spoiler alert: dark knight rises

a very funny breakdown of everything wrong with the dark knight rises. there are a lot of spoilers in this, so if you haven't seen it, don't watch it. but if you haven't seen it already, you probably don't care. so go ahead.

yes, i am late to the party

but if you haven't seen these, they are fucking hilarious!

christmas is here

cause me and beasley watched love actually and elf last night. and it aint christmas till you have seen both of those movies. christmas time at last!

if you're a football fan, you'll like this

i like minimalist posters anyway, but one of my favorite nfl team? awesome-sauce. here is the falcon's one. slick and simple. FALCONS RISE UP! CAW CAW!

there's a link to more after the pic.

click for your favorite team logo in years

just an amazing story of heartbreak and joy

i am not a crier. as some people have told me, i'm made of stone. but this story got me really really close.

nana-nana-nana-nana...BATMAN!

dammit i want this movie to come out

henson, rand, nolan, and ono....the all-star team of the 70s

after all the pics, there is a link to a conversation bw jim henson, ayn rand, yoko ono, and sidney nolan in 1976. it was done over ARPANET, which was the precursor to what we know as the internet.

it's really amazing to see the interaction of 4 of the most iconic figures of the 70s and beyond, interacting with one another. jim henson comes off as pretty awesome, esp when dealing with ayn rand. nolan is kinda douchey, and ono is the opposite kinda of idiot as nolan.

and rand is so far up her own ass, she can't see straight.

brought joy to millions

 

brought a ridiculous idea to millions

just kinda douchey  

same with her

click for jim henson putting the smack down on ayn rand

the joys of working with a variety of ethnicities

not your normal work thanksgiving food....

you got your old stand-bys ham, turkey, green bean casserole, dressing, gravy, BUT

then ya got, fried rice, kimchi, thai chicken wings, chinese noodles, singapore noodles, stir fry veggies, and the list goes on and on. hellz yeah, boyee!!!

climate change

i like science. and i trust it. i am no expert, so i rely on experts to tell me stuff about science. much like i rely on my contractor to tell me what's wrong with my house. cause they are the expert, not me. so it confuses me that there are people out there that think climate change is not happening. if the broad climate field scientists claims it's happening, who else are we to trust? here's a little pie chart showing how much of a consensus there are among experts in climate science.

here is the link to the article

this is data gathered from peer-reviewed climate articles in science literature. so if a 99.9% consensus isn't convincing enough, then you might be mentally disabled and could get some government assistance.

freaks and geeks

if you've never seen freeks and geeks, you're a worse person for it. it's only a season long and it's directed by judd apatow. it starred jason segel, seth rogan, james franco, busy philips, linda cardellini, and even more people you'd recognize. it's just a good time of the trials and tribulations of getting through high school.

AND for the fans of the show here's a link to a reunion of EVERYONE. pretty sweet check it out.

click for freeks and geeks awesome-ness

awesome prank...

jayz and a cute old woman

the office

the office jumped the shark years ago, maybe even twice. so like a shark and a dinosaur. but i am still in love with jenna fischer, so i continue to watch it. thankfully, the series is coming to a close. so here's a little pic to remember all the good times by.

ummm. no thank you.

derivative...

if you use this word in a sentence in normal conversation, you're a douche.

beautiful

beautiful slo-mo of a cheetah running.

I think it's interesting that its back legs take off at two different times. also, that at two different times in a single stride the thing is airborne.



last bit of trivia: the cheetah is the only big cat that cannot retract it's claws!

one of the best pranks i've ever seen

we demand a response!

so on whitehouse.gov, if you make a petition, and it reaches a 25k threshold of support, then the white house says it will respond to it.

this one was in response to all those idiot people who wanted their state to secede from the union (making them terrorists and unpatriotic). and it kinda makes me laugh.


click on this to deport them all!!!

gummi bears as you've never heard it

it's like a rotten tomato two people flip....

bad lip reading at its finest...

one of the best commercials right now

awesome...

compilation of sports greatest moments.

the "southern strategy" NSFW

lee atwater, an american political consultant and strategist to the republican party during the 80s, talks about the southern political strategy aka how to be racist without sounding racist.

this is only an audio file, but the man drops the n-bomb, so listen with caution.

oh hell, naw....

eric berry doesn't like horses apparently.

les mis and my brain

for some reason, i hate musicals. just the idea of them. singing and dancing in the middle of a perfectly good movie/play? ugh. what's the point?

but then, when i'm dragged to go see one. i love it.

mulan rouge
chicago
spring awakening
the producers
annie
the list goes on and on

and yet my brain persists that i don't like musicals. damn you society! and the most recent one i saw, les mis, beasley again, had to drag me to. i had heard some stuff about it. mostly that it was horrendously long.

they came out singing and when it didn't stop, i thought to myself, "self, there's no way they are going to sing this play for 3 hours", and suddenly i was regretting i ever agreed to it. but again, i was wrong.

les mis is one of the top two musicals id ever seen. the grandeur. amazing songs. awesome story. i laughed, i cried, it was better than cats.

and if you were wondering. spring awakening is the best musical i have ever seen.
1) because it was awesome
2) i got to see some chick's boobs
3) that chick ended up being lea michele

4) now whenever someone mentions glee, i can say that i've seen her topless


so i present to you a movie, i will probably not want to see, but i will begrudgingly go, but will end up loving, bc as much as i hate to admit it, i fucking love musicals.

why doesn't mtv play music videos? a response.

oooooo

ohhhh SICK BURN!

'dega

yes, i went to talladega.

me, beasley, slambo, dr. pee, and some other folks went to talladega to enjoy the roaring of engines and drinking of beer. also, i needed these other white folks to make sure i didn't get lynched.

how was it? the race was pretty damn boring, but the tailgating was pretty awesome. drinks and burgers at 10 in the morning? can't beat that.

here are the pics!

tailgating on the side of the road.

tailgating from afar

proof i was there

our seats

the on big wreck of the day.

which involved 2/3 of the cars

that was a fun part. (the only fun part)

i don't think i can love her any more than right now

alison brie...thank you for being awesome.





AND cute!

the best song about thanksgiving....well...evar!

i can't tell if this is satire or not.
if it is... brilliant.
if not...still brilliant!

i am an art buyer!

a patron of the arts! this is a piece from my roommates world war 2 collection. it's the burning of warsaw and the inside pieces of a stand up piano. it's his best piece and it's all mine!! hahahaha!

look upon and be impressed.

it's about 4'x5'. and if any of you would like to see his other pieces, please let me know. they are all amazing. my house is like a gallery!

someone chopping onions up in here?!

here's a really touching poignant letter a little 10 yr old girl writes to Obama about her two fathers and dealing with bullies. AND a letter back from the President. pretty fucking awesome. also, i don't understand how a innocent 10 year old has more sense that a lot of the social conservatives out there. i wish my daughter (lunchbox) turns out like her.


(if you're having a hard time reading the letters, the words are printed below each)

dear barack obama,

it's sophia bailey klugh, your friend who invited you to dinner. you don't remember, okay that's fine. but i just wanted to tell you that i am so glad that you agree two men can love each other because i have two dads and they love each other, but at school kids think that it's gross and weird, but it really hurts my heart and feelings. so i come to you because you are my hero. if you were me and you had two dads that loved each other and kids at school teased you about it, what would you do?

please respond!

i just wanted to say you really inspire me, and i hope you win on being the president. you would totally make the world a better place.

your friend sophia

ps please tell your daughters hi for me

Dear Sophia,

Thank you for writing me such a thoughtful letter about your family. Reading it made me proud to be your president and even more hopeful about the future of our nation.

In America, no two families look the same. We celebrate this diversity. And we recognize that whether you have two dads or one mom what matters above all is the love we show one another. You are very fortunate to have two parents who care deeply for you. They are lucky to have such an exceptional daughter in you.

Our differences unite us. You and I are blessed to live in a country where we are born equal no matter what we look like on the outside, where we grow up, or who our parents are. A good rule is to treat others the way you hope they will treat you. Remind your friends at school about this rule if they say something that hurts your feelings.

Thanks again for taking the time to write me. I'm honored to have your support and inspired by your compassion. I'm sorry I couldn't make it to dinner, but I'll be sure to tell Sasha and Malia you say hello.

Sincerely,
Barack Obama

neal boortz makes sense?!?!

actually a VERY accurate reason why the republican party lost this election, and how social conservatism is not working in 2012 america. i'm really amazed that i agree with just about every single one of his points on:

1. abortion
2. gay marriage
3. immigration

i actually had a conversation last night with slambo jones about these very subjects. america is a rainbow of people, and the gop comes across as the white people's political party and almost a white man's party. it's unsustainable now and even more so in the future. if they could just get their ideas in line with the times, i think independent voters would be more than willing to listen and vote. gotta win hearts and minds.

By Neal Boortz

For any freedom-loving conservative who wants to see a viable Republican Party thrive on the national stage once again, my rant from yesterday must be required listening. Go ahead. Click it. Take a listen. For you Republicans, it will make you mad. You need to be mad. You screwed up. You screwed up just as I said – have been saying for years -- you would screw up. You need to listen. Click on the link. When you listen you will know that I’m right.

It boils down to this …

The Republican Party needs an exorcism. It needs to rid itself of these abortocentrist nutcases who are chasing away voters, particularly women. This is about as clearly as I can say it: Abortion is NEVER going to be illegal. Get over it! The sooner you come to terms with this, the sooner you will be able to regain credibility with the voters. Your boys Todd Aiken, Richard Mourdock and John Koster chased away millions of female voters with their idiotic remarks about abortion … and they cost us two seats in the Senate. How bad was it? Romney carried Mourdock’s home county in Indiana! His opponent, Joe Donnelly, was the first Democrat to win a statewide race in Indiana in more than a decade! Are you listening, Republicans? Mourdock was a shoo-in! Then he opened his yap about abortion, and women went screaming for the exits. What did he say? Well – simply put – the message to women was that if you’ve been raped, don’t worry your pretty little selves over whether or not you might be pregnant, because if you are it is, after all, a gift from God!

Now here’s the problem, dear GOP leaders. Read this quote from Wayne Parke. He’s the Chairman of the Vanderburgh County Republican Party. That’s Murdock’s home country --- the one he lost:

"I was quite surprised and disappointed that Mourdock didn't carry his own county. But it's an indication that everything you say is so important and that debate comment he made just turned out to be disastrous."

Duhhhhhhh! Really? You’ve learned that lesson now, have you, Mr. Parke? Could you please send some memos to the Republican National Headquarters? Who knows --- if you and the GOP leaders had figured this out months ago, and if the word had gone out that GOP candidates needed to shut the hell up about abortion --- maybe things would look quite a bit different today.

The same goes for gay marriage. If you can make the case that a married gay couple living down the street from you, or across town for that matter, is going to have any negative impact on your own life, then I would say that we need to have a debate on the subject. Nobody has shown me that yet, so how about getting your GOP noses out of other people’s bedrooms? I’ve been on the air for years and never in my 42 years of talk radio has anyone been able to tell me how Joe and Steve living down the block in wedded bliss will have any impact on their life. Come into the 21st century with me on this one and just leave the issue the hell alone. If you’re so determined to defend the institution of marriage – the concept of committed couples living together in a dedicated relationship – then why don’t you turn your attention to Hollywood. Forget about demonizing a gay couple that is every bit as much in love and committed as you are to your spouse. Aim your derision on the Hollywood crowd that looks at marriage as not much more than a new car – something to be traded in on a new model in two years.

And when it comes to immigration, rounding up all the Mexicans in this country and sending them back to Mexico is never, ever going to happen. Do you hear that? It ISN’T going to happen! Does it occur to you that these people come here because they WANT to work? Do you really have such a huge problem with aspirational people? So come up with a reasonable policy on immigration reform, and lock down the borders. No problem with that. But give up this asinine idea that those already here – those who have been here for years – are going to be loaded into railroad cars and sent back to Mexico. Do you really want that? Do you really want to depend on those Americans who would rather spend their days hanging around convenience store scratching goo off lottery tickets instead of putting in an honest days work? Do you really want to pay $16 for a BLT? Yeah .. that’s right. Scare the folks with the actual work ethic away while pampering the moochers and leaches. Yeah .. that works. What do you think a Hispanic American citizen thinks when he sees a political party dedicate itself to the cause of taking a young female college student – a young lady who has lived here since her parents brought her here illegally when she was three – and deporting her to a country she has never known? Do you think it’s likely that Hispanic citizen is going to vote for your candidate? Tell me how that works.

Stop crying in your beer and listen up. America is going to suffer another four years under Obama because of YOU. The Republican party blew this one --- big time. Abortion – gay marriage – immigration reform. The perfect electoral storm, and you couldn’t have played it any worse. Leave these issues alone! Drop them! If the GOP cannot turn loose of this mindless social conservatism, then you will be relegated to second class status (politically speaking) for the remaining days of this Republic, which may not be all that many. The Republican Party as it currently stands needs to die. Like a phoenix, it needs to burst into flames and from its ashes rebuild into a party focused on …

Limited government
Tax reform
A strong military
The rule of law
Reducing regulations
Promoting capitalism – especially small businesses
Restoring self-reliance
Honoring the Constitution

Did you see abortion or gay marriage on that list? Didn’t think so. The Republicans need to become more Libertarian and less religiously authoritarian or the Party is dead. It’s amazing that these social conservatives have managed to screw this country they claim to love so much by handing Democrats victories this week thanks to these social issues.

paper menagerie

this short story won the hugo, nebula, and world fantasy awards. for you non-geeky types, these are science fiction writing highest awards. and this is also the first time a story has ever won all three. so please take some time (even if you don't like sci-fi) and take a gander. take some time to read it because once you start, the story and time will fly by and you won't want it to end.

"Paper Menagerie"
by Ken Liu
One of my earliest memories starts with me sobbing. I refused to be soothed no matter what Mom and Dad tried.

Dad gave up and left the bedroom, but Mom took me into the kitchen and sat me down at the breakfast table.

"Kan, kan," she said, as she pulled a sheet of wrapping paper from on top of the fridge. For years, Mom carefully sliced open the wrappings around Christmas gifts and saved them on top of the fridge in a thick stack.

She set the paper down, plain side facing up, and began to fold it. I stopped crying and watched her, curious.

She turned the paper over and folded it again. She pleated, packed, tucked, rolled, and twisted until the paper disappeared between her cupped hands. Then she lifted the folded-up paper packet to her mouth and blew into it, like a balloon.

"Kan," she said. "Laohu." She put her hands down on the table and let go.

A little paper tiger stood on the table, the size of two fists placed together. The skin of the tiger was the pattern on the wrapping paper, white background with red candy canes and green Christmas trees.

I reached out to Mom's creation. Its tail twitched, and it pounced playfully at my finger. "Rawrr-sa," it growled, the sound somewhere between a cat and rustling newspapers.

I laughed, startled, and stroked its back with an index finger. The paper tiger vibrated under my finger, purring.

"Zhe jiao zhezhi," Mom said. This is called origami.

I didn't know this at the time, but Mom's kind was special. She breathed into them so that they shared her breath, and thus moved with her life. This was her magic.

#

Dad had picked Mom out of a catalog.

One time, when I was in high school, I asked Dad about the details. He was trying to get me to speak to Mom again.

He had signed up for the introduction service back in the spring of 1973. Flipping through the pages steadily, he had spent no more than a few seconds on each page until he saw the picture of Mom.

I've never seen this picture. Dad described it: Mom was sitting in a chair, her side to the camera, wearing a tight green silk cheongsam. Her head was turned to the camera so that her long black hair was draped artfully over her chest and shoulder. She looked out at him with the eyes of a calm child.

"That was the last page of the catalog I saw," he said.

The catalog said she was eighteen, loved to dance, and spoke good English because she was from Hong Kong. None of these facts turned out to be true.

He wrote to her, and the company passed their messages back and forth. Finally, he flew to Hong Kong to meet her.

"The people at the company had been writing her responses. She didn't know any English other than 'hello' and 'goodbye.'"

What kind of woman puts herself into a catalog so that she can be bought? The high school me thought I knew so much about everything. Contempt felt good, like wine.

Instead of storming into the office to demand his money back, he paid a waitress at the hotel restaurant to translate for them.

"She would look at me, her eyes halfway between scared and hopeful, while I spoke. And when the girl began translating what I said, she'd start to smile slowly."

He flew back to Connecticut and began to apply for the papers for her to come to him. I was born a year later, in the Year of the Tiger.

#

At my request, Mom also made a goat, a deer, and a water buffalo out of wrapping paper. They would run around the living room while Laohu chased after them, growling. When he caught them he would press down until the air went out of them and they became just flat, folded-up pieces of paper. I would then have to blow into them to re-inflate them so they could run around some more.

Sometimes, the animals got into trouble. Once, the water buffalo jumped into a dish of soy sauce on the table at dinner. (He wanted to wallow, like a real water buffalo.) I picked him out quickly but the capillary action had already pulled the dark liquid high up into his legs. The sauce-softened legs would not hold him up, and he collapsed onto the table. I dried him out in the sun, but his legs became crooked after that, and he ran around with a limp. Mom eventually wrapped his legs in saran wrap so that he could wallow to his heart's content (just not in soy sauce).

Also, Laohu liked to pounce at sparrows when he and I played in the backyard. But one time, a cornered bird struck back in desperation and tore his ear. He whimpered and winced as I held him and Mom patched his ear together with tape. He avoided birds after that.

And then one day, I saw a TV documentary about sharks and asked Mom for one of my own. She made the shark, but he flapped about on the table unhappily. I filled the sink with water, and put him in. He swam around and around happily. However, after a while he became soggy and translucent, and slowly sank to the bottom, the folds coming undone. I reached in to rescue him, and all I ended up with was a wet piece of paper.

Laohu put his front paws together at the edge of the sink and rested his head on them. Ears drooping, he made a low growl in his throat that made me feel guilty.

Mom made a new shark for me, this time out of tin foil. The shark lived happily in a large goldfish bowl. Laohu and I liked to sit next to the bowl to watch the tin foil shark chasing the goldfish, Laohu sticking his face up against the bowl on the other side so that I saw his eyes, magnified to the size of coffee cups, staring at me from across the bowl.

#

When I was ten, we moved to a new house across town. Two of the women neighbors came by to welcome us. Dad served them drinks and then apologized for having to run off to the utility company to straighten out the prior owner's bills. "Make yourselves at home. My wife doesn't speak much English, so don't think she's being rude for not talking to you."

While I read in the dining room, Mom unpacked in the kitchen. The neighbors conversed in the living room, not trying to be particularly quiet.

"He seems like a normal enough man. Why did he do that?"

"Something about the mixing never seems right. The child looks unfinished. Slanty eyes, white face. A little monster."

"Do you think he can speak English?"

The women hushed. After a while they came into the dining room.

"Hello there! What's your name?"

"Jack," I said.

"That doesn't sound very Chinesey."

Mom came into the dining room then. She smiled at the women. The three of them stood in a triangle around me, smiling and nodding at each other, with nothing to say, until Dad came back.

#

Mark, one of the neighborhood boys, came over with his Star Wars action figures. Obi-Wan Kenobi's lightsaber lit up and he could swing his arms and say, in a tinny voice, "Use the Force!" I didn't think the figure looked much like the real Obi-Wan at all.

Together, we watched him repeat this performance five times on the coffee table. "Can he do anything else?" I asked.

Mark was annoyed by my question. "Look at all the details," he said.

I looked at the details. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to say.

Mark was disappointed by my response. "Show me your toys."

I didn't have any toys except my paper menagerie. I brought Laohu out from my bedroom. By then he was very worn, patched all over with tape and glue, evidence of the years of repairs Mom and I had done on him. He was no longer as nimble and sure-footed as before. I sat him down on the coffee table. I could hear the skittering steps of the other animals behind in the hallway, timidly peeking into the living room.

"Xiao laohu," I said, and stopped. I switched to English. "This is Tiger." Cautiously, Laohu strode up and purred at Mark, sniffing his hands.

Mark examined the Christmas-wrap pattern of Laohu's skin. "That doesn't look like a tiger at all. Your Mom makes toys for you from trash?"

I had never thought of Laohu as trash. But looking at him now, he was really just a piece of wrapping paper.

Mark pushed Obi-Wan's head again. The lightsaber flashed; he moved his arms up and down. "Use the Force!"

Laohu turned and pounced, knocking the plastic figure off the table. It hit the floor and broke, and Obi-Wan's head rolled under the couch. "Rawwww," Laohu laughed. I joined him.

Mark punched me, hard. "This was very expensive! You can't even find it in the stores now. It probably cost more than what your dad paid for your mom!"

I stumbled and fell to the floor. Laohu growled and leapt at Mark's face.

Mark screamed, more out of fear and surprise than pain. Laohu was only made of paper, after all.

Mark grabbed Laohu and his snarl was choked off as Mark crumpled him in his hand and tore him in half. He balled up the two pieces of paper and threw them at me. "Here's your stupid cheap Chinese garbage."

After Mark left, I spent a long time trying, without success, to tape together the pieces, smooth out the paper, and follow the creases to refold Laohu. Slowly, the other animals came into the living room and gathered around us, me and the torn wrapping paper that used to be Laohu.

#

My fight with Mark didn't end there. Mark was popular at school. I never want to think again about the two weeks that followed.

I came home that Friday at the end of the two weeks. "Xuexiao hao ma?" Mom asked. I said nothing and went to the bathroom. I looked into the mirror. I look nothing like her, nothing.

At dinner I asked Dad, "Do I have a chink face?"

Dad put down his chopsticks. Even though I had never told him what happened in school, he seemed to understand. He closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "No, you don't."

Mom looked at Dad, not understanding. She looked back at me. "Sha jiao chink?"

"English," I said. "Speak English."

She tried. "What happen?"

I pushed the chopsticks and the bowl before me away: stir-fried green peppers with five-spice beef. "We should eat American food."

Dad tried to reason. "A lot of families cook Chinese sometimes."

"We are not other families." I looked at him. Other families don't have moms who don't belong.

He looked away. And then he put a hand on Mom's shoulder. "I'll get you a cookbook."

Mom turned to me. "Bu haochi?"

"English," I said, raising my voice. "Speak English."

Mom reached out to touch my forehead, feeling for my temperature. "Fashao la?"

I brushed her hand away. "I'm fine. Speak English!" I was shouting.

"Speak English to him," Dad said to Mom. "You knew this was going to happen some day. What did you expect?"

Mom dropped her hands to her side. She sat, looking from Dad to me, and back to Dad again. She tried to speak, stopped, and tried again, and stopped again.

"You have to," Dad said. "I've been too easy on you. Jack needs to fit in."

Mom looked at him. "If I say 'love,' I feel here." She pointed to her lips. "If I say 'ai,' I feel here." She put her hand over her heart.

Dad shook his head. "You are in America."

Mom hunched down in her seat, looking like the water buffalo when Laohu used to pounce on him and squeeze the air of life out of him.

"And I want some real toys."

#

Dad bought me a full set of Star Wars action figures. I gave the Obi-Wan Kenobi to Mark.

I packed the paper menagerie in a large shoebox and put it under the bed.

The next morning, the animals had escaped and took over their old favorite spots in my room. I caught them all and put them back into the shoebox, taping the lid shut. But the animals made so much noise in the box that I finally shoved it into the corner of the attic as far away from my room as possible.

If Mom spoke to me in Chinese, I refused to answer her. After a while, she tried to use more English. But her accent and broken sentences embarrassed me. I tried to correct her. Eventually, she stopped speaking altogether if I were around.

Mom began to mime things if she needed to let me know something. She tried to hug me the way she saw American mothers did on TV. I thought her movements exaggerated, uncertain, ridiculous, graceless. She saw that I was annoyed, and stopped.

"You shouldn't treat your mother that way," Dad said. But he couldn't look me in the eyes as he said it. Deep in his heart, he must have realized that it was a mistake to have tried to take a Chinese peasant girl and expect her to fit in the suburbs of Connecticut.

Mom learned to cook American style. I played video games and studied French.

Every once in a while, I would see her at the kitchen table studying the plain side of a sheet of wrapping paper. Later a new paper animal would appear on my nightstand and try to cuddle up to me. I caught them, squeezed them until the air went out of them, and then stuffed them away in the box in the attic.

Mom finally stopped making the animals when I was in high school. By then her English was much better, but I was already at that age when I wasn't interested in what she had to say whatever language she used.

Sometimes, when I came home and saw her tiny body busily moving about in the kitchen, singing a song in Chinese to herself, it was hard for me to believe that she gave birth to me. We had nothing in common. She might as well be from the moon. I would hurry on to my room, where I could continue my all-American pursuit of happiness.

#

Dad and I stood, one on each side of Mom, lying on the hospital bed. She was not yet even forty, but she looked much older.

For years she had refused to go to the doctor for the pain inside her that she said was no big deal. By the time an ambulance finally carried her in, the cancer had spread far beyond the limits of surgery.

My mind was not in the room. It was the middle of the on-campus recruiting season, and I was focused on resumes, transcripts, and strategically constructed interview schedules. I schemed about how to lie to the corporate recruiters most effectively so that they'll offer to buy me. I understood intellectually that it was terrible to think about this while your mother lay dying. But that understanding didn't mean I could change how I felt.

She was conscious. Dad held her left hand with both of his own. He leaned down to kiss her forehead. He seemed weak and old in a way that startled me. I realized that I knew almost as little about Dad as I did about Mom.

Mom smiled at him. "I'm fine."

She turned to me, still smiling. "I know you have to go back to school." Her voice was very weak and it was difficult to hear her over the hum of the machines hooked up to her. "Go. Don't worry about me. This is not a big deal. Just do well in school."

I reached out to touch her hand, because I thought that was what I was supposed to do. I was relieved. I was already thinking about the flight back, and the bright California sunshine.

She whispered something to Dad. He nodded and left the room.

"Jack, if — " she was caught up in a fit of coughing, and could not speak for some time. "If I don't make it, don't be too sad and hurt your health. Focus on your life. Just keep that box you have in the attic with you, and every year, at Qingming, just take it out and think about me. I'll be with you always."

Qingming was the Chinese Festival for the Dead. When I was very young, Mom used to write a letter on Qingming to her dead parents back in China, telling them the good news about the past year of her life in America. She would read the letter out loud to me, and if I made a comment about something, she would write it down in the letter too. Then she would fold the letter into a paper crane, and release it, facing west. We would then watch, as the crane flapped its crisp wings on its long journey west, towards the Pacific, towards China, towards the graves of Mom's family.

It had been many years since I last did that with her.

"I don't know anything about the Chinese calendar," I said. "Just rest, Mom. "

"Just keep the box with you and open it once in a while. Just open — " she began to cough again.

"It's okay, Mom." I stroked her arm awkwardly.

"Haizi, mama ai ni — " Her cough took over again. An image from years ago flashed into my memory: Mom saying ai and then putting her hand over her heart.

"Alright, Mom. Stop talking."

Dad came back, and I said that I needed to get to the airport early because I didn't want to miss my flight.

She died when my plane was somewhere over Nevada.

#

Dad aged rapidly after Mom died. The house was too big for him and had to be sold. My girlfriend Susan and I went to help him pack and clean the place.

Susan found the shoebox in the attic. The paper menagerie, hidden in the uninsulated darkness of the attic for so long, had become brittle and the bright wrapping paper patterns had faded.

"I've never seen origami like this," Susan said. "Your Mom was an amazing artist."

The paper animals did not move. Perhaps whatever magic had animated them stopped when Mom died. Or perhaps I had only imagined that these paper constructions were once alive. The memory of children could not be trusted.

#

It was the first weekend in April, two years after Mom's death. Susan was out of town on one of her endless trips as a management consultant and I was home, lazily flipping through the TV channels.

I paused at a documentary about sharks. Suddenly I saw, in my mind, Mom's hands, as they folded and refolded tin foil to make a shark for me, while Laohu and I watched.

A rustle. I looked up and saw that a ball of wrapping paper and torn tape was on the floor next to the bookshelf. I walked over to pick it up for the trash.

The ball of paper shifted, unfurled itself, and I saw that it was Laohu, who I hadn't thought about in a very long time. "Rawrr-sa." Mom must have put him back together after I had given up.

He was smaller than I remembered. Or maybe it was just that back then my fists were smaller.

Susan had put the paper animals around our apartment as decoration. She probably left Laohu in a pretty hidden corner because he looked so shabby.

I sat down on the floor, and reached out a finger. Laohu's tail twitched, and he pounced playfully. I laughed, stroking his back. Laohu purred under my hand.

"How've you been, old buddy?"

Laohu stopped playing. He got up, jumped with feline grace into my lap, and proceeded to unfold himself.

In my lap was a square of creased wrapping paper, the plain side up. It was filled with dense Chinese characters. I had never learned to read Chinese, but I knew the characters for son, and they were at the top, where you'd expect them in a letter addressed to you, written in Mom's awkward, childish handwriting.

I went to the computer to check the Internet. Today was Qingming.

#

I took the letter with me downtown, where I knew the Chinese tour buses stopped. I stopped every tourist, asking, "Nin hui du zhongwen ma?" Can you read Chinese? I hadn't spoken Chinese in so long that I wasn't sure if they understood.

A young woman agreed to help. We sat down on a bench together, and she read the letter to me aloud. The language that I had tried to forget for years came back, and I felt the words sinking into me, through my skin, through my bones, until they squeezed tight around my heart.

#

Son,

We haven't talked in a long time. You are so angry when I try to touch you that I'm afraid. And I think maybe this pain I feel all the time now is something serious.

So I decided to write to you. I'm going to write in the paper animals I made for you that you used to like so much.

The animals will stop moving when I stop breathing. But if I write to you with all my heart, I'll leave a little of myself behind on this paper, in these words. Then, if you think of me on Qingming, when the spirits of the departed are allowed to visit their families, you'll make the parts of myself I leave behind come alive too. The creatures I made for you will again leap and run and pounce, and maybe you'll get to see these words then.

Because I have to write with all my heart, I need to write to you in Chinese.

All this time I still haven't told you the story of my life. When you were little, I always thought I'd tell you the story when you were older, so you could understand. But somehow that chance never came up.

I was born in 1957, in Sigulu Village, Hebei Province. Your grandparents were both from very poor peasant families with few relatives. Only a few years after I was born, the Great Famines struck China, during which thirty million people died. The first memory I have was waking up to see my mother eating dirt so that she could fill her belly and leave the last bit of flour for me.

Things got better after that. Sigulu is famous for its zhezhi papercraft, and my mother taught me how to make paper animals and give them life. This was practical magic in the life of the village. We made paper birds to chase grasshoppers away from the fields, and paper tigers to keep away the mice. For Chinese New Year my friends and I made red paper dragons. I'll never forget the sight of all those little dragons zooming across the sky overhead, holding up strings of exploding firecrackers to scare away all the bad memories of the past year. You would have loved it.

Then came the Cultural Revolution in 1966. Neighbor turned on neighbor, and brother against brother. Someone remembered that my mother's brother, my uncle, had left for Hong Kong back in 1946, and became a merchant there. Having a relative in Hong Kong meant we were spies and enemies of the people, and we had to be struggled against in every way. Your poor grandmother — she couldn't take the abuse and threw herself down a well. Then some boys with hunting muskets dragged your grandfather away one day into the woods, and he never came back.

There I was, a ten-year-old orphan. The only relative I had in the world was my uncle in Hong Kong. I snuck away one night and climbed onto a freight train going south.

Down in Guangdong Province a few days later, some men caught me stealing food from a field. When they heard that I was trying to get to Hong Kong, they laughed. "It's your lucky day. Our trade is to bring girls to Hong Kong."

They hid me in the bottom of a truck along with other girls, and smuggled us across the border.

We were taken to a basement and told to stand up and look healthy and intelligent for the buyers. Families paid the warehouse a fee and came by to look us over and select one of us to "adopt."

The Chin family picked me to take care of their two boys. I got up every morning at four to prepare breakfast. I fed and bathed the boys. I shopped for food. I did the laundry and swept the floors. I followed the boys around and did their bidding. At night I was locked into a cupboard in the kitchen to sleep. If I was slow or did anything wrong I was beaten. If the boys did anything wrong I was beaten. If I was caught trying to learn English I was beaten.

"Why do you want to learn English?" Mr. Chin asked. "You want to go to the police? We'll tell the police that you are a mainlander illegally in Hong Kong. They'd love to have you in their prison."

Six years I lived like this. One day, an old woman who sold fish to me in the morning market pulled me aside.

"I know girls like you. How old are you now, sixteen? One day, the man who owns you will get drunk, and he'll look at you and pull you to him and you can't stop him. The wife will find out, and then you will think you really have gone to hell. You have to get out of this life. I know someone who can help."

She told me about American men who wanted Asian wives. If I can cook, clean, and take care of my American husband, he'll give me a good life. It was the only hope I had. And that was how I got into the catalog with all those lies and met your father. It is not a very romantic story, but it is my story.

In the suburbs of Connecticut, I was lonely. Your father was kind and gentle with me, and I was very grateful to him. But no one understood me, and I understood nothing.

But then you were born! I was so happy when I looked into your face and saw shades of my mother, my father, and myself. I had lost my entire family, all of Sigulu, everything I ever knew and loved. But there you were, and your face was proof that they were real. I hadn't made them up.

Now I had someone to talk to. I would teach you my language, and we could together remake a small piece of everything that I loved and lost. When you said your first words to me, in Chinese that had the same accent as my mother and me, I cried for hours. When I made the first zhezhi animals for you, and you laughed, I felt there were no worries in the world.

You grew up a little, and now you could even help your father and I talk to each other. I was really at home now. I finally found a good life. I wished my parents could be here, so that I could cook for them, and give them a good life too. But my parents were no longer around. You know what the Chinese think is the saddest feeling in the world? It's for a child to finally grow the desire to take care of his parents, only to realize that they were long gone.

Son, I know that you do not like your Chinese eyes, which are my eyes. I know that you do not like your Chinese hair, which is my hair. But can you understand how much joy your very existence brought to me? And can you understand how it felt when you stopped talking to me and won't let me talk to you in Chinese? I felt I was losing everything all over again.

Why won't you talk to me, son? The pain makes it hard to write.

#

The young woman handed the paper back to me. I could not bear to look into her face.

Without looking up, I asked for her help in tracing out the character for ai on the paper below Mom's letter. I wrote the character again and again on the paper, intertwining my pen strokes with her words.

The young woman reached out and put a hand on my shoulder. Then she got up and left, leaving me alone with my mother.

Following the creases, I refolded the paper back into Laohu. I cradled him in the crook of my arm, and as he purred, we began the walk home.

when/if i have a little girl....

i had a few rules that i was going to follow:

1. her name will be lunchbox
2. she will be morbidly obese so that no boys will ever love her.

but after watching this video, i have now amended the rules:

1. her name will still be lunchbox
2. she will EITHER be morbidly obese OR a beast, like this little girl

this is for beasley...preach it!

there are many people who are sympathetic to teachers and the problems they face, especially here in the south. but there are other who do not. this is a fantastic letter that summarizes how great, passionate, and caring teachers get pushed out of schools.

ps - if you're one of those people that think teachers don't work enough, get too much time off, that they are over-valued, then i hope you die cause you're a drain on society with your ridiculous stupidity.




A letter from a disgusted teacher:

I QUIT

Kris L. Nielsen
Monroe, NC 28110

Union County Public Schools
Human Resources Department
400 North Church Street
Monroe, NC 28112

October 25, 2012

To All it May Concern:

I’m doing something I thought I would never do—something that will make me a statistic and a caricature of the times. Some will support me, some will shake their heads and smirk condescendingly—and others will try to convince me that I’m part of the problem. Perhaps they’re right, but I don’t think so. All I know is that I’ve hit a wall, and in order to preserve my sanity, my family, and the forward movement of our lives, I have no other choice.

Before I go too much into my choice, I must say that I have the advantages and disadvantages of differentiated experience under my belt. I have seen the other side, where the grass was greener, and I unknowingly jumped the fence to where the foliage is either so tangled and dense that I can’t make sense of it, or the grass is wilted and dying (with no true custodian of its health). Are you lost? I’m talking about public K-12 education in North Carolina. I’m talking about my history as a successful teacher and leader in two states before moving here out of desperation.

In New Mexico, I led a team of underpaid teachers who were passionate about their jobs and who did amazing things. We were happy because our students were well-behaved, our community was supportive, and our jobs afforded us the luxuries of time, respect, and visionary leadership. Our district was huge, but we got things done because we were a team. I moved to Oregon because I was offered a fantastic job with a higher salary, a great math program, and superior benefits for my family. Again, I was given the autonomy I dreamed of, and I used it to find new and risky ways to introduce technology into the math curriculum. My peers looked forward to learning from me, the community gave me a lot of money to get my projects off the ground, and my students were amazing.

Then, the bottom fell out. I don’t know who to blame for the budget crisis in Oregon, but I know it decimated the educational coffers. I lost my job only due to my lack of seniority. I was devastated. My students and their parents were angry and sad. I told myself I would hang in there, find a temporary job, and wait for the recall. Neither the temporary job nor the recall happened. I tried very hard to keep my family in Oregon—applying for jobs in every district, college, private school, and even Toys R Us. Nothing happened after over 300 applications and 2 interviews.

The Internet told me that the West Coast was not hiring teachers anymore, but the East Coast was the go-to place. Charlotte, North Carolina couldn’t keep up with the demand! I applied with three schools, got three phone interviews, and was even hired over the phone. My very supportive and adventurous family and I packed quickly and moved across the country, just so I could keep teaching.

I had come from two very successful and fun teaching jobs to a new state where everything was different. During my orientation, I noticed immediately that these people weren’t happy to see us; they were much more interested in making sure we knew their rules. It was a one-hour lecture about what happens when teachers mess up. I had a bad feeling about teaching here from the start; but, we were here and we had to make the best of it.

Union County seemed to be the answer to all of my problems. The rumors and the press made it sound like UCPS was the place to be progressive, risky, and happy. So I transferred from CMS to UCPS. They made me feel more welcome, but it was still a mistake to come here.

Let me cut to the chase: I quit. I am resigning my position as a teacher in the state of North Carolina—permanently. I am quitting without notice (taking advantage of the “at will” employment policies of this state). I am quitting without remorse and without second thoughts. I quit. I quit. I quit!

Why?

Because…

I refuse to be led by a top-down hierarchy that is completely detached from the classrooms for which it is supposed to be responsible.

I will not spend another day under the expectations that I prepare every student for the increasing numbers of meaningless tests.

I refuse to be an unpaid administrator of field tests that take advantage of children for the sake of profit.

I will not spend another day wishing I had some time to plan my fantastic lessons because administration comes up with new and inventive ways to steal that time, under the guise of PLC meetings or whatever. I’ve seen successful PLC development. It doesn’t look like this.

I will not spend another day wondering what menial, administrative task I will hear that I forgot to do next. I’m far enough behind in my own work.

I will not spend another day wondering how I can have classes that are full inclusion, and where 50% of my students have IEPs, yet I’m given no support.

I will not spend another day in a district where my coworkers are both on autopilot and in survival mode. Misery loves company, but I will not be that company.

I refuse to subject students to every ridiculous standardized test that the state and/or district thinks is important. I refuse to have my higher-level and deep thinking lessons disrupted by meaningless assessments (like the EXPLORE test) that do little more than increase stress among children and teachers, and attempt to guide young adolescents into narrow choices.

I totally object and refuse to have my performance as an educator rely on “Standard 6.” It is unfair, biased, and does not reflect anything about the teaching practices of proven educators.

I refuse to hear again that it’s more important that I serve as a test administrator than a leader of my peers.

I refuse to watch my students being treated like prisoners. There are other ways. It’s a shame that we don’t have the vision to seek out those alternatives.

I refuse to watch my coworkers being treated like untrustworthy slackers through the overbearing policies of this state, although they are the hardest working and most overloaded people I know.

I refuse to watch my family struggle financially as I work in a job to which I have invested 6 long years of my life in preparation. I have a graduate degree and a track record of strong success, yet I’m paid less than many two-year degree holders. And forget benefits—they are effectively nonexistent for teachers in North Carolina.

I refuse to watch my district’s leadership tell us about the bad news and horrific changes coming towards us, then watch them shrug incompetently, and then tell us to work harder.

I refuse to listen to our highly regarded superintendent telling us that the charter school movement is at our doorstep (with a soon-to-be-elected governor in full support) and tell us not to worry about it, because we are applying for a grant from Race to the Top. There is no consistency here; there is no leadership here.

I refuse to watch my students slouch under the weight of a system that expects them to perform well on EOG tests, which do not measure their abilities other than memorization and application and therefore do not measure their readiness for the next grade level—much less life, career, or college.

I’m tired of watching my students produce amazing things, which show their true understanding of 21st century skills, only to see their looks of disappointment when they don’t meet the arbitrary expectations of low-level state and district tests that do not assess their skills.

I refuse to hear any more about how important it is to differentiate our instruction as we prepare our kids for tests that are anything but differentiated. This negates our hard work and makes us look bad.

I am tired of hearing about the miracles my peers are expected to perform, and watching the districts do next to nothing to support or develop them. I haven’t seen real professional development in either district since I got here. The development sessions I have seen are sloppy, shallow, and have no real means of evaluation or accountability.

I’m tired of my increasing and troublesome physical symptoms that come from all this frustration, stress, and sadness.

Finally, I’m tired of watching parents being tricked into believing that their children are being prepared for the complex world ahead, especially since their children’s teachers are being cowed into meeting expectations and standards that are not conducive to their children’s futures.

I’m truly angry that parents put so much stress, fear, and anticipation into their kids’ heads in preparation for the EOG tests and the new MSLs—neither of which are consequential to their future needs. As a parent of a high school student in Union County, I’m dismayed at the education that my child receives, as her teachers frantically prepare her for more tests. My toddler will not attend a North Carolina public school. I will do whatever it takes to keep that from happening.

I quit because I’m tired being part of the problem. It’s killing me and it’s not doing anyone else any good. Farewell.

CC: Dr. Mary Ellis

Dr. June Atkinson

so many things to post....but i'll start with this

on friday night, the charcuterie about 100 yds from my place, the spotted trotter, had a 1 year anniversary. so for $20 you got all you could eat pork/pork related dishes, plus all you could drink beer, wine, and sweet tea vodka. it was pretty damn amazing.

along with me and beasley, there were tons of yuppies there (of course), but i didn't let that get me down. they had 7 food vendors, along with ale yeah, a wine vendor (that i didn't even go near), and deep eddy's vodka. the food was all pretty damn good. ria, from ria's bluebird and sauced fame was there, serving up a delicious little soup-stew-ish thing, it had homemade pasta, pulled pork, some delicious broth and poached quail egg on top. awesome. there were lots of pork sandwiches which ranged from amaze-balls to meh. the inside of the business had a cheese tasting, but i wasn't there for cheese, just pork, so i ate none of that dairy nonsense. also, there was a doughnut guy and an ice cream tent. didn't have either of those either.

BUT the MOST amazing thing i had all night was this guy:

that pig was so stinking good, you'd smack your entire family, and all the babies....twice.

the dude would cut off enormous hunks of the pig (you can see his front left leg is already gone), and they would dole it out to the crowd. i just stood in front of the booth and ate it as it came out. i will be building a fire pit very soon, that pig will be mine....oh yes, it will be mine.

then after all the madness, me and beasley quietly walked home. i had forgotten how nice it is to walk home like that. makes me really miss new york. ah well, such is life.

stay tuned for more posts!

yeeeessss!!! finally, my brain can peacefully rest!

there has been this french pop song that has been ringing around in my head for a couple of months now. my google-foo is weak, and i could not, for the life of me, figure out the song title, name, ANYTHING. and even with my 2 years of french in middle school, i had no idea about any of the lyrics.

BUT, finally, beasley was watching suburgatory on the tv yesterday, and the song came on. my brain caught fire, and i quickly looked up the season, episode, and found the music.....SWEET RELIEF!!!

so here's the video in all it's amazing poppy-french-dance glory!

nsfw: red band trailer for new evil dead

if you can't have gore and stuff on your screen, don't watch this at work.

its the new trailer for "evil dead". it looks okay. same vein as all the other horror flicks in the past decade. creepy crawly gore-filled slithery blah blah blah. the original evil dead was so awesome because it was so campy and fun. the little tidbits of humor punctuated the ridiculous things going on. even the tree rape was done in a funny way.

i'm not looking forward to this one.

georgia football

i'm as georgia red and black as they come, and i live and die with the bulldawgs. i love them dawgs, and i usually hate all the homers that say we could beat anyone in the nation blah blah blah. the same fools that called for mark richt's head when he had one losing season.

but recently, i've started changing my mind. i think mark richt is probably the nicest head coach in all of football. he's a stand up guy and a good football coach. and that's the thing, he's a good coach, not a great one. i've done some independent research and come up with these numbers:

lifetime:
vs top 10 teams: 7-12 (37% winning percentage)
vs top 25 teams: 30-28 (52% winning percentage)

and the most atrocious of them all:
record vs florida: 3-8 (27% winning percentage)

he hasn't won the sec championship in 7 years. while the lsu, bama, and floridas (again) are all passing us by. i still want to give him some time. hopefully, he can make a believer out of me again, but if you're not moving forward in this conference, you're moving backwards, and that's what i feel like we're doing. grantham was a good pick up, but i'm not sure bobo is the man for the job. and for the love of all that is holy, can we PLEASE get a dedicated special teams coach. UGGGHH.

here's some more disturbing numbers/facts that i came up with:

mark richt's first 5 years (2001 - 2005)
vs. top 10: 4-3 (57% winning percentage)
vs. top 25: 16-12 (57% winning percentage)
2 sec conference titles
3 division titles
(fucking awesome first 5 years)

mark richt's last 5 years (2007 - 2011)
vs. top 10: 3-8 (27% winning percentage)
vs. top 25: 11-15 (42% winning percentage)
1 divisional title
(wtf)

i don't want to see him go yet. but i'm starting to feel like the bulldawgs are the atlanta braves of the sec. always good, never great. we have the talent, but something is missing, and i want mark richt to find it. soon.

NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!

MY CHILDHOOD!!!! DAMN YOU, DISNEY!!!

click to see how disney fucked up one of my favorite memories...

i'd like to see this...

but the closest theater that is showing it is the angelika in nyc. poopstick. well, hopefully, it'll come to our little 2nd tier market in atlanta.

aaaaand i'm back

not sure why i took such a long break, but it is what it is. i've got a lot of updating to do, since i've been getting into a fair bit of shenanigans and tom foolery lately.

anyways, i'm back, with stories of fortune, fame, sex, rock n roll, none of that previous stuff, and pretty lame stuff! so enough chit chat, this is a blues riff in b, watch me for the changes, and try to keep up!

here's a link to some incredible photo's of horror movies. i personally like numbers 2, 6, 11, and 30.

click here for horror movie awesome-ness

and 22 is just ridiculous.

shiny eyes and classical music

one of the best ted talks ever.

i grew up with classical music, but this dude puts it in such simple terms and he is so easy to follow. wonderful teacher and motivator. please watch.

holy shitballs, this is too funny

this looks like the funniest movie ever made.
the trailer is mos def NSFW, but
it.
is.
HILARIOUS.

Get More: Comedy Central,Funny Videos,Funny TV Shows

kluwe smack down

chris kluwe, the kicker for the minnesota vikings, responds again to prejudiced opinion piece about hating gay people for making hetero people uncomfortable, therefore should be treated as second class citizens.

he is quickly becoming my favorite nfl player.
here is the article that he's responding to, it's pretty ridiculous in a piece filled with retard logic.
click for stupidity

and here is kluwe's rebuttal....


Dear Mr. Balling,

I read your opinion piece in today’s Star Tribune, and I would like to take a brief moment of time to offer you some assistance in your future writing endeavors. I can only assume that you’ve never been trained in classical logic, debate techniques, or basic empathy, so I will humbly offer my own meager knowledge in these fields as it relates to your literary masterpiece “Why same-sex marriage affects my marriage”.

You start off strong, with an opening salvo ostensibly promoting the rights of other groups to have their own views (if we ignore the fear-mongering tag line “The goal is to move society — in this case, away from a safe environment for children), but then, much like a Michael Bay plot, your argument starts careening off the rails. Your first mistake is what we would consider “mind projection fallacy” – where one considers the way he sees the world as the way the world really is.

When you state that “As we have seen, and understandably so, people in homosexual relationships are trying to change society to more readily embrace and promote their view of their identity. This is possible largely due to the disassociation between sexual relationships and procreation.”, what you’re really saying is “Those gay people do sex things that I find icky, and we should oppress them because they can’t have babies.” You completely ignore the fact that “people in homosexual relationships are trying to change society” not just because they want to have teh buttsecks (or rise and grind for the ladies), but also to avoid, oh I don’t know, things like being tortured and tied to a fencepost until you die (Matthew Shepard), shot to death while attending school (Lawrence King), shot to death for being transgender (Moses King), committing suicide by hanging due to repeated bullying and taunting (Carl Joseph Walker-Hoover), shot to death and burned while standing military guard (Seaman August Provost), stabbed to death after serving in the Vietnam War (James Zappalorti) – every single one of these attacks because of the victim’s sexuality. Let’s not even get into the over 1100 federal benefits gay couples are legally unable to obtain in this state because they can’t get married – things like health care, survivor benefits, legacies to pass on to their families (including children); things like tolerance, acceptance, and compassion.

Deep breath.

Moving on, we come to the next little pearl of wisdom hidden in your manifesto, that hoary old chestnut of “traditional marriage”. In this case, you’ve made the logical error of the “etymological fallacy” – that the original or historical meaning of a word or phrase is necessarily similar to its actual current meaning.

Which version of “traditional marriage” would you like to use Mr. Balling? Should we go back to ancient Israel and practice polygamy, with a woman’s only right that to own her own tent? Or should we use the ancient Greek definition of marriage, one more concerned with inheritance than love or procreation, one that would force a woman to divorce her current husband and marry a sibling if that was required to continue the family? Should we force a brother to marry his dead sibling’s wife? Or perhaps we should make arranged marriages with child brides, that’s certainly traditional enough. Wait, I know, let’s go with the one where you have to pay three goats and a cow in order to ensure the woman is yours to keep forever, and you can stone her to death if she cheats on you. That one sounds terrific!

You see, Mr. Balling, since you don’t actually provide a definition of what “traditional marriage” is, I think your definition of “traditional marriage” boils down to “I want to make other people who believe differently than I do miserable by taking away their free will so I’ll cloak my hate in the guise of ‘tradition’ and ‘history’ without knowing what those words really mean”, and, well, I’m not really ok with that. Also, “traditional marriage” has traditionally been rather tough on 50% of the human population, what with the whole enslavement and forced child bearing and stoning to death thing (I’m talking about women if you haven’t figured it out (sorry to the people who figured it out like 5 minutes ago but I wanted to make sure he got it)), and I’m not really ok with that either.

Deep breath. <whelps!>

Your third logical fallacy, and oh boy does this one crop up all the time, is that of cum hoc ergo propter hoc. Now I’m guessing you may not be up to date on your Latin (or maybe you are, in which case well done!), so if you need help, I’d like to ask the entire class to say it along with me.

CORRELATION DOES NOT IMPLY CAUSATION.

You can’t make the statement that “Bless the single parents who try, but there is a direct correlation between single homes and crimes of all types. If anything, the effects of broken homes indicate the importance of reestablishing the ideal of traditional marriage” and not expect any moderately intelligent person not to jump all over it. Single homes don’t *cause* crime. That’s like saying “I rode my bicycle to work today, and it rained, therefore my bicycle causes rain”. There are a multitude of factors related to crime including income, residence location, public resources available, education, education available, age demographics, police presence, temperature patterns, etcetera ad nauseum ad infinitum (that one means I could go on for a while (also, way to take a giant steaming literary dump on every single parent, infertile couple, and those who choose not to have kids; you’re making all sorts of friends today)). To single out single parents is, to put it bluntly, absolutely absurd.

And then, to make it even better, you somehow link an unsafe environment for children (somehow caused through single parents?) to same sex marriage by claiming it “reinforces changes to the marital definition”. Hooboy. Tell me, were you worried about the children when all those colored folks started marrying the white people? Because that sure was a change to the “marital definition”, and funnily enough there were a bunch of people using the same argument back then. Or how about when women started working? Are the kids unsafe now because mom wanted to actually do something with her life instead of putting on a plastic smile and tending the kitchen all day? (no offense to any stay at home mom or dads who choose to do so, I know that’s a full time job in itself and you have my respect) What happened when the “marital definition” changed to allow divorce and remarrying? Should we pass some more constitutional amendments preventing those? C’mon, don’t just stop with the gays, let’s go oppress a bunch of other people too!

AND THEN, to make it even more betterer (grammars!), you return to the mind projection fallacy by claiming that “Currently, as a society, we have wavered from this traditional motivation, and many, not all, view marriage as a venue for self-fulfillment”. It’s so nice of you, Mr. Balling, to define mine, and countless other marriages as “venues for self-fulfillment”. Odd though, I don’t remember you ever hanging out with my family and I, or with our neighbors, or providing any sort of factual information to back up your claim (and if you say I need to provide evidence to disprove it, that’s called onus probandi, in case you were interested). In fact, the only evidence that I’ve been able to glean from your entire ill-constructed argument, is that you don’t know how to construct an argument. You know, with facts and stuff. (Your argument is called an “appeal to emotion”, more specifically, an “appeal to fear”, if you wanted that for future reference)

Deep breath. <1%, don’t wipe now!>

Frankly, sir, your blatant attempt to sway people by using the “OH MAH GAWD THINK OF THE CHILDREN” argument is tiresome, bothersome, and insulting to anyone who cares to take the slightest interest in pulling aside your curtain of self satisfied drivel to expose the ugliness underneath. Furthermore, you never made any sort of logical attempt to explain how same-sex marriage affects your marriage in any concrete way, instead offering up vague generalizations with no proof. When it comes to “the children”, I can assure you that I *am* thinking of my children, and not just my children, but all the children they will come in contact with, and all the adults they will someday be; and it is my sincerest wish as a parent that I can raise them to be tolerant, to respect the free will of others, and above all, to see beneath the smug bigotry and oppression of those who would enslave the world to satisfy their own ugly lust for control. If you have any children, it is my hope that they enjoy a peaceful life, one free of tyranny.

Aaaaaaaaand fin.