This Hate Has Got To End

This is a repost, with permission, from a very brave young woman whom I am proud to call a friend. Please read this and pass it along. This Hate Has Got to End Posted on August 19, 2012 by Mindy Kinnaman What I’m about to do is one of the ballsiest things I’ve probably ever done. To be honest, I don’t really want to do this, but I feel like I am left with no choice. As I’m sure many of you already are aware, earlier today, Missouri Republican and Senate hopeful Todd Akin went on TV this morning in St. Louis and stated that few rapes end in pregnancies. An absurd statement, I know. Unfortunately, this is not the first absurd statement Todd Akin has ever made. Nor is it the most offensive thing he’s said, which is why I’m all fired up. Todd Akin has also spoken about rape, only in terms of “legitimate rape,” meaning that a person has not been raped unless he or she has been forced. But before I get into the heart of my post, I would like to point out one very important fact. What I am about to say has nothing to do with my political leanings. I would say this even if Todd Akin were a Democrat, a Libertarian, or from any other political party. Because this issue goes beyond political parties. It goes to the very essence of who we are as humans, and sadly, I think so many people are so caught up in being the moral fiber police that they simply stop thinking about us as individuals. So who am I, and why do I care? Well, for starters, I am a rape victim. But I am quite certain that Todd Akin and his counterparts would never agree that I was raped. Why? Because I was raped by a partner. Years ago, my partner (whom I have since left) would force me to have sex, but because we were in a consensual relationship, many people do not believe that it is “legitimate rape.” It doesn’t matter that I was forced to do something against my will. It doesn’t matter that my pleas went unheard. What the man in a relationship says goes in the minds of people like Todd Akin. Very few people on this planet know what happened to me, and I thought that I would go to my grave without sharing that information. But as lawmakers around the United States continue to band together to strip women of their rights, I cannot be silent any more. I do not want to be a martyr. I do not want people digging into the skeletons in my closet. But what choice do I have? I currently live in a state with one of the toughest anti-abortion laws in the country, short of banning it outright. Less than 10 miles from me, across the border is the state I was born and raised in, the same state Todd Akin hopes to represent in the U.S. Senate. If I keep my mouth shut, women in the United States will continue to be stripped of their rights. We will lose the choices we have that involve our very own bodies. Have I ever gotten an abortion? No. Would I stand up in support of loved ones who have had no option but to have an abortion? I have and will always do so. If you don’t want to have an abortion because of your beliefs, whether they are religious or not, that is your right, but that does not give you the right to infringe upon my own rights. How long ago was it that Rush Limbaugh decried that unmarried women who want to use birth control should have to show videos of themselves having sex? What happened? He lost a few sponsors, and there was an outcry from those of us who realize how sexist and disgusting his request was, but that was it. It did not stop the state of Missouri from honoring him earlier this year. And Rush Limbaugh would have a fit, because I do use birth control, even though I am not currently having sex, because that is my right. The voices of ignorance seem to be growing louder as the election draws nearer. As much as I wanted to stick my head in the sand and ignore it all, I can’t. I tried, but I can’t. Because if women like me keep our mouths shut, one day we will have no voice at all. Our country is a mess, as the religious right seems to forget the fact that this country was founded upon religious freedom. I have done my research on the First Amendment and written papers on the topic. I know that we, as a country, should be as open as we can and accept that not everyone here believes the same. Yet, so many in this country still openly hate against anyone who doesn’t fit in the Christian code. I grew up Christian, and it was that very hate that drove me from being an active Christian. I could not sit down and listen to all the hate that was spewed forth in the name of God. That same hate that drives people like Todd Akin to want to control everything about us, to strip us of the rights we had to fight so hard to get in the first place. If people like Todd Akin have their way, anyone who is not a white, Christian, God-fearing hypocritical male will be a second-class citizen. And all that progress we will have achieved since our founding will have been for naught. So, to those of you who, as I do, believe that this hate has got to go, please stand up for our rights. Show your legislators that you will not have them relegate large portions of the U.S. citizenry to the back seat. Whether you are fighting for women’s rights or gay rights, you are fighting for human rights. Please stand up and help us work toward a democratic society that is truly democratic, where all citizens – regardless of race, creed, religion, sex, sexual orientation, status, etc. – have the same equal and unalienable rights we deserve. Please register to vote, if you have not already done so. And when November comes around, vote for anyone who is willing to stand up for equal rights for all. It is the least we deserve.

I Wish...

I can't sleep, even though I'm exhausted, and sore, and really want to sleep, but my brain is apparently in denial about the need for rest. So instead of being asleep I'm sitting here at the computer waiting for the Ambien to kick in. So hi, how are you? I wish I were enthused about stuff again. I mean stuff other than my baby. I love her so much it hurts sometimes, and then I weep with joy. I also weep at almost anything involving babies now. It's kind of annoying, but since the source of it is my darling little one it's ok. But what I mean is that the reason I haven't been blogging is that things don't seem to be firing me up anymore. Politics just annoy me, and I hardly watch TV. Work has settled into something of a routine...well, as much of a routine as any Theatre gig can be. I need more money, but who doesn't? It's hot, but bitching about the weather is about as effective as Newt Gingrich's presidential campaign, and far more annoying. I'm fatter than I have ever been, and the reason is I sit around after the baby finally goes to sleep and surf the net and snack...again, not an interesting topic. And so it goes. So, dear readers, if, indeed, any of you are still out there, what shall I write about? I would love to start doing this again, but my muses have all fled in the face of diapers and midnight feedings. Oh, there is one bit of news, but it's not happy. Starbuck has been missing for two weeks now. He figured out that he could pop the screens out of the windows and get outside. I fought with him for several weeks, trying to come up with a way to keep him inside, yet not baking the house by closing all the windows. Alas, the persistence of felis domesticus retardensis wore me down and I got him vaccinated, and tagged, and showed him the doggie door in the back room. Now let me explain that it seems impossible to find a simple leather collar for a cat. They're all these nylon jobs in unnatural colors, and they all have a quick release clasp so moggie doesn't hang herself. Well I picked the collar with the tightest clasp and bejeweled it with his rabies vaccination bona fides and a tag laser etched with his name and address. I put these around his neck and showed him the back doggy door. He was so thrilled to be outside. He chased lizards, and generally lounged around, and within two days he had rid himself of the pesky collar. This was a Saturday night. He came in for his nightly helping of second dinner and that's the last we've seen of him. I keep hoping his walkabout is just a matter of him being unable to find his way home, and that eventually he'll catch a whiff of whatever I'm serving, and come running home. But every Starbuckless morning, and every fruitless trip to the local animal shelter(and if you ever want to be thoroughly depressed take a walk through the cages of one of those places) brings less and less of that hope that we'll see him again. And just for the record this is precisely the reason I don't like to let my cats go outside. Anywhoo, what's up with you? Marius

The New Star Trek

Back in 2008, when I started the Starbase 66 podcast, my cohosts and I talked a lot about the impending JJ Abrams Star Trek movie. I had grave doubts about it, yet gradually I warmed to the idea. Finally, a year later, the movie premiered, and at first I loved it. I even saw it four times in the theaters, a feat I had not achieved since high school. It was even the first Blu-ray I purchased. But in the intervening three years the blush has come off the rose, so to speak. I can't say I hate the movie, just nearly everything about it. I loathe the 'new' ship. I despise the uniforms. The hardware is cheap looking and obviously designed to look good in a box on a Wal-Mart shelf, and the inner workings of the Enterprise look exactly like what they were, a fucking brewery! And don't get me started on the lens flare and overly contrived plot devices. In fact the only thing that keeps me enamored of this film, and despite my above kvetching I do still love this film, is the performances. The actors totally saved Star Trek from out-sucking The Final Frontier and The Motion Picture combined. Sometimes you get a film, such as The Avengers, that becomes greater than the sum of its parts...this was not the case with Abram's Star Trek. Abrams seems to be the anti-Lucas. Lucas can direct an action sequence like almost no one else, but his work with people leaves much to be desired. Abrams is the opposite. Everything about his movies...in my opinion...is trite, yet he directs his actors with a dexterity and respect that makes the performances shine. Yet the overall effect, as seen in the snooze-inducing Super 8, is just meh...with lens flare. But, Marius, why are you revisiting this now? Well, I'm glad you asked. Lately the news feeds have been full of speculation, teases, hints, and interviews about the sequel to Star Trek 2009 which finished principal photography a couple of months ago. Abrams will be directing it again, and the original creative staff is on board as well. This has been filling me more and more with a sense of dread that has been made even worse by the severely disappointing Prometheus, of which Damon Lindelof was the executive producer and co-writer. He's also the producer on the Trek sequel and was the executive producer of Lost and Cowboys and Aliens. With the exception of Lost, which didn't do anything for me, that is not a promising pedigree. The first Trek reboot was saved by the actors, and by my enthusiasm to see the characters and worlds that I love reborn on the big screen. Now that the novelty is gone, I have serious doubts about what is to come. I hated hating Star Trek: The Motion Picture, and over the years have found my way to appreciating the good parts of it, and Star Trek V is still a stinging, open wound, but at its worst the original Trek films and shows are the companions of my youth, and I can forgive them their occasional offenses. But this new Trek, and Abrams attempts to make it more like Star Wars, is getting very close to making me loathe the thought of any more Star Trek being made. If it's just going to be a pale shadow of what we grew to love over the past 46 years, full of sound and fury, but signifying nothing, then I'd just as soon it rest in peace, and leave us to our memories.

Barrage of Cute

So, yeah, having a baby really saps your time, your strength, and your ability to speak in your normal voice. So rather than try to trump up some sort of half-baked bloggerific concoction of semi-digested thoughts and overly-hyphenated pseudo-word things, I figured I'd just inundate you lovely two or three who still read this with some pics and videos of the tiny creature that has totally taken over my life. Enjoy! And now some pics: Ok, I'm now going to wash bottles and hope her nap lasts long enough. Peace out, y'all. Marius

The Teacher Learns

Who'd have thunk that a little pink poop monster could teach me so much? For one thing I've learned, not surprisingly I suppose, that the only instinct humans are born with is knowing how to suck. Far too many people never let that one go. I've also learned that just like love and obscenity, disgusting is in the eye of the beholder. (and you may relax as I shall not elaborate on that) But the biggest thing I learned just the other day was something about myself. I used to be what they now call emo. My high school and college notebooks were filled with bad poetry, sappy sketches, and drippy prose about how I'd gladly march into the jaws of death for the young lady that was currently the object of my fancy. But as I've grown older, and less convinced of anything beyond this mortal coil, I find the notion of willingly grappling with the Grim Reaper anything but romantic. Then, the other day on the way home from work, I found myself wondering what I would do in a situation where I could only save Sharon by sacrificing myself, and I realized that I would do so without a moment's hesitation or regret. All those times in the past when I've told people 'I'd die for you' I only thought I meant it. I now know exactly what it feels like to truly mean it. It's a good feeling. Something else interesting happened last night. We all have reoccurring themes in our dreams, and one of the most disconcerting to me is when some supernatural force has created an invisible barrier that immobilizes me. I know that this is an artifact of the temporary paralysis we experience in our sleep that keeps us from physically acting out our dreams, but it's very unnerving. Last night the culprits were aliens, and it was a staircase that no one could go down. Only this time they took Sharon. And last night, for the first time in my life, I broke through that barrier. Of course as soon as I did that the dream shifted to me being Superman and flying around a city, but the important part is that my feelings for my little girl penetrate into my subconscious so much that even in my dreams they give me strength. It's very cool. Other than that things have been pretty quiet here in Castle Marius. The school year is over for me, so it's time to start doing things around the house and spending even more time with Sharon. What's up with you? Peace, Marius

Passivity Examined

Last month we broke up with our cable company. We were paying an outrageous amount of money each month, and after watching them offer everything but oral sex to new customers, while telling us to basically bend over when we tried to reduce our plan to something more reasonable, we said good bye. Now, for the first time since, oh, 1979, I don't have cable TV. It's weird, but not in a bad way. See now that we have a baby, and a new car payment, we needed to tighten the budget somewhere. We are not extravagant people, so most of our spending is necessary, but it became clear that every show that we follow on the old boob tube is available online, and most of them are free. So cable was the logical victim. So far I'm not missing it, though I think Mrs. Marius might be. I did just have a bit of an epiphany, though. Our television consumption has shifted from passive to active. It's strange to think of TV as anything but passive, but the simple act of watching a show online requires deliberate, albeit minor, action. We can no longer just turn on the box and become couch potatoes, mindlessly pressing the channel up button until something causes a couple of brain cells to fire and we stay there for a few minutes or more. Now we have to decide that it's time to watch X; we have to log in, find the web site that carries X, and then watch. Granted I'm not going to be monitoring my standing heart rate while downloading the latest Mythbusters from Amazon.com, but it does strike me as interesting that an activity that has for nearly a century been considered one of the least active things you can do, when coupled with a technology that takes passivity to a whole new level, you get a requirement of deliberateness. I think I just blew my own mind. Namaste, y'all. Marius

On Family

Yesterday was one of those Dickensian 'best of times/worst of times' kind of days, but before I get to that let me explain a bit about what family means to me. I am not unique in having two distinct families; the one I was born into, and the one I chose, but the chosen family is different to what most of y'all out there would recognize. I've told y'all about the SCA, the Medieval recreationist group I have dabbled with over the years, and many of you are part of my SCA family so this won't be news to you, but most of my extended family comes from that group. Familial ties sprout up in the SCA as a natural part of the creation of your persona, and as friends gravitate together and households get formed, the family structure makes a great deal of sense...although sometimes the metaphor can get a bit strained. For example concepts like incest tend to get ignored leading to sometimes strange statements like 'I'd like you to meet my girlfriend, and sister.' But even though it's all in good fun the emotional bonds we form with our family members are very real, and often last a lifetime. Now let's set the Way-Back machine to 1981. It was the height of my Dungeons and Dragons playing years, and my brother told me about a woman he knew who ran an awesome D&D game. I soon met Barbara for the first time, and became a regular at her table. She was quite a but older than us, but the age range of her regular players ran from my age and a bit younger, to people in their 30's, so it didn't seem the least bit strange. Her games were elaborate, rich with detail, and a blast to play, and it didn't take long before I was one of the regular cadre of folks that hung out at her place. Both she and her husband at the time were affiliated with the local police department, and she was the den mother of the men and women in blue in our town. During our D&D times we had often heard of the SCA, but in these pre-Internet days we had no idea how to track them down. Then I graduated high school and moved to Gainesville, Florida and went to the University of Florida. Shortly after I arrived I spied a flyer saying that the SCA would be doing a demonstration at the school soon, and my friend Adam and I eagerly attended. The beginnings of my SCA career were, to say the least, ignominious, but we shall leave that for another time. The important bit here is that I quickly acquired contact information for the branch back home, and sent that info with all speed to all my friends, including, of course, Barb. To encapsulate the events of the ensuing 30 years or so would take more time, kilobytes, and functioning brain cells than I have available at this time, but very soon Natasha(as Barb became known) became better and better known in the Kingdom, and as a first aid practitioner, or Chirugeon, she was one of the only people who knew the signs when I was in trouble on the lyst field and saved my ass on numerous occasions when the heat was just too much (she was rarely far away when I was in armor, as seen in the above pic. that's her behind me). I honestly can't recall how she became Matka, Russian for mother, to me, but it made so much sense that I never needed to question it. She has been my second mother for more than half of my life, and in some ways knows me better than my biological mom ever did. Now we are back to the present. Barb has had many health issues over the past few years, and one that will ultimately send her away from us, but there is no telling how soon that will happen. Could be today, could be next year. I was told about this when Mrs. Marius was about 6 months pregnant, and I told Barb in no uncertain terms that she was not to go anywhere until she got to meet her granddaughter. Well, yesterday that finally happened. We gathered up the kids and drove the 2 1/2 hours north to visit. Under any other circumstances I'd have waited for a free couple of days so we could have a leisurely visit, but due to work schedules and such we could only stay a couple of hours and then head back home. It was great to see Barb, and the rest of the family with whom she lives, but the drive home could only be described as hellish. The baby doesn't mind the car, but HATES her car seat, and the Child of the Apocalypse just hates everything these days, so the ride was less than fun. Then, once we got home at 9:30, the baby was wide awake, though I was exhausted. But, I'd do it all again to get these pictures:

So Matka, you know I love you and have for a very, very long time, and I am so grateful for having you in my life, and I'm even more grateful that you got to meet Sharon. Now you have to stick around til she's talking so you can tell her stories. (you didn't really think I was letting you go, did you?) :-) Your loving son, Marius

Landing Party Report

Captain's Log, stardate 1203.23, Captain Sharon E. Tetrault reporting. Readings indicate that this planet is perfect for pooping, spitting up, and prolonged playing. I am currently about to engage in a full scale sleeping experiment and will report further when it's bottle time.

Log out.

Vulnerability

When you tell the world that you're expecting the advise comes in a flood. Sometimes joking, "Ha ha, guess you'll be giving up sleeping." Sometimes serious, "Treasure the days when they're tiny, for they grow up so fast." In fact nearly everyone, parent or no, has something to warn you about, but I learned something tonight that no one mentioned, and it blindsided me. I was at the grocery store about an hour ago. It was near closing, and the store was relatively deserted. I was at the check-out and heard a child screaming over by the exit. Now a year ago I might not have even noticed that sound, but it totally grabbed my attention, though no one else seemed to notice. As soon as I gathered my purchases I moved toward the doors to see what was going on. A large woman had a small, maybe 3 or 4 year old boy by the hand, and he was doing the 'I don't want to do what you want me to do so I'm letting my legs go limp' thing that kids do. Again, a year ago if I had noticed this at all I'd have just assumed that the kid was being bratty, but not tonight. Tonight the scene filled me with terror as I wondered if things would look any different if the child was being taken by a stranger. Then I panicked as I imagined that boy was my Sharon. I watched a little while longer through the window of the store until I was sure she was, indeed, his mom, and as I was walking to my car I saw the boy with his father as well, but the whole affair really rattled me. No one tells you how vulnerable you are as a parent. Suddenly someone who is vastly, incredibly, infinitely more important in my life than I am is a primary concern of mine. You can knock me down, spit in my face, slander my name all over the place. Do anything that you want to do to me, but stay the fuck away from my kid...and the corollary of that being that I'm terrified because I can't protect her from everything. It's a sobering thought, and one that may take me a while to come to terms with.

In the meantime I intend to teach her to raise holy Hell if some stranger tries to take her from us.

Anyone know how young you can get a concealed carry permit in Florida?

Marius the Shaken.

The Time Has Finally Arrived

Poop long, and prosper.

:-)

Requiem for a Valient Steed

Sixteen years ago I started working at the greatest gig of my career. The Duncan Theatre, at Palm Beach Community College, needed an Assistant Technical Director, and I got the job. That was the beginning of three wonderful years there, and it was also the steadiest, and largest paycheck I'd gotten to date. My beat up, hand me down Ford Taurus was rapidly falling apart, and it was time to look into getting a different car. I don't recall how the idea came up, but I soon realized that a new...actually new...car was possible. So in November of that year I drove off the the lot of Saturn of West Palm Beach with a brand new, if no-frills, car. She was silver, with a manual transmission, manual locks, manual windows, and no power steering or brakes. The only frill was the cruise control. I recall as I was driving her home for that first time wondering if I'd get 100,000 miles out of her. Back then 100K was still a milestone, but Saturns were known for their longevity, so I figured I had a good shot. I treated her well, kept to the maintenance schedule, changed her oil often, and she got me where I needed to go. The Hyperion, as I came to name her, and I drove all over Florida, all over Louisiana, and as far north as Savannah, Georgia, and rarely did she complain. Of course there were repairs needed. A water pump here, a starter module there, a snapped shift cable was the worst of it, but never anything horrible. I got my one and only speeding ticket in that car, and we were never in a wreck. I've slept in her, dressed in her, oddly enough she's the only car I never had sex in, but just about everything else you can do in a car I've done in the Hyperion. Whenever I'd forget to turn my lights off before trying to get out of the car she'd quietly ding at me, and I'd always say 'thank you, dear'. She gladly suffered silly stickers on the rear window, and dragons and Buddy Christ glued to her dash. She was a work horse that could haul up to 10' long 2x4's and never falter, though she would slow down a bit. I loved that car. Sadly, though, all good things must end, and a few months ago I drove her to the store for lunch one day and she wouldn't start. Now she has always started with just the lightest turn of the key, so this was strange. I feared I had run out of gas, so I put a gallon in, and still nothing. I waited a bit more, and then she started right up. This happened a few more times before I realized that she would no longer start when hot. It was more annoyance than anything else as it merely meant that anywhere I went needed to last at least 15-20 minutes so she could cool down. But soon 15-20 became 30-60, then two weeks ago I had to cancel class because after two hours she still wouldn't start. I took her to the shop and was told that the clutch and transmission weren't communicating properly and it could cost $1K to fix, and that might not do it. The Hyperion was terminal. So we've limped along while I've tried to find a newish car. I hate car shopping, and dealing with car salespeople can be soul-crushing, but my brother recommended a place down in our home town that gave him a great deal this summer, so I contacted them, got approved for financing, and found a couple of cars I liked. Of course the main problem now was getting down there since the Hyperion's last journey of 10 miles from work to home ended two miles shy of our destination, and required the services of a tow truck to get us home. A rental car would have cost over $100 since I'd have to leave it down there, so I thought I'd check out the trains. 25 bucks! So I booked passage on the choo-choo and readied myself as best I could. The train was 2 hours late, so I was sweating getting to the dealership before they closed, which would have been tricky since I'd be 200 miles from home with no car, but I got there by 6:30, and the salesperson working with me was more than happy to accommodate me at that late hour. Sadly the car I had come to see, a 2010 Yaris, had been sold that afternoon, but a quick search found something even better, a 2010 Nissan Versa. I'd never heard of it, but we checked it out. A smallish hatchback with lots of room inside. I sat in it, and it felt, well, right. A test drive also felt good. By 9pm I drove off the lot with my newish car, and a huge feeling of relief. The drive home the next day gave The Phoenix and me a chance to get to know each other. I named her Phoenix since she is rising from the ashes of my once beautiful Hyperion, and I found 4+ hours in her driver's seat to be not in the least bit tiring. Of course we now have a car payment again, but we also have a shiny, nearly new car in the driveway and I don't have to worry that every time I stop at a red light I'll be pushing the car out of traffic and waiting for the engine to cool down again. So I raise my glass in a toast to the end of a long, 271,000 miles long, relationship with a fantastic car, and to the beginning of a, hopefully, equally fruitful partnership with this one.

Behold, The Phoenix:

I'm a Baaad Blogger

I had no idea. No idea at all just how all-consuming being a parent is. I mean I've been a step-parent for nearly a decade now, but this is so very different. The CoA is a relatively self-sufficient creature, able to be left alone for increasingly longer periods, and aside from a damnable angsty attitude is fairly autonomous. But the baby...the baby. Don't get me wrong, I adore her and would fight a Balrog wearing only a Saran Wrap thong and wielding a celery stick to protect her if need be, but by Grabthar's hammer I miss me. Every morning is spent desperately trying to get my coffee down and my email checked before those familiar little noises coming from the monitor turn into the full-throated wails of the now awake and hungry Sharon. The rest of the morning is a game of 'let's see how long daddy can sneak away to wash dishes, or get big sister out of bed, or Heaven forbid eat some breakfast before baby starts crying'. Then it's bottles, play, carry, change, play, bottle, rock, sleep, rinse, repeat. Then after work it's the balancing act between mommy and daddy to make sure neither of us gets unfairly put upon, although my lack of functioning mammary glands does make that somewhat difficult, but since I do most of the non-lactation related food prep I consider that an even balance. Finally, anywhere between 7-8:30 the baby falls asleep for the night...well, at least until around midnight-2am when she'll wake up and want more to eat. Then Mrs. Marius turns in, and I have the house to myself. I have so many things I want to do. Blog, edit my podcast, play Oblivion, but as soon as I sit down at the computer my eyelids become two lead sheets, and I'm usually in bed by 9:30 having accomplished nothing. Then it all starts again, though sometimes I'm up as early as 4:30 because the little one makes a lot of noise in her sleep, and sometimes it's hard to tell the difference between a sleep cry and an awake cry. So, as you might imagine, I'm a tad frazzled of late.

Also, a week ago last Thursday, my wife was in a car wreck. Fortunately is a was a low speed collision where no one got hurt, and was not her fault, but we are now dealing with getting her car fixed and worrying about them fixing all the damage vs just totaling the car and giving us a fraction of what we'd need to buy something else, so that's an extra frazzlation. At least they've paid for a rental so we're not down a vehicle. Plus my car is on its last legs, having given me sixteen years and 270,000 miles, but our tax return should cover a down payment on a newer car, but I hate buying a car.

So, in a nutshell that's why I've been terribly absent. I hope that if any of you are still reading this that all is well with you, and rest assured I still read your stuff. Now if you'll excuse me I have to go wash something.

Oh, and that picture is Sharon this weekend. We went to a very nice park with this great raised boardwalk/nature trail. Sharon, when surrounded by the bounteous beauty of nature, wanted only to look at the boards of the boardwalk while being carried, and to chew on her stroller when being wheeled about. I love her, but she's weird.

Marius

The Teacher Becomes the Taught

When I was 3 or 4 years old my father got us in a car crash. We had just come home from something or other, and our cat was on top of the table, and I wanted to hold her. So I pulled her down to me. Of course, being just a toddler I didn't know how to handle a cat in such a way, she thought she was falling, put out her claws, and scratched my eye. I don't remember much of this, just vague impressions, but my mother later told me there was a lot of blood and crying, and my dad panicked and threw us in the car and raced for the hospital. Unfortunately, due to his belief that my eyeball had been shredded, he ignored one too many stop signs and we got t-boned. The police took my mother and me to the hospital and it turned out that the cat had only nicked my eyelid and I was perfectly fine. All my life I never fully appreciated that incident, and kinda wondered why my normally rational father would lose his shit so. Yesterday I found out. Sharon's fingernails have needed trimming for a while now, but my up-close vision has degraded to the point that even with glasses it's very hard for me to see her whisper-thin, yet oh-so-sharp nails. But my wife has been sick of late and hasn't been up to doing much of anything, so I put on two pairs of glasses and figured I'd give it a go. The first clip went ok, or so I thought, but slowly Sharon's face went from baby neutral to a soul-shredding frown of ultimate unhappiness and she began screaming in pain. Looking more closely I saw I had taken a nip out of the end of her thumb, and it was starting to bleed. I felt like I was the worst, most horrible daddy ever, and as I held my screaming baby to my chest, knowing that she was screaming because of me, the myriad of emotions flooding me completely ripped any rationality from my mind. Anger, confusion, terror all blotted out my usually analytical thought processes, and all I could do was move in random directions while trying to comfort the wailing creature in my arms. My poor teenager made the mistake of being visible and I yelled at her in my frustration, sending her to her room in tears. Fortunately this only lasted a few minutes, and I calmed down enough to finally get myself together and take care of the injury...a bit of hydrogen peroxide and a way-too-big Band-Aid did the trick...and apologize to the COA, but I felt like the lowest of the low all the rest of the day. I know that should this be my worst day as a daddy I'll be very lucky, but I also hope that my complete losing of my shit over such a relatively minor thing will help me to not do so in the future if/when something serious happens. And dad, if you are still out there and are watching, I get it now.

Why I Hurt My Baby

Little Sharon was lying on the crinkly paper covered exam table. She'd stoically endured pokes, and prods, and cold stethoscope intrusions, and even swallowed the oral vaccine without complaint. But then it was time for the shots. I hadn't been there for the first round of them, so I didn't know what to expect. I held her little hands as the doctor stuck the three tiny needles into her thighs. I will never forget the red-faced wailing of my darling girl, or the look of utter anguish and hurt on her face. I squeezed her hands, fought back my instinct to grab her and flee, or fight off her assailant, and tried my best to reassure her that it would be all right. The shots were given quickly, and in a few seconds I was holding my crying baby in my arms, rocking her and trying to soothe her. I tried to comfort myself with the knowledge that she will almost certainly not remember anything about this day, though I know that I will almost certainly never forget. The rest of the day she was grumpy and uncomfortable; made all the worse by the nasty cold she has. Last night neither my wife nor I got much sleep as Sharon slept fitfully, noisily, and woke frequently due to her stuffed up nose. But, in two months when it's time for her next round of shots I'll willingly, if not exactly gladly, do it all again. I know that with the exception of this relatively small amount of pain and discomfort I am protecting my little girl from rotavirus, hepatitis b, haemophilus influenzae, polio, diphtheria, tetanus, and pertussis. Any of these can be fatal or crippling, and I will continue to do everything I can to protect my darling baby from the ravages of easily preventable diseases. And if you are on the fence about vaccinating your kids I urge you to do your homework. Look at the volumes of data compiled over nearly a century that vouch for the safety and efficacy of vaccines. I also urge you to ignore celebrities who have no medical credentials whatsoever, yet choose to spread falsehoods and bad science. Vaccines are safe, effective, and vital to the survival of our children.

I will now put the soapbox away.

And Now Your Moment of Zen

I'm posting this on because it worked for me today.

A Dr. on TV said to have inner peace we should always finish things we start & we all could use more calm in our lives.

I looked around my house to find things I'd started & hadn't finished, so I finished off a bottle of Merlot, a bottle of Chardonnay, a bodle of Baileys, a butle of wum, tha mainder of Valiuminun prscriptuns, an a box a chocletz.

Yu haf no idr how fablus I feel rite now.

Sned this to all who need inner piss. An telum u luvem.

My Cat is a Sloppy Drunk

If Artemis could meow 'I love you, motherfucker. No, really, I mean it, man.' she would. It's nearly Christmas, and since we've decided to go down to South Florida so my dad and some others can meet Sharon, Artemis is having her annual urinary tract infection. So we found a vet nearby and I put the poor dear in the carrier and paid the good doctor a visit. After the normal prodding, and squeezing, and listening, and, now that I think about it, no thermometer work, the doctor suggested something no one else had. Apparently some cats have a thing called lower urinary tract disease, which acts an awful lot like a UTI, but without bacteria involved. And given Artemis's history of frequent flare ups she is a likely candidate, so rather than antibiotics we have her on painkillers to ease the symptoms and see if it runs its course and subsides on its own. The side effect to the narcotic pain killers is that my cat is stoned out of her tiny kitty mind. When she's not sleeping she's even more affectionate than ever, and she is a very loving kitty, and there have been a lot of kitty kisses and hand grabbing. It's quite amusing, actually. When asked what can trigger such flare ups, the doctor said stress, usually. And what can stress a cat out? Stuff like a new baby in the house. D'oh!

Other than that all is quiet. I'm done for the semester, so I'm on full-time-daddy duty. Sharon has finally mastered blowing raspberries, much to my amusement and my wife's dismay, and the little imp now realizes how much it amuses me, and pthbthbthbthbs whenever she sees me. It's freaking adorable!!

Almost as adorable as this:



TTFN

Marius

Politicraziness

I know I said that I would post an entry every time flurrious did, and some of you might have noticed that she did so just last week, but I did not, but she posted again this week, and it's part 2 of last week's post, so I'm still good, right? Right? *le sigh*

Anyway, the real reason I haven't posted anything is that I'm trying to not be that obnoxious new dad who only ever talks about The Baby(insert golden light from above and a heavenly choir here) You know that guy. Has a wallet full of photos that are all nearly identical, brags about the latest bowel movement stats like her diaper is an NBA court, already knows what college she'll attend, etc. The truth is I AM that guy, but I've been subjected to enough of that over the years that I'm actively fighting it...and mostly succeeding. But, and I hope you'll forgive me this one indulgence, ain't she cute?




Anyway, I have a theory about the latest spate of Republican nutjobs competing for the GOP nomination for 2012. They all seem irredeemably insane, and this has puzzled me for a while, because even at his back-woodsy nuttiest, George W. Bush never acted as batshit crazy as this bunch. But I think I have it figured out. Unseating an incumbent president is historically difficult, and the GOP doesn't seem to have a truly viable candidate right now, so what if they're trotting out the lunatic fringe that keeps begging to sit at the adult's table so that when they inevitably get trounced by Obama then they can legitimately tell them next time that they had their chance, and they need to slink back into the basement while the grownups handle the real work of sucking corporate di...um, funding.

Either that or the whole party is just a bunch of whack jobs.

Either way it's entertaining as hell, but I will miss Herman Cain.

Peace, y'all.
Marius

Someone (else) Think of the Children!!

I've been in the parenting biz for nearly a decade now, not that this makes me an expert by any stretch, but there is one thing I've noticed. Lots of people constantly bemoan that this world is too dangerous for 'the children'. As a newly minted 'daddy' I certainly can understand the inclination to view the world through the prism of how everything will affect my daughter, but I also temper that with the very real fact that it is MY job to protect and teach her. Now I will grant you that there are some things that have been enacted to protect children that I 100% support: fire resistance regulations, paint lead content maximums, and car seat legislation all work to protect children from unscrupulous corporations, or idiot parents. I also agree with some governmental oversight of public schools...note that I said 'some'. But lately it seems that any and everything that could possibly be harmful, or even mildly inconvenient for children must be wrapped in foam, or covered in warnings, or hidden behind a plain brown wrapper, or not put on the air until 2:15am. Speaking as a parent I say KNOCK IT OFF!!!! For every wailing mother on the TV who cries out 'Won't someone think of the children?!' I put in the missing word...'else'. Won't someone else think of my children so I don't have to. And even when someone else does do everything reasonably possible to protect their little snowflakes it's still not enough. Video game companies bent over backwards to rate games so that parents could see at a glance if they were appropriate for their darling, impressionable little cupcakes, yet when my wife worked at K-Mart she frequently sold Grand Theft Auto to parents who then turned around and handed it to their 8 year old, even after being verbally warned by my wife that it probably wasn't age appropriate. And, of course, after watching Ghandi, Jr. cap a hooker and then run over a priest, the fault was laid squarely on the store for selling the game in the first place. It's just sad.

I try my best to keep my children's lives as innocent as possible for as long as possible, but I don't expect the government to do that for me. Everyone screams that they want less government interference in their lives, at least until they have to actually get off their fat asses and show a little parental responsibility, then it's all 'the government didn't do enough to prevent little Johnny from seeing a nipple for 3 milliseconds during a football game'. Yet these are the same yahoos who will haul their toddlers to see The Guts and Boobs Killer XVIII in 3D Gore-Around(tm) without a second thought. This shit used to bug me when I was single, now it just totally pisses me off. And I know I'm preaching to the choir here, but at least I'm getting it off my chest, and getting another blog post out there, so win/win, no?

Anyway, I have some bottles to wash while Sharon is asleep for a bit. Ciao, y'all!

Marius

And So This Is Chrisgiving...wait, what?!

I'm going to jump on the bandwagon here and bitch a bit about all the Christmas stuff being dragged out before Thanksgiving. This is nothing more than a shallow, transparent marketing ploy, much like tomorrow's Black Friday nonsense, that seeks to capitalize on the American public's easily manipulated nature. I'll admit it seems to be working brilliantly, so I'm tempted to say more power to them. I mean if people are dumb enough to let the retailers dictate their lives who am I to complain? But I realized as I heard my first radio ad to the tune of Jingle Bells yesterday that I hate, Hate, HATE advertisements set to Christmas song tunes, and when they start playing that shit a week before Thanksgiving, well it just pisses me off.

However, this is not supposed to be a rant. Instead I'd like to say that I am thankful for so much in my life. No, things are not where I'd like them to be, but I have wonderful friends, a great job that at least pays the bills, a roof over my head, and the most amazingly amazing little baby daughter any man could wish for. My family loves me, and I them, my students at least pretend to like me ( ;-) ) and my cats adore me. I have a turkey breast in the Crock Pot, and two pies in the fridge, and this:



I'm out of beer, but I have a bottle of mead, and the Dolphins are playing in two hours. I have a wildly successful podcast, and my car still runs even after driving the equivalent of a trip to the moon with her. I have two phasers, a communicator, and a tricorder, and I know how to use them all. So all in all life is pretty damned good. Thank you to all of you who still come around my cobweb festooned corner of the interwebs, and I wish you a very happy Thanksgiving...even if you're not in the US since we could all use a bit more gratefulness in our lives.

Hugs to all,
Marius

Randomness Revisited

Well, gentle, patient, and probably absent readers, I am going to make a concerted effort to rise up above the piles of Pampers, rubber nipples, and spit-up stained shirts to blog atcha once again. The wonderful, talented, and slightly scary flurrious has, through no fault of her own, become my goad. Whenever she posts a blog, I shall do likewise. I might even try to do so more often, but at the very least when the meerkats cry, so shall I.

So what's up? I've noticed something strange about being a new parent. Most parents I know go nuts with pictures and stories about their little bundles of joy for most of the first year of baby's life, but after a while things start to blur together. I took tons of pics of little Sharon, even sharing some with you wonderful folks, but I started to notice that her repertoire of activities is pretty much limited to laying down, being carried, and sleeping. Yes I got some shots of her smiling, which just melts my jaded old daddy-heart, but even that got rather repetitious. So this is my pledge to you...I shall not barrage you with shot after shot of Sharon doing...well...not much, really. When she does something particularly cute, such as this:

...then shall I share it. But otherwise, and henceforth in this post I shall try to avoid the constant baby-babble that is the hallmark of the new parent.

Part of the problem with being a new parent, however, is that you find your world narrows in focus to the dimensions of your house, and maybe the car seat. When we're home most of our activities revolve around either getting the baby to sleep, or not waking her up. It's very strange. This has had the effect of cutting me off from the outside world so that I have very little to say about current events. The Occupy Whereever movement seems to be losing its momentum, since people are very good at getting used to annoyances when they last long enough, and I'm sure the gold plated assholes who are the targets of the protests couldn't care less if a thousand unwashed people are yelling at them from across the street. I know the press is trying to play up the police actions of kicking the protesters out of parks and such, but that's their job. No one is telling them they can't protest, but if I wanted to set up a tent in the local park I'd be told to go home too. Free speech is free speech, but if a public park does not allow camping, and you are camping there, and the local constabulary asks you to leave, you're not being oppressed...you're breaking the law. Anyway I can sympathize with the protests, at least with the ones who are being rational. I have no problem with wealthy people being wealthy, and I don't support the enforced redistribution of wealth, but when the banks accepted our money to save their sorry asses, and then shit on us from the gold plated windows of their mansions, then fuck them! But I don't suppose that would look too good on a picket sign.

The state of Florida killed a murderer yesterday. He'd only been on death row since 1989 for killing a woman and her two teenaged daughters, so yay for swift justice. I'm no fan of the death penalty in principal, but I have to wonder if knowing that you'll get at least 20 years before the sentence is carried doesn't lessen the deterrent effect just a tiny bit.

The holiday season looms anon. I don't know how I feel about that just yet. The years since my mom died have been lackluster at best at Christmas time, but maybe the baby will help rekindle the yule log in my soul.

Ok, that's all for now. Go visit flurrious and tell her how much you like her blog...and you will, trust me...and encourage her to post more oftenly so I can. :-)


Peace out, y'all,
Marius