Tuesday, September 27, 2011

Just a Thought on Chaz Bono DWTS

Yahoo usually has terrible reader comments, but this one on Chaz Bono is really great:

"The "tolerant" people amuse me. I notice that they feel like we should be "tolerant" towards Chaz as regards his choice to change gender, but the call for tolerance ends when Chaz's weight is discussed. In other words, his being transgendered is off limits, but his being fat is fair game!"

Living day-to-day being fat or or short or in a wheel chair, or having acne, as well as being queer or trans or a person of color should make us more determined to stamp out prejudice everywhere. In an ideal world, we might. But the world isn't ideal. We still fear for our safety somewhere down in the lower levels of Maslow's hierarchy of needs. Not blending in is dangerous, and when we don't fit in one way, we sometimes do our best to fit in with others.

Joining with the mob gives us safety for the moment, but makes us hypocrites. However, it takes courage for someone who has been bullied to call out bullies. The fear, and danger, is real.

What to do? We can't be that one brave person all the time in every situation.

When we are not, I hope we can use the experience to better understand those who hold back when we are the targets. They might be struggling and afraid as well, and as hard as this is, we should forgive them, just a little bit, just as they might forgive us in turn.

And in those times where we must be brave, I hope that we are all somewhat equal to the task.

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

The Adventures of Science Dog and Chemistry Cat

It was a rough day in Bowserville. Traffic was really bad, and the pizzas were cold. Tempers were short, and there was a distinct feeling in the air that something very bad might happen if things didn’t get better fast.

Now, Bowserville, you have to understand, was a town that loved its pizza. Mayor Grigs Duquesne, in fact campaigned on a platform saying that, “a vote for her was a vote for extra cheese.” But now, Mayor Duquesne was desperate.

“My God, Man! The traffic is bad and the pizzas are cold!” Mayor Duquesne cried.

“Well, is this one related problem, or two separate ones?” asked her deputy mayor, Cruz Bustamante. Cruz was completely unrelated to Cruz Bustamante, the former Lieutenant Governor of California, but resembled him in some ways. Though not in others.

“My God, Man! How can you be so dispassionate when our town is in trouble?” Mayor Duquesne cried.

Suddenly the phone rang. “HAHAHAHAA! Hey Grigs! This is your nemesis speaking. I am calling to tell you that unless you pay me $2 million by the noon tomorrow, the traffic will be completely snarled. I will bombard your town with road construction vehicles and orange cones. I will have unruly families crossing the streets at yellow and red lights. I will make every beat-up Chevy truck drive lose the mattress that is loosely tied in its bed, and flood the streets with Lexus and Volvo drivers who come to a complete stop before making a right turn on a green light. HAHAHAHAA!”

“My God, Man! What about the pizza?” Mayor Duquesne cried.

The voice on the other end faltered… “W-what do you mean about the pizza?”

“Didn’t you know? The pizza is getting cold. We ordered a pizza and it was cold—and it happened again.”

“O-oh no… um—I’ll see what I can do—“ the voice hung up.

Suddenly, all the traffic lights in the city turned green.

Then there was a huge crash.

The phone rang.

“S-sorry!” said the voice at the other end.

* * * * *
“Hrpmph, why do I even read the paper anymore!” growled Science Dog, over her cup of chai tea.

“What’s wrong, Science Dog?” asked her friend, Chemistry Cat.

“I hate when statistics are misused. I’m reading that in Bowserville the temperature of pizza has gotten progressively colder. They say that if the trend continues, the pizza will reach absolute zero in just six months.”

“That’s pretty cold pizza.”

“The coldest pizza there is,” snorted Science Dog. “But as you know, nothing reaches absolute zero. In fact, I can’t see their pizza falling below the ambient air temperature.”

“Well, thermodynamics is thermodynamics,” agreed Chemistry Cat.
After a night with Rogaine in your Vaseline and your wiener looks like a hippie Herve Villechaize bonged out at a Grateful Dead concert. You shout hey look, there’s a plane, a plane, but he’s just lying there limp and stoned and he’s not getting up to point anywhere and you can just go fuck yourself, but that’s what got you here in the first place.