing of me, knowing my style. Now, this is not to call him out (*waves hi*), not only because his offer was well meaning and respectful, but it is to point out that we, as a society, do tend to conflate nonaggression with nice. Let me assure you, though, that once you have been on the receiving end of my nonaggression, you won't make that mistake twice.
Now, don't misunderstand ~ I, too, understand and respect a different style. One that is aggressive. One that is in your face. (Admittedly, I do not, and never will, understand name calling. It is infinitely counter-productive, inherently abusive, and demeaning, both to the recipient and to the speaker. Still, there are innumerable ways to be aggressive and in your face without resorting to name calling and those I respect.)
As for me, though, I don't hit my caps lock key. I don't use exclamation points. I don't call names or tell people to sit down and shut up. On the rare occasions I use italics, it's as a way of saying "this is an important part; listen closely", not as a way of expressing my own emotions. I am not nice. I will take you down. I don't need to tell you to sit down and shut up, because that will be your response ~ to my very nonaggressive shut down of your sad, misguided point.
I don't need someone to come in and close for me. I don't need anyone to come in and "show (me) how it's done." Trust and believe ~ I got this. In fact, if you need a closer, let me know.
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
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