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February, 2016
Archive

  • It’s Not That Leo DiCaprio Is That Great, Everyone Else is Just Insane!

    Leo DiCaprio finally won his Oscar, and admirably dedicated his speech to bringing awareness to climate change. Leo has been a longtime ally of the environmental movement, and his efforts have been undoubtedly commendable. But I don’t think we should be worshipping him for being eco-conscious, because to NOT be talking about global warming is FUCKING CRAZY!

    Leo isn’t great for bringing up the MOST IMPORANT threat facing humanity – everyone else is an asshole for NOT talking about it. I think at each and every award show the nominee should thank their manager, thank the fans, thank god, and then end with, “by the way the world is coming to an end so maybe we should do something about it!”

    I am pretty sure climate change is ALL WE SHOULD BE TALKING ABOUT! Including ME and YOU!

    The super rich are going to be fine during Armageddon. They can just fly their helicopters to their secret fancy bunkers on the top of the Himalayas. Leo DiCaprio will be popping bottles with models in the Andes when shit hits the fan. I’m pretty sure most of Hollywood already has a personal chef preparing gluten-free free-range gluten while Sherpa carry up their Louis Viton bags. It’s all fine and good that fancy people remind us that we are currently cannibalizing ourselves at a rapid speed, but the lunacy that we have to be reminded is the real problem.

    We shouldn’t be clapping our chubby little hands because really rich successful people care about the future of humanity, we should be doing everything we can to be caring about the future of humanity. We are the ones who are going to be downing in the rising seas as Tsunamis take out the entire coastal regions of this country. We’re not going to have life vests made of money and Moet. We are going to be wishing that rather than watching TV and dicking around on Facebook, we were doing something to stop this inevitable mayhem.

    People are comparing the ascent of Donald Trump to the rise of Hitler based on his hateful ethos. Yet regardless if Trump wins the presidency, we are all complacent to a mass genocide that is the making. Just as I asked myself “how did people stand by and do nothing during Nazi Germany?” – I am SURE history will soon ask the same of us. If there are any people left! I can see it now. Little kids will be sitting in their underwater schools, with desks made of trash, and their GMO gills flapping in the nuclear sludge. They will read their texts books and wonder, “how did those people stand by and watch as the planet was destroyed by an insatiable industry of mass consumerism?”

    Of course we don’t talk about climate change everyday because it feels too overwhelming and depressing. Yet what if we did talk about it every day? What if every time you participated in this consumer culture you asked yourself “how will my decision effect climate change?” We are the ones who shape the capitalist system. We can choose not to economically support the companies that rule Wall Street. We can stop big business by refusing to give them our money. At least we can start trying. (Pretty sure the cable, Internet, and phone companies have us on lock down… but you guys we can do this!)

    Yes there are roadblocks when wanting to be a conscious consumer, yet part of the problem is that we aren’t constantly discussing what we can do. We need to be asking ourselves the right questions. Where we can buy affordable products that are eco? How we can support community-supported agriculture that is competitively priced and empowers local farming? Do we have to buy clothes treated with toxic chemicals? Must we brush our teeth with cancer causing agents? I don’t know about you, but I would rather a world of smelly armpits that are free from carcinogens than continuing to blindly enable companies who are putting poisonous products in our deodorant.

    There are alternatives, and the more we discuss them, the more we will feel emboldened to commit to change. There are 19-year old kids who are developing ways to clean the oceans. There are solutions. If a goddamn child is coming up with ideas, I am pretty sure that the grown men who are milking the teat of our planet’s resources can too. We can’t shy away from obsessively talking about this issue, because I would feel PRETTY FUCKING BAD being part of the generation that stood by as we faced mass extinction.

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    February 29, 2016 • Current Events • Views: 1103

  • Am I Smarter Than A Harvard Professor?

    When I was in high school I hated school. I would go to the bathroom every class, each and every day. I guess this practice earned me the reputation amongst my teachers of either having a serious bladder infection, or a rampant case of irritable bowel syndrome.

    I also had no problem blatantly lying to my dad to get out of going to school. He would come wake me up at 7 am, and I would tell him that morning classes were cancelled, and to wake me up in two hours. Either my dad was insane for believing me, or he just didn’t care about my future. Regardless, most days I sauntered into school around 11.

    I perfected my mom’s signature, and would forge notes about my many doctors’ appointments – fueling rumors that I had some incurable communicable disease. I was even known to bend down to “pick up a pencil,” and then crawl out the open door of my classroom. If there was an opportunity to roam the hallways aimlessly, I took it.

    Part of the reason I disliked school was because I didn’t feel it was cultivating my own understanding of the world. I only did well when I learned how to anticipate the teacher’s opinion about the subject, and then alter my material accordingly. The process of developing my personal philosophies was hardly encouraged – rather I was only praised when able to regurgitate the views of my teacher.

    My junior year, I had this one English teacher who really didn’t like me. Maybe he didn’t view me as a serious student, or an avid intellectual because I was usually talking out of turn or trying to escape. It’s not his fault he didn’t see me as academically curious, because I did oscillate between being totally disruptive and completely checked out. But it was also kind of annoying that every book we read was written by a man and about male characters. Yet that was the canon, so that was what we read.

    Even though I don’t blame this teacher for hating me, and I am sure I could have been more strategic, but there was a deeper reason I didn’t thrive. My problem with this teacher was that I only got good grades from him when I didn’t read the book! If I hadn’t read the book, and could write papers or take tests purely on my notes that I took during class, he would give me an “A-.” But if I were to read the book, and add my own analysis into my writing, he would give me a “B.”

    It’s like he didn’t even care if I thought Moby Dick was a dick.

    I went to a super competitive private school in Cambridge Massachusetts. It was the kind of place where kids were having full blown anxiety attacks in the 5th grade because they got a 90% on their spelling test, and felt like that ruined their chance of getting into Harvard. At my school, a “B” was the kiss of death. I might as well have flushed my head down the toilet for shaming my family. It was clear that soon I would have to build a raft and set myself out to the ocean for all the disgrace I was causing.

    I told my dad that my English teacher gave me bad grades because he didn’t like me, rather than my shitty “B’s” being a genuine reflection of my efforts. My dad however, didn’t believe me. He thought that I wasn’t applying myself, and would tell me to work harder.

    One day, I decided to put my dad’s theory to the test. Was it really my fault I wasn’t doing well in this class?

    It was the end of the school year, and I had two papers to write. They were both due the next day, and there was no way I could finish them both, or get an extension. I went upstairs to my dad’s office to discuss my predicament.

    Toni: Here’s the deal. I have two papers due tomorrow, and I can’t write them both. If I don’t hand one in, I will get an F on that paper – which will not look good when I apply to colleges.

    My Dad: You bet your ass it won’t. This is not good Toni.

    Toni: I know. So this is what is going to happen. I will write one, and you can write the other.

    My Dad: Jesus H. Christ Toni it is 10 pm!

    Toni: I could take the F.

    My Dad: No we can’t do that. Then you won’t get into a good college and bring eternal dishonor to the family.

    Toni: You can choose between “The Old Man and the Sea” or “Great Expectations”

    My Dad: I am not happy about this.

    Toni: You don’t have to do it.

    My Dad: I’ll take the Old Man.

    I smugly tossed my dad the book, and went downstairs to write my paper. Okay fine, I was being kind of an entitled asshole. My poor dad had better things to do with his life than write my English papers, but at the same time, fuck him.

    Now keep in mind, my dad is kind of a genius. He graduated high school when he was 16. Blasted through college in 2 years. Got his PHD from Harvard when he was 23. Speaks 22 languages. He writes a book almost every year of his life. In short, my dad is way smarter than the average high school student.

    My dad should have received a good grade on this paper right? He was after all competing against the standards of 17-year-old kids. If my English teacher was truly giving each paper I wrote a fair chance and not typecasting me, this essay should have done well right?!!

    I handed in the two papers, and when I got them back, I got a “B+” and my dad, THE GENIUS HARVARD PROFESSOR, got a “B.”

    Toni: So dad, since I got the better grade, does that mean I’m smarter than you?”

    My Dad: WHAT!? I got a “B?” I really tried too! I didn’t even dumb myself down! That teacher of yours really is an asshole.

    Look at that guy! HE DOES NOT DESERVE A “B” FROM A HIGH SCHOOL ENGLISH TEACHER!

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    February 25, 2016 • Education, Family Drama, Old School Stories • Views: 1388

  • An Analysis of Our Selfie-Society

    When I was a kid, I took pictures for myself. I would occasionally snap a shot of whatever I found interesting with the intention that I would look at it later. My motivation wasn’t rooted in what other people would think of my pictures. The only way someone else would even see my pictures was if they were in front of me, I handed them a picture, and then said, “look.” Otherwise my pictures were in a box under my bed.

    Because of social media and our ability to share pictures, now I take a LOT more pictures for you. I want to know what YOU think of my pictures more than I want to take pictures that I show no one. What is the point of taking a picture that is not worthy of distribution!?

    Maybe we take some pictures purely for ourselves, but chances are those pictures are of a mysterious rash on your back that you can’t see in the mirror. I am willing to bet most of us only have a few sacred pictures that we like, but don’t intend on sharing on social media. And I am also willing to bet most of those are naked pictures.

    I think most of us are somewhat disturbed by the vanity running rampant through culture, yet we also participate in the seduction. It feels good when I get approval from my peers, even if it’s superficial. “Oh really… you think my hair looks good? It’s so funny because I do too! That’s why I posted that picture!! Tell me more of what you think about me!” I have a black hole of need when it comes to praise. All compliments are vastly appreciated, but also sucked into a dark abyss that will never be satiated.

    When I try to get to the bottom of the phenomenon of our modern selfie-society I think there are two major themes. One is the ever-present fear of mortality. In the back of our minds lies the existential truth that every second of every day we are getting older, thus ever closer to our death. The selfie is a preservation of youth – a snapshot of the narrative of our lives. “Ahhh. Remember when I was young, two minutes ago? Look at me then. So full of hope. Wait let me take another.”

    We selfie as a desperate attempt to freeze time.

    Then there is the fact that we are all so deeply insecure and in need for love/acceptance/praise. We don’t selfie because we think we’re that great. I selfie because I pray you think I’m okay.

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    February 22, 2016 • Musings • Views: 975

  • Over Intellectualizing Pop Songs

    Taylor Swift’s Blank Space

    Cause we’re young and we’re reckless
    We’ll take this way too far
    It’ll leave you breathless
    Or with a nasty scar
    Got a long list of ex-lovers
    They’ll tell you I’m insane
    But I got a blank space baby
    And I’ll write your name

    Blank Space is about dark matter and the terrifying reality that the human brain cannot understand the mysterious substance that constitutes 98% of the universe. Dark matter is so complex, that our psyche’s can’t grasp its physical properties. Most of the world around us is made up of space, yet because our brain is so limited, we perceive things as solid. Yet in truth, all of us, ex lovers included, are truly insane for believing we are anything but blank space in this cold dark universe.

    Tiffany’s “I Think We’re Alone Now”

    Running just as fast as we can, holding on to one another hands
    Trying to get away into the night and then you put your arms around me
    And we tumble to the ground and then you say

    I think we’re alone now,
    There doesn’t seem to be anyone around
    I think we’re alone now,
    The beating of our hearts is the only sound

    This song is about atheism, and coming to terms with the idea that there is no God. We turn to each other, holding hands, trying to run from this harsh reality. You embrace me in a desperate attempt to make sense of this existential crisis, but we still tumble to the ground. We fall into an abyss of blackness, because that is where we go where we die – back into the darkness. I think we’re alone, because there is no God in the background. He is not around to save you. The only thing you are left with is the sound of your own beating heart, before it stops beating for the last time.

    Brittany Spears’ “Hit Me Baby One More Time”

    Oh, baby, baby
    Oh, baby, baby

    Oh, baby, baby
    How was I supposed to know
    That something wasn’t right here?
    Oh, baby, baby
    I shouldn’t have let you go
    And now you’re out of sight, yeah

    Show me how you want it to be
    Tell me, baby,
    ‘Cause I need to know now, oh, because…

    My loneliness is killing me (and I)
    I must confess, I still believe (still believe)
    When I’m not with you I lose my mind
    Give me a sign
    Hit me, baby, one more time

    Oh, baby, baby
    The reason I breathe is you
    Boy, you got me blinded
    Oh, baby, baby
    There’s nothing that I wouldn’t do
    It’s not the way I planned it

    This song is about police brutality. You thought the justice system was just, because how would you know any different? It’s what we were taught as children. But yet, something isn’t right. You can never let the police out of your sight. The only way to keep yourself safe is to have them show you how to act. To dictate your behavior to satisfy their needs.

    The loneliness in this uncaring world, where you can be persecuted for being the wrong skin color, or wearing the wrong type of sweatshirt, IS actually killing me – both literally and figuratively. I think I need the police to protect me, but this dependency on the very institution that is hurting me, is making me lose my mind. I don’t know what the world would look like without laws and the lawmakers that enforce them, because there is no obvious sign that there is another way. So hit me one more time, because you’ve already hit me a bunch. You, Mr. Police Man, got me blinded because you sprayed mace in my eyes… that was definitely not part of the plan.

    Rihanna’s “Umbrella”

    Uh huh, uh huh (Yea Rihanna)
    Uh huh, uh huh (Good girl gone bad)
    Uh huh, uh huh (Take three… Action)
    Uh huh, uh huh

    No clouds in my stones
    Let it rain, I hydroplane in the bank
    Coming down with the Dow Jones
    When the clouds come we gone, we Rocafella
    We fly higher than weather
    In G5’s are better,
    You know me,
    In anticipation, for precipitation.
    Stack chips for the rainy day
    Jay, Rain Man is back with little Ms. Sunshine
    Rihanna, where you at?

    You have my heart
    And we’ll never be worlds apart
    Maybe in magazines
    But you’ll still be my star
    Baby, ’cause in the dark
    You can’t see shiny cars
    And that’s when you need me there
    With you I’ll always share
    Because

    When the sun shines, we’ll shine together
    Told you I’d be here forever
    Said I’ll always be a friend
    Took an oath I’ma stick it out ’til the end
    Now that it’s raining more than ever
    Know that we’ll still have each other
    You can stand under my umbrella
    You can stand under my umbrella
    (Ella ella eh eh eh)
    Under my umbrella
    (Ella ella eh eh eh)
    Under my umbrella
    (Ella ella eh eh eh)
    Under my umbrella
    (Ella ella eh eh eh eh eh eh)

    This song is about global warming. The Dow Jones, “Rocafella,” and Wall Street are all the cause of the clouds – the clouds of acid rain. When the sun shines, we shine with it, because our skin will be burning from the lack of ozone. We will stand under the umbrella together, as the seas rise, we will stick it out to the end.

    Black Eyed Peas “My Humps”

    What you gon’ do with all that junk?
    All that junk inside your trunk?
    I’ma get, get, get, get, you drunk,
    Get you love drunk off my hump.
    My hump, my hump, my hump, my hump, my hump,
    My hump, my hump, my hump, my lovely little lumps (Check it out)
    I drive these brothers crazy,
    I do it on the daily,
    They treat me really nicely,
    They buy me all these ices.
    Dolce & Gabbana,
    Fendi and that Donna
    Karan, they be sharin’
    All their money got me wearin’ fly
    Brother I ain’t askin,
    They say they love my ass ‘n,
    Seven Jeans, True Religion’s,
    I say no, but they keep givin’
    So I keep on takin’
    And no I ain’t taken
    We can keep on datin’
    I keep on demonstrating.
    My love (love), my love, my love, my love (love)
    You love my lady lumps (love),
    My hump, my hump, my hump (love),
    My humps they got you,
    She’s got me spending.
    (Oh) Spendin’ all your money on me and spending time on me.
    She’s got me spendin’.
    (Oh) Spendin’ all your money on me, up on me, on me

    What you gon’ do with all that junk?
    All that junk inside that trunk?
    I’ma get, get, get, get, you drunk,
    Get you love drunk off my hump.
    What you gon’ do with all that ass?
    All that ass inside them jeans?
    I’m a make, make, make, make you scream
    Make you scream, make you scream.
    Cos of my hump (ha), my hump, my hump, my hump (what).
    My hump, my hump, my hump (ha), my lovely lady lumps (Check it out)

    I met a girl down at the disco.
    She said hey, hey, hey yea let’s go.
    I could be your baby, you can be my honey
    Let’s spend time not money.
    I mix your milk wit my cocoa puff,
    Milky, milky cocoa,
    Mix your milk with my cocoa puff, milky, milky riiiiiiight.

    This song is about materialism, and the social consequence of sweatshop labor. We have all this junk, in our living rooms, bedrooms, and trunks. Seriously though – what are we going to do with it? We are going to escape from the tyranny of our stuff by getting drunk. It is too painful to think of the environmental and social consequences of all this junk. The human suffering of children working 18-hour days. No. We will get wasted off of a hump instead. It is the only way to deal. We will celebrate corporate greed manifested through high fashion and diamonds so we can keep having sex, and demonstrating the denial. We turn to humps and humping because coco puffs with milk is the only NOT to not think about our place in the milky way.

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    February 17, 2016 • Current Events, Musings • Views: 3060

  • My 5-Year Old Does Not Support the Rockefeller Drug Laws

    Every parent has a nighttime ritual with their child to put them to bed. Sometimes that includes a bath, a warm glass of milk, and reading a story. Other times putting your child to sleep involves a discussion about the Police state and Rockefeller drug laws – but to each his own.

    There is a heroin epidemic where I live in New Hampshire, and it is basically impossible not to know someone who is personally effected by this crisis. The Munch and I were talking about someone we love, and how they are dealing with a family member in jail because of heroine. The Munch had a lot of questions about what all this meant, and the complexity of trying to clarify the details to her made something very clear to me.

    The way we treat drug addicts in this country is criminal.

    I think the best way to tell if a system is flawed, is if it’s hard to explain it to a child. If you can’t easily articulate an issue, then something is wrong.

    When the Munch asks about what laws were, I didn’t find it challenging to express why we needed laws. When she asked me some examples of laws, it was perfectly logical to her why it was illegal to steal, or kill someone. There wasn’t a lot of confusion. But when trying to unpack why drugs were illegal and why people go to prison for drugs – that was actually really hard.

    The Munch: What do drugs do to people?
    Toni: They make you feel different – inside your body and your mind.
    The Munch: What do you mean feel different?
    Toni: You know how if you eat a bunch of sugar, and your body feels kind of funny after? Like it’s buzzing?
    The Munch: Yeah… and you have all this energy and want to run around?
    Toni: Well drugs make you feel different sensations in your body and in your brain.
    The Munch: Is sugar a drug?
    Toni: Well it affects your brain like drugs, but it’s not considered a drug.
    The Munch: Is wine drugs? Like how grow-ups drink wine and stuff?
    Toni: Kind of – but wine beer is considered alcohol. Not a drug.
    The Munch: Do people go to prison for wine?
    Toni: No… only drugs.
    The Munch: Why are drugs bad?
    Toni: Because you can get addicted to them.
    The Munch: Like how you say I can get addicted to sugar, or watching too much “My Little Pony.”
    Toni: Yes. Addiction is when you make a decision to do something you know is bad for you, but it’s too hard to make the decision to stay away.
    The Munch: And you go to prison because you have addiction and it’s too hard to stay away?
    Toni: Sort of. But also when you take drugs, you probably aren’t making the best decisions in general because you’re also on drugs. So you aren’t thinking clearly.
    The Munch: But don’t you take drugs when you are sick? Or have surgery? Like how you gave me drugs when I had my eye surgery so the pain would go away?
    Toni: Yes. Doctors give drugs when people are in pain, but those drugs don’t put you in jail.
    The Munch: What are the drugs that put you in jail?
    Toni: Illegal drugs.
    The Munch: But do people take illegal drugs because they are in pain?
    Toni: Yes. Emotional pain. And sometimes physical pain too.
    The Munch: So shouldn’t those people see a doctor for their pain and not go to jail?
    Toni: Yes they should.

    Since the Rockefeller drug laws were introduced, the prison population in the US has skyrocketed! We now hold the honor of being the number 1 country in the world with the most people incarcerated. Maybe the original intention was to make our neighborhoods safer, but sending millions of non-violent offenders to jail for exorbitant sentences has had a detrimental impact on communities. The Rockefeller drug laws are the most significant legal foundation of the war on drugs over the last 40 years. And despite the draconian mandatory minimums being removed 7 years ago, 48% of the people in our federal prisons are there for non-violent drug related crimes. But what if we started regarding drug abuse as a social issue to contend with and not a criminal one?

    These mandatory sentences haven’t addressed why people turn to drugs, but only built the foundation of our current penal system. These drug laws paved the path for the prison industrial complex that we see today – ironically with prisoners as the ones laying the concrete. When prisons become profitable businesses, then filling them up with people is simply free labor for Wall Street.

    So I agree with The Munch – maybe we should be sending addicts to hospitals and not prisons.

  • It Turns Out I Have No Natural Talents

    The other day I got out of my car and was walking through the parking lot to my dance studio when something occurred to me. I have no natural talents. It was one of those thoughts that come out of nowhere, and the minute you think it, you know it’s true.

    Now I’m not saying I’m not good at things. I am. I can dance, skateboard, surf, play tennis, write, make amazing sandwiches… But everything I’m good at, I’m only good at only because I worked REALLY FUCKING HARD TO GET GOOD!!!

    I guess you could say that I have the natural talent of being tenacious, but beyond that, I am pretty talentless. The thing that I’ve got going for me is that I am willing to do whatever it takes, and take as much time as I need, to get better at something.

    There are some people who get good at things very easily. They may have a natural propensity towards creative capacities, or some advanced ability to digest various educational disciplines. Usually these people are hyper talented in a variety of fields. They don’t have to commit in the same way I do, because they can float between an assortment of activities and excel.

    NOT ME!

    I have to focus and exert a shit ton of effort in order to advance my ability.

    I guess if I’m being real with myself, The Munch is the same way as me. She is not particularly talented at anything. But she is a good student and willing to try!! Every teacher she has, whether it’s her ski teacher/ gymnastics teacher/dance teacher – they all say the same thing. That she is good listener and is willing to practice.

    Because my kid and I are pretty talentless, the best thing we can do for ourselves is get really enthusiastic about practicing!! Every time The Munch shows me one of her drawings, or one of her mediocre cartwheels I say, “Wow! You have been practicing so much and I really see improvement! I can see how trying hard is making you better!”

    Here were are just working hard trying not to be average!!

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    February 10, 2016 • 5 years old, Behavior, Education, Mommyhood, Musings, Parenting • Views: 1160

  • My Life is Totally Meaningless… NBD

    The other day I came home and went upstairs to Munch’s room to see what she wanted for dinner. I sat on her bed, and she told me she just needed a minute to finish making a bunk bed for her dolls before she could decide. I figured that seemed like a reasonable request, and decided to be patient – like a good parent. But then I realized I had left my phone downstairs, and had a mild anxiety attack.

    The Munch had taken a small stool, and turned it upside down so the four legs were facing up. She then took a wire-framed doll bed, and balanced it on top of these precarious posts. Once the top bunk was secured, she would make the bed with her little doll mattresses, blankets, and pillows.

    It was usually the last pillow that would set everything awry. The weight of the tiny materials would undoubtedly disrupt the stability of the wire bed on the stool. Rather then rebalancing the bed with the mattress, blanket, and pillows still intact – The Munch would take the entire thing apart and do it all over again.

    I watched this process for about a half an hour. Balancing the bunk bed, making the bed, accidently disrupting the bed, starting over.

    As I sat there I realized that what I was watching was a metaphor for my artistic process. The perfection of this bunk bed is totally unimportant task to everyone but Munch. She is the only person that this bed matters to, and yet she is treating said bed like it is the most vital thing in the world.

    It doesn’t matter if anyone else will see this bed. She sees it. Therefor she has to make it exactly the way she wants it, even though the result is utterly futile.

    The Munch making and re-making this bed is the physical manifestation of the insanity of my existence. At that moment I realized that my life is utterly meaningless. My artistic method only holds value to me, just like the bunk bed only has value to The Munch. It became so painfully clear that creativity exists in a vacuum – and the only way to release the pressure is admit that you are the one both sucking and blowing hot air.

    Just as I was about to weep tears of sorrow about the senselessness of life I realized “holy fuck Toni didn’t you also eat weed chocolate about an hour ago – and is that maybe contributing to your thought process?” But who knows?

    doll bed

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    February 9, 2016 • Mommy Mind, Musings, Playing • Views: 1373

  • The Bernie Hillary Feminist Love Triangle

    I am a proud feminist. I celebrate the sacred feminine every full moon with a menses ritual. I say things like “smash the patriarchy” non-ironically at dinner parties. I named my dog after Simone De Beauvoir. And I’m pretty sure if you typed in the word “vagina” in the search engine of this blog – 4 to 6 million posts would come up.

    But just because I’m a feminist, doesn’t mean that I am going to blindly support Hillary for president.

    I want to. Oh goddess do I want do I want to. Sweet Mother Gaia would that be divine. But as much as my uterus craves more women in positions of power, that doesn’t mean I can only think with my ovaries.

    Hillary Clinton, Grandmother Moon bless her, is unfortunately a compromised individual. Anyone who WANTS to be president is.

    Hillary has wanted to be president for a long time. At least for 8 years – but I think you and I both know this ambition dates longer than that. Maybe Hillary has wanted to be president for 20 years, or even 30. What that means is that much of her political policy has been dictated with this nagging concept in the back of her mind. “How will this decision impact the possibility of me one day being elected president?”

    As a consequence of this aspiration, Hillary has been pandering to the center. She hasn’t been particularly progressive because she has been too calculated in her decision-making. If you look at her record she has promoted Fracking, supported the Wall Street bail out, supported the invasion in Iraq, supported the Patriot Act, supports the death penalty, supported the defense marriage act, she’s in bed with Monsanto, has a Wall Street funded Super PAC, and is part of the 1%.

    She’s been playing the game of politics.

    I am not sure I believe her choices are a reflection of her actual morality, but rather a desire to rise through the ranks of power. From a personal perspective I can say, “you go girl,” because she has become one of the most powerful women in the world. But that doesn’t mean that I trust her.

    Yes Hillary has faced challenges that her male counterparts have not. Yes she has been criticized by the media, and the public, in ways that are exclusive to the fact that she has the wrong genitals. Yes there is a vast discrepancy when it comes to men and women in politics. YES TO ALL THAT! YES THAT NEEDS TO CHANGE!

    But if you look at Hillary’s political history, being a woman hasn’t hurt her. It’s helped her. Her status quo run of the mill policies wouldn’t stand out of if she were a man. The only reason why a true leftist would even CONSIDER her as candidate is because she is a woman.

    I don’t blame Hillary for being strategic throughout her career. She had no other choice. I understand that completely. Yet I don’t think electing her just to prove to the world that we can have a woman president is that meaningful. It’s a superficial statement. It wouldn’t truly impact the role of woman in American society. It’s not like just because we had a black president suddenly racism disappeared. There have been rampant acts of racism that are beyond archaic since Obama has been elected. It’s only brought it to the forefront. Sure it’s great that kids can now see a black president, or little girls could experience a woman president. But figureheads and puppets don’t change the deep systemic racism and sexism that exist in the world.

    Obama or Hillary can’t solve these social issues because they had to sacrifice too much of their own political beliefs to get the position they are in. Obama had to prove that he wasn’t “too black” to be president just like Hillary has to prove she isn’t “too feminine.” If we lived in a true democracy it would be possible to be an honest politician. But we don’t. We live in a corporatetocracy. Therefore ANYONE who makes it up that ladder did so because of back door deals to satisfy the agenda of big banks and big business.

    That is why Plato fantasized about the idea of the “philosopher king.” In his worldview, the philosopher, the one who values questioning over personal power, is the only person fit to be king. They are the only ones who can’t be corrupted. Yet the issue is that no philosopher would ever want to be king.

    Anyone who has the goal of being president of the United States of America has done some very dirty transactions to get to that position. EVERYONE.

    So this brings us to Bernie Sanders. Now I’m not saying that Bernie is perfect, or that I agree with everything that comes out of his mouth. But I’m pretty sure Bernie is just as surprised as everyone else by how close he is to being nominated.

    Because Bernie hasn’t spent his entire political career with the goal to one day be president, he has spoken out in a much more progressive and potentially honest way. Bernie may not be the perfect candidate, but what he has done is radically changed the conversation. He is a rebellion against Wall Street. He is the continuation of the Occupy movement. He’s trying to dismantle the very banking system that supports Hillary. He’s the only candidate that has the freedom to say, “the 1% are fucking us” because he is not in their back pocket.

    Hillary’s campaign is supported by big donations from rich people. Bernie is instead being supported by small donations from poor people.

    Bernie will inevitably have more political integrity because he is beholden to the people, not the corporations.

    Of course the congress and senate are going to cock block anyone who tries to enact truly progressive political progress, but that is the direction our country needs to be heading. Not only socially, but environmentally, and financially. The current corruption is too dangerous. Wall Street is too dangerous. This model of profit over people and the planet is KILLING US ALL.

    So as much as my vagina wants a woman president, my brain wants someone who is more interested in challenging the system than catering to it.

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    February 4, 2016 • Current Events, Political Banter • Views: 1944

  • I Spend Most of My Time With You Trying To Avoid You

    I realized the other day that most of the time that I am home with my kid; I am trying to avoid her. If The Munch comes into the room I am in I will just stand there perfectly still, hoping she doesn’t notice me. It’s like I’m at Jurassic Park trying to avoid a loose Velociraptor. One slight movement and The Munch will see me with her peripheral vision, then ask me to do something for her.

    Kids can be really fucking high maintenance!

    First she will want me too look for something impossible. Like the red “play mobile” fork she was using for her “My Little Pony Set up.” Keep in mind said fork is literally the size of a ladybug wing. This goddamn utensil is so small you can’t see it with the naked eye, and yet somehow I am supposed to spend 45 minutes of my life searching for it.

    Then she will ask me to make her food. Of course you want your child to be well fed, but every request The Munch has is so complicated I feel like a chef at a 5 star restaurant. She will want a smoothie with peaches, two raspberries, a dash of vanilla, and seasoned with the shavings of a unicorn horn. There is always so much preparation and clean up associated with everything she wants to eat, and then I have to be at peace with the fact that only 1/3 of what I made actually goes it into her mouth hole. The rest she spills all over the table. I swear to god if The Munch had it her way, she would have a soufflé for an afternoon snack and flambé for dinner.

    Of course there is also the request that I play with her. I love my kid, but holy fuck playing can get real boring. It’s okay for 10 minutes – but imagining that we are kitties at the kitty shop that have to take care of the crying babies who need their diapers changed so they can fly is my idea of a nightmare. I love talking to The Munch – hanging out, cuddling, drawing – things of this nature. But when I have to take on the role of a playmate my attention span has an expiration date.

    The Munch is really good about self-entertaining, but I can’t always count on it. Some days all she wants is to get up in my grill, and make demands of me. Yet there are those blissful days when The Munch will keep herself occupied for hours in room. Of course during these serene moments I move like a ninja so as not to bring attention to my presence. If someone were to come into my house and disturb this vibe of her not needing me, I would put them in a sleeper hold. And maybe slit their throat and dispose of the body under my kitchen table. Anything to keep the Zen.

    My favorite time with my kid is when we are both in the house peacefully doing our own thing. She will be playing with her toys pretending that one of her stuff animals is hanging to death, and I will on my phone overwhelmed with feelings of self-doubt and personal loathing. Just like they did in the olden days.

    flower crown munch

    February 2, 2016 • Behavior, Mommy Mind, Mommyhood, Parenting, Playing • Views: 1224