Do You Realize?

White Privilege

Because I'm on my way out to a drum line competition, I'm going to share something that someone else wrote. I got this in my email box (thanks, Blue!), and I thought it was spot-on. Thank you, Tim Wise, whoever you are; your name is quite descriptive, if this piece is any indication.

This is Your Nation on White Privilege
By Tim Wise
9/13/08

For those who still can't grasp the concept of white privilege, or who are looking for some easy-to-understand examples of it, perhaps this list will help.

White privilege is when you can get pregnant at seventeen like Bristol Palin and everyone is quick to insist that your life and that of your family is a personal matter, and that no one has a right to judge you or your parents, because "every family has challenges," even as black and Latino families with similar "challenges" are regularly typified as irresponsible, pathological and arbiters of social decay.

White privilege is when you can call yourself a "fuckin' redneck," like Bristol Palin's boyfriend does, and talk about how if anyone messes with you, you'll "kick their fuckin' ass," and talk about how you like to "shoot shit" for fun, and still be viewed as a responsible, all-American boy (and a great son-in-law to be) rather than a thug.

White privilege is when you can attend four different colleges in six years like Sarah Palin did (one of which you basically failed out of, then returned to after making up some coursework at a community college), and no one questions your intelligence or commitment to achievement, whereas a person of color who did this would be viewed as unfit for college, and probably someone who only got in in the first place because of affirmative action.

White privilege is when you can claim that being mayor of a town smaller than most medium-sized colleges, and then Governor of a state with about the same number of people as the lower fifth of the island of Manhattan, makes you ready to potentially be president, and people don't all piss on themselves with laughter, while being a black U.S. Senator, two-term state Senator, and constitutional law scholar, means you're "untested."

White privilege is being able to say that you support the words "under God" in the pledge of allegiance because "if it was good enough for the founding fathers, it's good enough for me," and not be immediately disqualified from holding office--since, after all, the pledge was written in the late 1800s and the "under God" part wasn't added until the 1950s--while believing that reading accused criminals and terrorists their rights (because, ya know, the Constitution, which you used to teach at a prestigious law school requires it), is a dangerous and silly idea only supported by mushy liberals.

White privilege is being able to be a gun enthusiast and not make people immediately scared of you.

White privilege is being able to have a husband who was a member of an extremist political party that wants your state to secede from the Union, and whose motto is "Alaska first," and no one questions your patriotism or that of your family, while if you're black and your spouse merely fails to come to a 9/11 memorial so she can be home with her kids on the first day of school, people immediately think she's being disrespectful.

White privilege is being able to make fun of community organizers and the work they do--like, among other things, fight for the right of women to vote, or for civil rights, or the 8-hour workday, or an end to child labor--and people think you're being pithy and tough, but if you merely question the experience of a small town mayor and 18-month governor with no foreign policy expertise beyond a class she took in college and the fact that she lives close to Russia--you're somehow being mean, or even sexist.

White privilege is being able to convince white women who don't even agree with you on any substantive issue to vote for you and your running mate anyway, because suddenly your presence on the ticket has inspired confidence in these same white women, and made them give your party a "second look."

White privilege is being able to fire people who didn't support your political campaigns and not be accused of abusing your power or being a typical politician who engages in favoritism, while being black and merely knowing some folks from the old-line political machines in Chicago means you must be corrupt.

White privilege is when you can take nearly twenty-four hours to get to a hospital after beginning to leak amniotic fluid, and still be viewed as a great mom whose commitment to her children is unquestionable, and whose "next door neighbor" qualities make her ready to be VP, while if you're a black candidate for president and you let your children be interviewed for a few seconds on TV, you're irresponsibly exploiting them.

White privilege is being able to give a 36 minute speech in which you talk about lipstick and make fun of your opponent, while laying out no substantive policy positions on any issue at all, and still manage to be considered a legitimate candidate, while a black person who gives an hour speech the week before, in which he lays out specific policy proposals on several issues, is still criticized for being too vague about what he would do if elected.

White privilege is being able to attend churches over the years whose pastors say that people who voted for John Kerry or merely criticize George W. Bush are going to hell, and that the U.S. is an explicitly Christian nation and the job of Christians is to bring Christian theological principles into government, and who bring in speakers who say the conflict in the Middle East is God's punishment on Jews for rejecting Jesus, and everyone can still think you're just a good church-going Christian, but if you're black and friends with a black pastor who has noted (as have Colin Powell and the U.S. Department of Defense) that terrorist attacks are often the result of U.S. foreign policy and who talks about the history of racism and its effect on black people, you're an extremist who probably hates America.

White privilege is not knowing what the Bush Doctrine is when asked by a reporter, and then people get angry at the reporter for asking you such a "trick question," while being black and merely refusing to give one-word answers to the queries of Bill O'Reilly means you're dodging the question, or trying to seem overly intellectual and nuanced.

White privilege is being able to go to a prestigious prep school, then to Yale and then Harvard Business school, and yet, still be seen as just an average guy (George W. Bush) while being black, going to a prestigious prep school, then Occidental College, then Columbia, and then to Harvard Law, makes you "uppity," and a snob who probably looks down on regular folks.

White privilege is being able to graduate near the bottom of your college class (McCain), or graduate with a C average from Yale (W.) and that's OK, and you're cut out to be president, but if you're black and you graduate near the top of your class from Harvard Law, you can't be trusted to make good decisions in office.

White privilege is being able to dump your first wife after she's disfigured in a car crash so you can take up with a multi-millionaire beauty queen (who you go on to call the c-word in public) and still be thought of as a man of strong family values, while if you're black and married for nearly twenty years to the same woman, your family is viewed as un-American and your gestures of affection for each other are called "terrorist fist bumps."

White privilege is being able to sing a song about bombing Iran and still be viewed as a sober and rational statesman, with the maturity to be president, while being black and suggesting that the U.S. should speak with other nations, even when we have disagreements with them, makes you "dangerously naive and immature."

White privilege is being able to claim your experience as a POW has anything at all to do with your fitness for president, while being black and experiencing racism and an absent father is apparently among the "lesser adversities" faced by other politicians, as Sarah Palin explained in her convention speech.

And finally, white privilege is the only thing that could possibly allow someone to become president when he has voted with George W. Bush 90 percent of the time, even as unemployment is skyrocketing, people are losing their homes, inflation is rising, and the U.S. is increasingly isolated from world opinion, just because white voters aren't sure about that whole "change" thing. Ya know, it's just too vague and ill-defined, unlike, say, four more years of the same, which is very concrete and certain.

White privilege is, in short, the problem.

Texas Longhorn Game Day Fashion 101

I went to visit Eldest at school this weekend. It was the weekend of their first game (Saturday), so I got to experience Austin in full game-day glory. Can you grasp the concept of 150,000 people shoved into one relatively small area, all dressed in burnt orange? I felt positively blasphemous in my turquoise tank top.

Now, normally, Austin fashion falls into the "anything goes" category. It's quite the melange. There's a bit of every possible fashion sense to be found in Austin, which makes it pretty groovy in my book. You'll always be grounded to the Longhorn aesthetic by a goodly number of students in their "Hook 'Em Horns" orange gear, but it's usually a small smattering, just enough to remind you of where you are. The goal of fashion in general here is to wear what you like, like what you wear, and hope that a little piece of you shines through.

Game days, on the other hand, are a completely different story. The entire city's fashion aspirations magically align, and suddenly everyone looks fantastic in burnt orange. The goal suddenly becomes totally different. A little more challenging in some respects. On game days, it is imperative that you wear something, ANYTHING, in the only color that exists on the color wheel: burnt orange. However, you still want your personality to make an appearance, so the big trick is to search for clothing items that are your style but made in that one hideous, unifying color. The entire second floor of the Co-op is reserved for women's clothing (with a stunning array of styles but not much in the way of color selection)! I saw girls in cute little shift dresses in burnt orange, polos in burnt orange, flip flops in burnt orange, Soffe shorts in burnt orange, baseball tees in burnt orange, and on and on it went; it was truly a sight to behold, this veritable ocean of orange threatening to pull you under in its insidious current.

Something strange overcomes you when you go to Austin. Even those of us with no school spirit to speak of suddenly have the urge to "throw the horns" and buy something hideously orange. Even me. Yes, even me.

Sore Sports

Today I was planning to write a post about my first bicycle ride in a year or more. I rode ten miles yesterday, three of them with 27 pounds of groceries. (I now feel as if I've had repeated rough sex with a bull elephant seal.)

However, I was reading the sports news this morning, and started wondering about how Mark Spitz reacted when Michael Phelps broke his single-Olympic record of seven gold medals; Phelps made Olympic history last night, winning his eighth, with the help of three teammates. When I read this article, I decided to change my post. It's still about soreness and sports, just in different terms.

Apparently, Mark Spitz is sore that the International Olympic Committee did not invite him to watch Michael break his record, nor hang Phelps's medals around his neck. Perhaps they did this because, in 2004, when Phelps first attempted to break his record, he was invited, and he made such a big deal about not getting any face time on television, they thought the better of a second invitation. Perhaps they did this because, even in his prime, he was an ass, disliked by his teammates for his detachedness and propensity for playing mind games. Perhaps they did it because Mark Spitz is always determined to make things all about Mark Spitz, and this day should have been (and was, thanks to Spitz's absence) about Michael Phelps.

This woman, Debbie Schlussel, has nothing but glowing praise to lavish upon Mark Spitz; she seems to think he must shit rose petals and purple unicorn dust. She demands from one commenter, who points out that she spoke with a former Olympic alternate who greatly disliked Mark Spitz, to know names, NAMES of people who actually knew Mark Spitz and felt this way, because SURELY no one who knew Mark Spitz could think that he doesn't shit rose petals and purple unicorn dust, yo.

Well, let's see. I'll venture that his former Olympic teammate, Steve Genter, felt that way. Genter, even after suffering a partially collapsed lung and surgery to repair it less than a week prior, and broken stitches in the first leg of the race in question, Genter was leading with 25 meters to go. Spitz only beat him, bleeding wound and all, to the gold medal by less than two meters. Afterward, Genter angrily revealed that Spitz had spent the time before the race trying to convince him not to compete; Debbie Schlussel would no doubt say it was concern, but Genter, knowing Mark Spitz, felt it was more of an attempt to psych him out, knowing Genter was Spitz's main competition.

Spitz also wants the world to know that he probably could have taken eight medals, too, if they'd only had the 50 meter freestyle, as they do now. AND he wants the world to know that Michael Phelps will probably break his record because they are so much alike.

Not on your life, Mark Spitzer. Michael Phelps is loved by his teammates and the world can see his humility and love for the sport, not just someone who is in it for himself and all the fame he can wring out of it. Bottom line: Yes, it would have been nice to have a supportive, humble, quiet Mark Spitz at Beijing when Phelps broke his record. However, knowing Spitz's propensity for self-aggrandizing when he should be there just to bear witness to Olympic history in the making, I'm supportive of the IOC's decision not to bend over backwards to make sure he was specifically singled out and invited. If he wanted to be there for the love of the sport and to support Phelps, he should have called Phelps or his people and asked for tickets, but not on anyone's dime but his own. And don't expect a camera to lovingly caress your face every time you open your mouth.

There are so many more issues I have with the Phelps naysayers that I can't even address them here and stay on-topic. I will, however, say that to minimize Phelps's success based on the argument that increased technology (better suits, pools, strokes, etc.) made it all possible is ridiculous. Perhaps these people missed the part about Phelps being a physiological anomaly perfectly suited to swimming. The man is a phenomenal athlete, and it's time to give him his due.

WTF?!? Wednesday

Please pardon my recent absence. I've had some terrible unidentified stomach ailment. Yesterday I ate 4 saltines and a key lime soda (Whole Foods version of Sprite, except sweetened with cane juice). The pain and chills came on almost immediately on Sunday night and come and go at will now. Just shoot me.

This morning I was on CNN.com catching up on some news, and I came across something that totally incensed me. Well, I came across a lot of things that incensed me, but since I suspect that enough people will be be blogging about the political crap, I'll take on Hulk Hogan's bratty, entitled, titty-baby son. Because not enough people blog about celebrities nowadays, you know.

For those of you who've been living in a bubble (or who don't give a rat's ass about worthless celebrity chattering), as backstory, in August 2007, Nick Bollea, Hulk Hogan's then-sixteen-year-old son (Terry Bollea is Hogan's real name. "Hulk" is not. Imagine that.), was intoxicated and street racing with his friend John Graziano in the passenger seat. In the interest of full disclosure, Graziano was not wearing his seat belt. (And, lest you think I'm letting John Graziano off the hook as a totally innocent bystander, forget about it. He knew he was getting into a high-powered car with an intoxicated friend to do something dangerous and illegal. He has culpability, too, but he received a life sentence for not wearing his seatbelt. That's hardly justice.) Nick was driving a Dodge Viper, which belonged to his dad, and the other street racer, a friend, was driving a Toyota Supra, which also belonged to Hogan. Nick had already, in less than one year, accumulated three speeding tickets, two of which were given for speeds in excess of 100 mph; Hulk was in the car for one of those. Linda, Nick's other model parent, had appeared in a DVD called "Vehicular Lunatics" teaching street racing. On the night of the crash, Nick lost control of his car and wrapped it around a palm tree (photos here... yeah, that used to look like a car), critically injuring his friend and passenger, Graziano. Doctors have since had to remove a portion of Graziano's brain, and he is in a minimally conscious state, with little hope for any meaningful recovery. Nick was recently sentenced to eight months in jail and five years probation, during which time he cannot drive or drink alcohol (so he can't drink alcohol until he's 21... harsh). During the trial, Nick and his family painted themselves as remorseful and contrite, blathering about how much they loved John, and how they've set up a fund to help pay his medical expenses.

In the last few days, though, several jailhouse recorded phone calls have been released to the press which absolutely appalled me and, I hope, anyone with any modicum of humanity. In the tapes, Nick tells his mother that "all you do is sit there and think, and there's nothing to think about." Ummmmm... perhaps you could think about how your actions have stolen a life from another human being? Just a suggestion.

Also in the tapes, Hulk says, "Well, I don't know what type of person John was, or what he did to get himself in this situation, but I know he was pretty agressive, and used to yell at people, and used to do stuff. But some, some, for some reason, man, God laid some heavy shit on that kid, man, I don't know what he was into." To which Nick replies, "John was a negative person." Yes, Mr. Bollea, let's help your son learn about taking responsibility by implying that John Graziano is completely to blame for his injuries. That is the epitome of good parenting. What did your son do to get himself into his situation? For that matter, what did your son do to get John in this situation?

We also learn from the tapes that Nick is already thinking about his future... in reality television. Yes, his daddy is already laying the groundwork for a "real-ality deal" (Nick pronounces it this way not once, not twice, but three times.) "the minute I walk out of wherever I walk out of." At least he's thinking about his future. Now if we could just get him to contemplate John Graziano's future.

Adding insult to injury, Linda Hogan says in the tapes that Graziano's mother doesn't care about him, and that she, Linda, is the one who is suffering, and seems outraged that no one understands that. "I knew him more than his own mother knew him. She has no other recourse than to be nasty and vindictive now... She's not sad. She's just acting angry like she wants the money. John never meant anything to her or Ed... I miss John and I miss you two. [maybe "miss you, too."?] She's not suffering, I am. She didn't give two shits."

There are so many more outrageously egregious statements in these tapes I can hardly contain my contempt for the entire lot of this morally bankrupted family. But the fact is, there will be plenty of people who will watch Nick's "real-ality show" if it ever comes to fruition. And there are plenty of people who, unfortunately, think that The Hulkster and Linda's behavior is normal for any parent whose child is in a tough situation. I happen to not be one of them.

I think I'm a fake liberal.

Anyone who's spent a goodly amount of time around here knows that my politics lean pretty far to the left. I'm even pretty socially liberal. Or am I? My social liberalism has recently been tested by a situation in our neighborhood. I'm a fake. A sham. A freakin' NIMBY, for pity's sake!

We live in a nice, established neighborhood. The houses were all built 20 or more years ago; there are a few families with kids, but not a lot. Often, we leave our front door and our cars unlocked. It's usually pretty quiet, despite our across-the-street neighbor, who is a lawyer with an obnoxious, drunken twentysomething-year-old son.

Long story slightly shorter is this: We have relatively new neighbors with a young son (hereafter called "K.") who has begun taking liberties with other people's boundaries. In the span of a week, he's taken toys that don't belong to him; walked into our fenced-in backyard & jumped into our pool after being told he could not, as adults were not home; walked into our unlocked front door when no one answered the doorbell; walked into another neighbor's unlocked front door under the same circumstances; gotten into yet another neighbor's vehicle uninvited; and hauled out our garden hose to play with on several occasions. He does not leave when asked or directed, even by an adult.

Here's where my fake liberalism shows up. Through the grapevine, I've heard that a local church is buying and/or renting houses in town, then setting up underprivileged families in them, sometimes even putting a couple of families together in a larger house. This is how K. and his extended family (I've seen at least five different cars in the driveway) allegedly came to live in this house. A truly liberal person would think that this is a fine charitable thing that the church is doing to help the lower class families in town to get up on their feet to make a better life for themselves. Is that what I'm thinking? Well, yes. But, I'm also thinking that maybe it's not so wise to scoop someone up out of the 'hood and dump them, ever-so-benevolently, in a 4000-square-foot house in a quiet neighborhood with obviously very different expectations than the ones they seem to be accustomed.

I soothe my wounded progressive pride by telling myself it's a good thing we're not hard-core Second-Amendment-or-bust types, or K. might be pulling some buckshot out of his ass right about now.

Images of Intolerable Beauty

Chris Jordan is my new photographic hero. You absolutely must visit the link and see his work. It is incredibly powerful. His images are scenes depicting the staggering cost of American consumerism. An excerpt, written by the artist, from his website:

"Exploring around our country’s shipping ports and industrial yards, where the accumulated detritus of our consumption is exposed to view like eroded layers in the Grand Canyon, I find evidence of a slow-motion apocalypse in progress. I am appalled by these scenes, and yet also drawn into them with awe and fascination. The immense scale of our consumption can appear desolate, macabre, oddly comical and ironic, and even darkly beautiful; for me its consistent feature is a staggering complexity."

This is an appearance with Stephen Colbert. (Added as a link, because I'm too stupid to figure out what's going wrong when I try to embed this fucker.)

(Thanks, Dad, for the heads up on Chris's site.)

The tightening of the wingnuts

I've been surfing this morning, and the waves are high and treacherous .

Have you noticed that when a person can't poke holes in a politician's policies or the job they've done/are doing, they resort to trying to poke holes in their private lives?

Hate-filled fundies have done their best now to prove Obama attended a madrasa, that he's not a "true" Christian or that his church is racist against whites, and now this man has made not one, but two, YouTube videos claiming to have had a coke-crack-and-fellatio-fest with Barack in the back of his limo.

Let me just go on record as saying that if this story is, indeed, true, that Larry Sinclair is the singular highest form of idiot: one who doesn't know the monetary gains of true blackmail. Okay, that was a joke, but this isn't. If I have solid, proof-backed claims of misconduct of such a well-known figure, I know I'm headed to the New York Times, the Washington Post, Time, Newsweek. But Larry? His exposure of choice is YouTube, where any jackass with a cameraphone is a celebrity in their own mind. We teach our kids to ignore schoolyard taunting, and yet there are people out there who want Obama to respond to this? Right now? Shall he drop his campaign duties and make himself a YouTube response video?

On one wingnut delicious Republican site, which I shall not publicize, I found not only the Larry Sinclair breaking news, but also this bullshit juicy little morsel (which I've picked apart and provided responses) about hatemonger Fred Phelps being a registered Democrat:

Quick question, why do the Democrat candidates for President refuse to condemn the antics of the Leftist religious groups in their party?

I hardly think not taking the time to specifically address Phelps publicly constitutes a refusal to condemn the man and his hateful brood. And is there any such thing as a "Leftist religious group?" Also, if you truly think this is a "quick question," you're completely lacking in anything resembling intelligence.

Is there anyone more disgusting than their Westboro Baptist Church backers?

No. No, there isn't. Except maybe murderers and rapists and the pedophile pervert that recently found my site after searching for the words "underage cunt hole." (Boy, he was disappointed!) Those people may give Fred a run for his money.

Why will they not kick Fred Phelps to the curb? Is it because his hate is exactly like theirs, well except for hating FAGS? Is it because he uses their playbook religiously?

I'd like some clear proof, or at least a semblence of examples, of the accusation that he "uses their playbook religiously," and the "hating FAGS" is where he's more like the redneck fundies who pen entries like the one I'm addressing.

Will the Clintons return the money that Phelps gave them?

I tried at opensecrets.org to find that money, and I couldn't. Besides, Phelps has very openly been "anti-Clinton" once he realized Bill didn't espouse the same, errr, virtues as ol' Fred did.

Will Phelps again get invited to the White House if Hillary is elected like he did when Bill was? Will Phelps send his son to Hillary's inauguration like he did to Bill's first?

A Phelps may have, indeed, showed up at Bill's first inauguration. The one-sided love affair didn't last long. Fred's Westboro Baptist Church picketed Bill's mother's funeral, as well as Al Gore's father's funeral. I suspect he won't show up in support of Hillary any time soon.

I just want to know why homosexual groups refuse to try to kick him out of the party. I mean, is getting elected so important to them that they will allow Phelps and all the other hate groups (KKK, NAACP, etal) to continue to be the majority of their party?

Is it even possible to kick someone out of a political party? We are not the Pope; we cannot excommunicate someone who's simply chosen to keep the word "Democrat" on his voter registration card out of spite. And, are the Democrats so popular as to attract both the KKK and the NAACP? Seems like, despite its early Democratic implications, the KKK today attracts many more conservatives than liberals to its ranks.

Please, if there is a single Democrat that knows these answers, let me know. I just can't come up with one good reason why there is actually a group with so much hate amongst them.

I can't come up with a good reason for the existence of hate groups, either. But the fundies and their "Obamanation" agenda should recognize some parallels.

First and foremost, anyone who believes that Fred Phelps adheres to any political party's true ideals needs to be shot. Fred Phelps adheres to only one agenda: his own. I don't accept him as a true Democrat any more than I would be stupid enough to suggest he were a true Republican. Yes, his voter registration card (which is how old if Phelps is pushing 70?) says "Democrat." I like how Mother Jones stated it in 1999: "He still calls himself a Democrat, refusing to change just because his party has." If you look at Fred Phelps's beliefs, they are far and away closer to the right than the left: extreme religiosity, anti-homosexual, racist. But, again, remember I said I don't think he's truly representative of either legitimate political party.

Second, quickly addressing Obama's "clear" disrespect for white Christians everywhere, let's suppose he was, heaven forbid, NOT a Christian. Does our Constitution not declare that he should be able to choose any religion he wishes? Does our legal definition of who can hold the office of President of the United States include that (s)he must be a Christian? NO. Even if he were Muslim, he would be afforded that right by our Constitution, just as I'm allowed to carry my AK-47 squirrel hunting if I so choose. The problem is extremism, and I boldly declare that any religious extremist is dangerous. A fundamental Christian nut who bombs abortion clinics in God's name is no different to me than a fundamental Muslim nut who bombs the pet market in Allah's name.

A note on the Dems, and a couple of gems

Anybody watch Hillary and Barack last night? I heard the first 30 or 45 minutes on XM but I haven't gotten to watch it on DirecTV yet. I'm looking forward to hearing it, since their views are seemingly so similar on a lot of issues. I do plan on posting my impressions, but I have a bazillion errands to run today, and we have an appointment in Dallas tonight, so it may be tomorrow or Sunday.

I did want to make mention of the abominable new lows to which overseas terrorists in Baghdad are stooping. Where do people come up with an idea like: "Hey, let's strap up a couple of mentally retarded women, send them into the city's pet market, then blow them up by remote control?"  It's also pissing me off that some of the media are calling them "suicide bombers." I'm sorry, but I don't see mentally handicapped women making that sort of decision; this was murder, pure & evil.

And, speaking of evil, ask me how badly Exxon and their record profits make me want to vomit. Go ahead, just ask.

Finally, just consider the photo included in this article. Where's the grass these cows are supposed to be grazing on? Trees for shade? A pond or two? This is what we subject a majority of the nation's cattle to during their final days & weeks, just for a tasty burger. Pasture fed-and-finished beef is readily available nationwide now; there's no excuse for feedlots.

Asking the Wrong Questions

This video has surfaced, prompting people to question whether our beef is safe. It shows a cattle worker torturing a dairy cow who is too sick to walk into the slaughterhouse. (Unless an animal can walk in unassisted, it is not supposed to be slaughtered for human consumption.) Though that is a valid question (for those who don't do buy pasture-raised & finished beef), the question people should be asking is whether humanity itself is safe when there are members who are willing to look into the eyes of a weaker species and then do these things to them. Certainly the possibility of their willingness to treat children the same comes to mind. I'm sure the wives of the two workers pictured here are proud of their husbands.

According to this video, we're just monkeys that can operate forklifts. Animals, just like the others. (Warning to all my religious readers: you will be offended by this video, I'm pretty sure.) This video was passed along to me by a friend of Eldest; Eric, you are quite the fabulously intelligent and charming guy. Dance, monkeys, dance!

Sunday Scribblings--The Unspoken Competition

There exists in today's culture a competition so fierce, with competitors so driven, and so exclusive, in which men cannot even hope to participate and women have been accused of cheating for the title. It's a competition which is never advertised, and no one is to ever call it such. Its ostensible purpose is to help each other, to offer a sense of camaraderie and fellowship. Don't be fooled. It's a competition. It's the Childbirthing Championships.

When I got pregnant at seventeen, I didn't tell anyone for five months. Part of it might have been trying to avoid women of all walks of life telling me I was going to hell and that I should give that baby to a family who could raise it right, but most of it was self-preservation. I had seen women all but eat each other for the title of Most Death-Defying Delivery, and when they spy a pregnant belly, they seem drawn to it by some unnamed force, to tell their horrific, harrowing tales of painful parturition. The longer I could avoid that the better. Invariably, though, they found me. Each woman of Prima Gravida status or higher had a story to tell me, but not to scare me or to outdo some other woman of equally noble character; no, they were there to help me, to let me know what to expect.

I'm calling Bullshit. I'm now a member of the Multi Gravida Club, and I now have a story to tell, too. I KNOW that it's all about the competition. And everyone has a different strategy. Who went the longest without an epidural? (For the record, the epidural is my friend.) Who labored longer at home before going to the hospital? Who drove themselves to the hospital? Who was in such pain they passed in & out of consciousness, having Frida Kahlo art-inspired visions? Who endured pain and panic and delivered their baby at home on a holy rug with no pain relief but a midwife's comforting whispers?

I'll own up. I'm in. My story is easily as worthy of Childbirth Champion status as someone else's. My childbirth story. Let me tell you it.*

*I'll tell you later. Just know that it involves 38 hours of action, adventure, suspense, pain, blood, and gore. I'm in it to win it, peeps.