Category Archives: hate

I can’t stand you at all (you drive me insane); why won’t you go away?

I try very, very hard not to hate people.

I’m not talking about disliking people. I think it’s human nature to dislike certain people. We can’t all click. There are just some people you don’t like, and you can’t force yourself to like them.

The guy who interrupts you every time you talk because he seems physically incapable of listening. The guy who almost seems Tourettesian in his random bursts of profanity and who just STARES all the time, and you’re not quite comfortable being around him in any capacity. The guy who walks past you pulling too hard on his adorable dog’s leash in frustration, and the poor dog is cowering away. The woman whose self-esteem is at such a low that she feels the need to talk in a baby voice and lean over every single man she comes across to get some, any, all the attention in the room.

You don’t have to like these people (and I’d be surprised if you did, honestly) but you don’t HATE them. I mean, probably you don’t. You most likely see them as minor annoyances, at best. Like gnats.

As I’ve aged, I’ve apparently acquired this annoying tendency to empathize with everyone – even the most annoying human beings. It doesn’t make them much easier to deal with, but it does tend to make my reactions to them a little less huffy and eye-rolly.

“She probably has had a really hard life,” I’ll think about the woman who’s yelling at her child in the grocery store. Or, “I bet she didn’t get paid enough attention when she was a child,” for the woman who constantly puts emo statuses up on Facebook to the point I need to hide her just to maintain my sanity.

It doesn’t always work. Just ask my mother, or friend K. They know me well, and they know my reactions to things.

“You can’t hide it when someone’s annoying you,” Mom said recently. “You might THINK you’re being good about it, but that person knows. Trust me.”

She told me once I had a glass face. Anything I’m feeling is clearly visible. I think it goes hand-in-hand with wearing your heart on your sleeve, which is another thing I’m sadly guilty of. If I love you, you’re aware of it. I can’t hide it any more than I can hide being female, brunette, or American. I could TRY – I could wear a costume, dye my hair, affect an accent – but you’d know it was fake.

Friend K. thinks it’s hilarious, honestly. (I adore friend K.) “People need to know to stay away from you when you’ve got that face on,” she said once at the theater. I looked askance at her. “The Back-the-Hell-Up face. It’s such an Amy face. I don’t understand how anyone can see that face and not immediately just walk right away apologizing. But they just keep talking! As if all is ok! When it clearly isn’t!”

As close of an approximation to my "eff off and die" face as I can muster at bedtime during a heatwave.

As close of an approximation to my “eff off and die” face as I can muster at bedtime during a heatwave.

So apparently I have a face, when I’m annoyed. I suppose I could try to control it, but I think I’d look like someone raised by gorillas trying to learn how humans smile. It wouldn’t fit on my face-area well.

(Strangely, if it matters, I CAN pretend I’m not annoyed. I call it acting the benign fool; a friend and I were discussing it recently and he told me knew it as being dumb and agreeable. What you want to do is act like one of Shakespeare’s fools – foolish in front of people, wise when you’re on your own. And you want no one to realize you’re acting. Here, I’ll give you a lesson. Let’s say you can’t stand your in-laws, but you know if you’re rude to them, it’s going to raise hell at home. So you need to pretend you’re ok with them. But you can’t STAND them. I mean, maybe you don’t HATE them, but they annoy you. So here’s what you do: act like you haven’t ever had a deep thought in your life. Not stupid; just a touch vapid. Be funny, but not desperate for laughs. Laugh at their jokes, even if they’re foolish. Have bright, happy, engaged eyes. Tell stories that are fun, and light, and topical. Avoid topics that matter. Keep this up for the duration. You will feel your soul dying; just keep counting down the minutes until it’s over. When you leave, congratulate yourself. Because it means you won. They have no idea who you are, they have no idea you can’t stand them, and you’ve retained the peace at home. Beware, though – the people who love your dumb-and-agreeableness want you to come back frequently and often. You’re just that much fun to be around. I tell you this from experience. The fact that a., they weren’t able to see through your charade and b., they like the fake you more than the real you…it’s a little disheartening, to be honest.)

Here is your basic benign fool face. If you look closely, you can see my soul struggling for life behind my eyes.

Here is your basic benign fool face. If you look closely, you can see my soul struggling for life behind my eyes.

Anyway, Tangent McGee, as I said. I really, really try not to hate people. First, it’s just bad karma. Second, what the hell good does it do? None. You don’t accomplish anything with it. Mostly it just gives you a stomachache. Plus it totally gives that person power over you. Because they live in your head. Like, all the time. Like, ALL the damn time. I don’t want to spend more time thinking about the people I hate than the people I love.

Sometimes, though, I fail miserably.

I’m not talking about Tom Cruise (he’s the worst, but I don’t hate him.) I’m not talking about that terrible Westboro Baptist Church wackadoodle (he’s the devil, but I don’t hate him. I don’t know him, and he hasn’t directly injured someone I love, so I can’t hate him. I wouldn’t mind if he fell in a really deep hole and then someone filled in the hole with cement, though. I mean, by accident. Like, they just happened to be filling in holes with cement, and that was one of the holes, and they were all “Just doing my job!” and WHOOPS! he got buried alive in all the cement.)

There are RULES to hating. I have to either know the person and they hurt me SO DEEPLY there’s no turning back, or they have to have injured someone I love so deeply that I don’t need to know them to hate them. And I have to have thought about it a lot. I can’t just offhand-hate someone. I mean, it’s a pretty serious thing, this hating.

Luckily, there are only a handful of people I really, truly hate.

And I can assure you, they’ve done sincerely terrible things. Which I will not go into. Because I am most sincerely attempting to pretend they don’t exist. With varying results.

(Side note: If you’re thinking, “ZOMG, is it ME? Is Amy talking about ME?” No. I’m not. Because a., if you care at all if I’m talking about you, you’re not one of the people I hate – the people I hate, I can assure you, hate me back, it is totally a mutual-hatred thing – b., I’m about 99% sure none of the people I hate read my blog. Or, well, no, thinking about it, two of them might, because they might like to keep an eye on their enemy. But they don’t comment or anything. They just lurk. I’d poison-dart-frog blow-dart them through the blog if I could, but sadly, science has not yet made that a thing. And c., if I’ve spoken to you in any capacity in the last year or so, you’re not one of those people. Because, like I said, I’m trying very hard to pretend these people don’t exist, and it takes a good long time to go from “pretty annoying” to “ZOMG EFF OFF AND DIE.”)

I know there are ways you are supposed to forgive people who have harmed you. By like meditating or doing calming things like, I don’t know, breathing in and out in a nice way, not like panting or something, because that’d be off-putting. Or maybe whenever you have hate-thoughts, replacing them with friendly thoughts like “I sure did like her hair, right before she tore my heart out with her sharp stabby talons.” Or “I guess I remember those really good times before he did that thing that, in retrospect, he should have been locked up for, had I had the presence of mind to call the cops.”

If I tried this shit I'd fall ass-over-teakettle off that rock.

If I tried this shit I’d fall ass-over-teakettle off that rock.

I don’t care for meditation because it seems difficult and my brain’s just so damn busy I can’t imagine the amount of work it would take to turn it off, and calming breaths seem like some sort of wacky hoodoo. And the hatey thoughts always replace the past-friendly thoughts, if there were past-friendly thoughts for that person there to begin with.

As I said, I try very hard not to hate people. It’s pointless and it’s self-destructive and it makes me yell at my laptop if I come across them online. Naughty cusses are said. Sometimes creative ones, sticking together many cusses to make one very long cuss that probably has the power of all those cusses COMBINED. It’s like the Justice League of cusses.

I think the only solution here is, people, stop being hurtful towards me. Like, little hurts I can get over. (Or, sometimes big ones. My heart is surprisingly more rubbery than one would think, and I get more forgiving as I age. It’s a little-known fact of adulthood. It also upsets Dad. “STOP FORGIVING PEOPLE!” Dad shouts. “It’s like if someone stole from you, and then you invited them BACK into the HOUSE to steal from you AGAIN!” And I say, “Oh, Dad. You know I have nothing worth stealing except Dumbcat, and they’d just bring him back once he started leaping on their spleen at 2am and vomiting cat food on their good rug.” Dad doesn’t believe in forgiveness. Once you are dead to Dad, you are dead to him FOR! EV! ER! And there are many ways to be dead to Dad, from injuring him, to injuring his loved ones, to cutting him off in traffic that one time in 1971. I find that a very Christian attitude, don’t you?)

Or, I suppose, I could get a lobotomy.

Give me some wisdom, here, people. Are people dead to you forever? Can you just move on from things? Have you gotten a lobotomy and, if so, do you have a doctor you recommend? Did someone really, really piss you off one time and you can’t get over it? Or just tell me a story. It’s hot, and I’m feeling hatey, and I don’t feel I can be overly demanding.

Here is a song about hating people courtesy of my lovely blogging friend Alice. She makes me happy. So does this song.

And for added goodness, there’s this one, which makes me giggle because it’s just so damn upbeat.


Building up and being creative

“Now there is a final reason I think that Jesus says, ‘Love your enemies.’ It is this: that love has within it a redemptive power. And there is a power there that eventually transforms individuals. Just keep being friendly to that person. Just keep loving them, and they can’t stand it too long. Oh, they react in many ways in the beginning. They react with guilt feelings, and sometimes they’ll hate you a little more at that transition period, but just keep loving them. And by the power of your love they will break down under the load. That’s love, you see. It is redemptive, and this is why Jesus says love. There’s something about love that builds up and is creative. There is something about hate that tears down and is destructive. So love your enemies.” — Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

I really wasn’t going to talk about this latest shooting. I wasn’t. Coming as close on the heels as it did to the last one. Things have been depressing enough. Also, when I was waiting for one of my most recent job interviews, one of the major networks had their morning show on, and they kept reporting there had been a shooting at a “sick” temple. A sick temple! Not a Sikh temple. I mean, yeah, sure, it’s not a word maybe you say every DAY, but I’d think you might want to research how to pronounce it before you go on national television and rub salt in their wounds by pronouncing the name of their religion wrong over. And over. AND OVER. Seriously, it wasn’t just once. It was repeatedly. And it was MORTIFYING. (If I don’t get that job, I’m blaming the CBS morning show for throwing me off my game by mispronouncing an important word seconds before I had to go into an interview. Do you hear me? I WILL SUE YOU, CBS.)

(Update: per one of my commenters, apparently, it is SUPPOSED to be “sick,” and it’s my public school education and every OTHER network that had it wrong. My most abject apologies. And, well, you go, CBS News, for being the only network who was saying it correctly.)

Anyway, no. I wasn’t going to go into it. I really wasn’t. Because we’ve all had enough pain and misery and heartbreak. I don’t know what’s in the air or what’s been going on. Is it Mercury retrograde? Because that’s July 14 to August 8, and even though I don’t REALLY believe in that stuff…that’s just about when things started to go to shit in Amy-ville. If that’s the case, are things going to start looking up on Thursday? (Oh, for those of you who have no idea what this means – Mercury retrograde is an astrological term for when all the bad shit goes down. People start acting all haywirey; your brain feels all fritzy; the tiniest things make you INFURIATED…basically, it’s crazy-town in star-ville. If you believe in such things. Which I both do, and I don’t. I’m one of those people who’s eminently practical, except for when I’m not at all. I’m an enigma, what can I say.) Is it just a bad time overall for all my friends and loved ones and acquaintances and strangers and such? What the hell is happening? Maybe an alien released some sort of cloud of evil in the air, I have no idea. I just know most people I know are having a tough go of it right now, which is weird.

Damn you, you mercurial planet!

Anyway, then today I read this article. Sikh temple shooter hoped to inspire a wave of hate crimes. Apparently, the shooter was a white supremacist who played in a bunch of white power bands (that’s…a thing? I could happily have lived the rest of my days without knowing that “hatecore” was a thing) and he’s been online for years, encouraging other white supremacists to get out from behind their computers and go out into the real world and practice what they preached. And what do they preach? Again, something I’d be happy living the rest of my life not knowing: “We must secure the existence of our people and a future for white children.” These are apparently called “the 14 words” and are the core belief system of a hate group called The Order.

I know I live with my head in the sand like an ostrich most of the time, because it’s a happier, quieter, and less-hatey place to be. Sometimes I pop out of my safe sand-hole and see things like this, or movies like American History X, and back to my hidey-hole I go.

OK, yes, it was an amazing movie, but it made my stomach hurt, ok? I’m a delicate flower when it comes to violence like this.

This man not only killed 6 people (and wounded three others), but he apparently did it in the hope it was inspiring. That it would charge others to go forth and do the same thing. A lot of people were saying that he targeted the Sikhs because they look like Muslims, with their turbans, but now it’s looking like it was less of a religious thing and more of a color of their skin thing.

And I absolutely don’t get this. Not at all.

I guess, if forced to do so, I can, on some level, understand why some people, across the board, hate people of other religions. Because those people DARE imply, by believing in their God and individual belief system, that the religion of the person who is doing the hating is wrong. Also, it’s ingrained in us to dislike and mistrust what is different from us. Different = scary! And scary = bad! So, although I don’t agree with it, I can see where that’s coming from. Then add to that the fact that people assume ALL Muslims (and I guess, although I didn’t realize people didn’t know there was a difference, Sikhs) are responsible for ALL terrorism, and there’s that hatred, too. Again, don’t agree with it, but I see where the genesis is.

But I have never, and will never, get the “hating someone because they are a different skin color” thing. (Am I going to get a whole bunch of scary comments because of this? Don’t bother. I moderate and I’ll delete them. I’m not perpetrating your hate speech here.)

Apparently, they’re scared they’re stealing our jobs, and our women, and I don’t know, polluting our gene pool, or something? Well, shit, the gene pool over here before we got here was all Native American, what the hell did we do when we first showed up? We stole ALL the jobs (well, we created them, and the need for them, too, I suppose) and the women that we didn’t bring with us and we made a whole NEW gene pool. This wasn’t even a white country to START with! What the hell? It’s not like we’re preserving something that always was. What am I missing?

The people on this map look mighty not-white to me. Maybe I need a new eyeglass prescription?

And since when are they “our” jobs and “our” women and, well, hell, “our” country? Who died and left it to us just because we’re pigmentally challenged? I think the jobs should be going to the most-qualified and the women (not being property) should be choosing who they want to sleep with, or not sleep with (me, I’d sleep with, oh, I don’t know, THE PERSON IN THE EQUATION WHO ISN’T A TOWERING RACIST DOUCHECANOE) and as for the country…well, it’s here, you know? No one OWNS it. It’s not a barrette or a pair of flip-flops or a can of creamed corn. It’s a COUNTRY. We can SHARE it. We’re a friggin’ melting pot, we didn’t get that name because we were all the same damn COLOR and SHAPE and SIZE. What’s wrong with you people?

Also, and this is what bugs me the most, I think – it’s not like you’re born brown or black or white or yellow or pink and you’re immediately A DIFFERENT PERSON. We’re all the same under our skin. We all have the same things that drive us, even if we look different from the outside. We all want to be loved; we all want acceptance; we all love to laugh; we all want enough money to be comfortable; we all want happiness in our lives; we all fear pain and loss; we all have quirks and peccadilloes. We’re all people, dammit. I’ve said this before. I’ll say it again. We all have the same genetics. We just come in different packages. You can take the same exact product and put it in five different boxes and guess what? IT’S THE SAME PRODUCT. Why are you being fooled by packaging? You must be a shitload of fun to take grocery shopping. None of us are better than anyone else. None of us is superior, based on something as random as what color our skin is, based on genetics.  I’ve actually read that in the future (the far-off future, I don’t even remember how far off, but, far) this won’t even be an issue, because we’ll ALL be Star-Bellied Sneetches. We’ll all have cross-bred so much that we’ll all be a beautiful light-brown color, and no one will be able to claim “I AM BETTER THAN YOU KAPOW GENETICS!” because we’ll all be the SAME.

In the future, they will all have stars upon thars.

Anyway, back to topic. This guy wanted to generate a campaign of hate. He wanted people to look up to him and say, huh. Look at what THAT guy did. I could do that, too! What an inspiration! But here’s what I propose. A counter-measure.

Let’s fight that with a campaign of love.

Our campaign is easier to carry out. You don’t need to stockpile an arsenal. You don’t need to hide guns under your jacket, or buy bullet-proof clothing. You don’t end up dead at the end of our campaign, shot to death by the police protecting the citizenry.

In our campaign, our artillery is something you use every day: words. Words and deeds. Even better: they’re free, and there’s no waiting period or background check.

Be kind to people. Tell people you love them. Support someone who needs it. Instead of leaving a passive-aggressive comment on a blog or a Facebook post: choose to take the high road and don’t leave anything at all. Write a blog post encouraging love. Remember that everyone you meet is struggling with something, and even if it’s not the SAME something you’re struggling with, it’s equally as difficult for them as your things are for you. Don’t make their burden heavier than it already is. If you can? Take some of it on yourself. Everything is easier to carry if you share the load.

If you have money to donate, donate it to a charity that supports something you believe in that will further the cause: a kickstarter for a struggling artist. A fund to keep arts in the schools. A homeless shelter. A food bank. Teach your children that tolerance and love are the answers to things, not hatred and impatience. Use words that build up, not words that tear down. Smile more. Frown less. Laugh often. Be kind to yourself, because if you’re happy, it’s easier to let your love out for everyone else to enjoy it. Let everything you do, no matter how small, come from a place of love.

But Amy! Some people are very hard to love! Yep. See the quote at the beginning of the piece. I know they are. Sadly, those are the people that need us to beam the love onto them the most. I know, it’s tough.

But Amy! This sounds like crazy hippie-dippie kumbaya shit! Yep. I know. Can you think of a better fix? Because I can’t. They’re going to try to pump gallons of hatred all over the world. Can you think of a better way to combat that? I’m listening.

And if we all use our collective power to put all the love we’ve got into the world – well, maybe it doesn’t fix everything that’s wrong. I’m not that naive. But that much love out there, that much positive energy out there, you can’t tell me that’s a bad thing. We’ve already made a difference. And it’s a ripple effect, all that love. It dominoes. It goes from you, to the person you touched, to the person they touch, on and on and on. It doesn’t stop. I don’t remember a lot about physics, but I do remember the Law of Conservation of Energy. Energy might be able to change form, but it can’t be created or destroyed. We put that energy out there, all that love-energy, and it STAYS out there. It’s not GOING anywhere. And maybe along the way, it transforms some of the hate out there into love, who knows.

Don’t let the hate win. Don’t let the badness take over. We’re better than that. They might have their 14 words, but I propose we do, too:

All you need is love (all together now)
All you need is love (everybody)

Love you guys.


He was different, he wasn’t cool like me

The news has been very, very depressing lately. I KNOW, it’s ALWAYS depressing. But it’s more depressing than usual. Am I the only one that’s noticed this? I can’t be, right?

Even this pug wearing clothing is super-depressed.

OK, first, this whole thing about the bus monitor in Rochester that was bullied by middle school kids has me insane. INSANE. I tried to watch the video and I absolutely could not do it. I watched approximately a minute and a half and had to turn it off. Yes, yes. I know. The world stepped right up and donated her a ton and a half of money, because if there’s one thing people are good at, it’s throwing money at something that makes them sad to make themselves feel less sad. (Sorry. That’s rude. I’m sure people have the best of intentions.) So far, as of the writing of this post, the fundraiser to send her on a vacation has raised about $668,000. That’s a hell of a vacation. I’m not judging, and it’s not sour grapes, but there are a lot of people saying she “deserves” this money. Really? There are a lot of us who were bullied that much or more by children. Other teachers, even, according to my friend who teaches junior high. Do we also deserve that kind of payout? I don’t think anyone in the world deserves anything. I know, that’s kind of insanely conservative, coming from me, right? I’m a big fat enigma, what can I say. Is it nice that she’s gotten all these donations? Sure, it’s nice. Is it DESERVED? Debatable.

Whew! NOW my conscience is appeased!

That’s not the point. The point is, middle school. MIDDLE SCHOOL. Those children were, what, 12-14 years old? What the HELL are we teaching our young adults that they think it’s ok to verbally harass a senior citizen to the point of tears? Did you watch this? Did you all watch this? I think everyone’s watched this, right? I’d link to it but I don’t want to. I just don’t even want to. You know how I feel about bullying, you know that. I know how cruel children are to each other, of course I know that, but when did children stop having even a little bit of respect for an adult in authority? None at all? Really? I mean, sure, we were all kinds of eye-rolly at adults when we were children, sure we were, but we didn’t taunt adults to their faces until they cried. Is it the mob mentality? Like, these children weren’t really all that bad, but as a group they all just got meaner and meaner and meaner and spurred each other on? Or are they? Are children this bad now? My teacher-friend says they are. I don’t want to think they are. I can’t think that, I just can’t. Not without my head exploding.

See? THIS is how I want to imagine junior high kids. All shiny-happy-people. DAMMIT LET ME HAVE THIS.

I don’t know what the solution to this is. First, we didn’t have bus monitors when I was a kid. I asked my parents, and they said this is a thing now. Well, good. The buses were a NIGHTMARE when I was a kid. Just complete and utter chaos. Like, Lord of the Flies but the island was a moving motor vehicle. People were beaten, having sex in the back seats, things were thrown at each other, out of the windows, at the busdriver – and our bus was worse, because it had kindergarten through senior year on it, so you can’t tell me those little five-year-olds were safe with senior year hooligans around them. So, yeah, a bus monitor is a good idea. But apparently not in this case. What was HAPPENING on this bus? This shit kept happening? The busdriver didn’t stop it, or stop the bus? Did this woman report these kids? It’s obvious she wasn’t able to do her job as bus monitor. So were all the other kids she was supposed to be protecting unsafe, because she wasn’t even able to protect herself? I am kind of flummoxed by this entire situation. This couldn’t have been a one-time incident, right?

Look at this shit. This is what happens on the bus, don’t think otherwise. Buses are UTTER CHAOS. On WHEELS.

And listen, I was not an angel-child by any means. No no no. I was often quite cruel. Mostly because I was dealing with a lot of personal shit and I lashed out inappropriately. I don’t think it’s called PTSD when you’re currently experiencing the trauma. Current-traumatic stress disorder? I don’t know. Anyway, I’m just saying, whatever the reason, I wasn’t always nice. Far from it. I was often mean and sarcastic and bitter. Middle school kids are terrible. Just terrible. All those hormones? It’s lunacy.

SO MANY EMOTIONZZZ!!!!

The whole thing makes me nervous and upset. Do I think the kids deserve punishment? Hell yes. Everyone, no matter how old they are, needs to understand there are consequences for their actions, and that you can’t treat your fellow man in such a way. These kids grew up in a culture where anti-bullying was taught as part of the curriculum. According to the Greece School District Website, they teach using the Olweus Bullying Prevention Program.  (I have my doubts that these programs work, really, but they have to be better than not having a program at all, right?) It’s not like these kids don’t know what bullying is. Were they not aware that bullying an adult is the same thing as bullying a peer? Did they just not care? I know they’re minors, but I’d love to hear the kids’ side of this. What led them to do this? Were there thought processes involved, or was it just something that seemed fun at the time (like most things we do when we’re hormone-addled teens?)

I’m thinking about this too much, aren’t I? I do that with things like this. They upset me more than they should. Andreas wrote a very compelling post about compassion in the human race recently, but I don’t think it’s compassion that’s fueling my cyclical obsessive thoughts about this. It’s childhood trauma, and my need to know why. Why did this happen? What led to this happening? How can we stop it from happening again? Can we stop it from happening again?

And then, THEN, political shit has turned the country into lunatics. There is SO MUCH SHOUTING RIGHT NOW.

So, so much. And hating. And the Republicans are at war with the Democrats. WE HATE EACH OTHER SO MUCH. We can’t be friends. Because the Democrats are a bunch of dirty damn hippies who want the government to give them free…well…everything and also hate Merka and complain a lot and hate God and want us all to be vegetarians and also smoke all the legal weed, and the Republicans hate women and poor people and people of color and illegal immigrants and love guns a lot. So of course we can’t get along because we’re like cats and dogs or maybe oil and water and THERE IS SO MUCH SHOUTING. We seem to forget we’re all just people, and when we finish work, we go home, and we all worry about bills and our loved ones and we like to laugh and we sometimes cry and wear shoes, and we sleep, and we are sometimes loud and sometimes quiet and we’re all a little nuts. Nope. We’re not humans. We are DEMOCRATS or REPUBLICANS. Or, I suppose we can be something else, like Socialists or Green Party members or Independents or whatever, but no one takes those parties seriously. Probably because they aren’t shouty enough.

Listen, I love election season.

YIPPEE!

LOVE. I love that it gets all exciting, and that there are debates, and people get on television with charts and graphs and you try to guess who’s going to carry which states, and best of ALL you get to VOTE, which, listen, I love so much, I’ve mentioned that before, my insane love of all things voting-related. I love when the vice-presidential candidate(s) are announced. I love when these SCANDALOUS stories come out like “ZOMG BIRTH CERTIFICATE!?!1?!?” or “Romney was a total bully in high school” or “I can see Russia from my HOUSE” or whatever. Love. It all makes me very excited. I love how our political system works, even though it’s a little confusing even though I’ve totally studied and researched it and I’m quite intelligent. I love that we get a say in it. I love that there are PEOPLE whose JOB it is to decide what COLOR TIE a candidate should wear to best come across as compassionate or diplomatic or intelligent. I love it. All of it.

Listen, Merka. You are SUCKING THE JOY OUT OF MY ELECTION SEASON WITH THE SHOUTERY.

I don’t remember us hating each other this much four years ago. I really don’t. We all started hating each other this much since Obama became president? I’m confused by this. He really doesn’t seem to be doing that bad of a job. I mean, were you all asleep during Dubya’s presidency? The mess Obama stepped into when he entered the White House – I mean, I think if it was me, I would have just put my head down in the Oval Office and wept for like a month. It’s like everyone forgot the Dubya years. I didn’t. I didn’t forget them at all. At least now I don’t have to apologize for the president when speaking to people who aren’t American. I did that a lot during the Dubya years. There was a lot of “yeah, I KNOW, it’s so EMBARRASSING, what can you DO” coming from me for 8 years. A LOT. I haven’t had to say that once in the past four years. Mostly because I’m not embarrassed of Obama. He doesn’t make embarrassing gaffes or stand under big old “MISSON ACCOMPLISHED” signs when the mission wasn’t even accomplished or stare off into space for seven minutes while reading My Pet Goat while his country is under terrorist attack.

This just makes me sad.

Obama’s intelligent. Have you heard the guy talk? He’s intelligent, and he’s personable, and he’s got a sense of humor that’s more New Yorker than frathouse shenanigans. He doesn’t give his staff members nicknames like “Boner” and “Hillbilly Frank.” Is that the problem? Do people resent him because they think he’s smarter than they are? Don’t we WANT a President that’s smarter than we are? I know I sure as hell do. I want the person with his (or her, dammit, her, HER BEFORE I DIE PLEASE) finger on the button to be smarter than I am, and not think kegstands and/or red Solo cups are a good way to spend a Friday night WHEN YOU ARE IN YOUR FIFTIES.

Do you WANT someone like this running your country? I mean, maybe you do. I don’t know your life. But I’m going to hope not.

We’re talking politics. Sorry. SORRY. I know, I try not to do that here.

All I’m saying is, can we stop with the shoutery and the hating? Please? I know. It’s a lot easier to hate someone than it is to put yourself in their shoes for a few minutes and think, huh, if you put aside the politics, we’re just all people. Or if you stop bullying for a minute and look, that person is being injured by what I’m doing, and how would I like it if someone did that to me? Or if (and the kids who did this in Rochester are getting some of this now) people I love saw what I was doing, would they be proud of me right now? What if someone was doing this to my mom? My sister? My grandmother? Would I allow this to continue?

If we all just try to realize that every single person in the world is just that – a person – and trying to do their best, even when they’re being an INSUFFERABLE ASSHOLE – maybe we could just be a little nicer. And then I wouldn’t have to avoid watching the news or clicking on links or talking to my dad about anything but the weather. I need more happy “look, this guy rescued a dog for no reason other than he was a nice man” and less “another kid killed himself because he was bullied into thinking he was worthless” stories. Can we work on that? Any chance? Thanks so much, so appreciated.

This entire photoset is worth seeing. It’ll lighten your day. I almost promise it. Click. What can it hurt?

You know, we really are capable of such amazing things. Why are we wasting our voices and energy on shouting and tearing down when we could be singing and building up?


“Truly, I am a marionette and he is a master puppeteer.”

Today we have to discuss something VERY SERIOUS. That affects ALL OF US. Are you ready? Are you ready for something very serious that affects all of us? 

What is it, Amy? What affects all of us? 

Bad porn, is what. 

Listen, I just finished reading Fifty Shades of Grey, and people who purchased this and are reading this and are all het up about this, we need to have a discussion about why this is a VERY BIG MISTAKE ON YOUR PART. 

I’m not giving you the Amazon link to this because I DO NOT THINK YOU SHOULD BUY OR READ THIS.

Now, I am not a porn connoisseur. I couldn’t honestly care less about porn. I know it exists. As long as it’s not being waggled in children’s faces or the cause of crime against women or whatever, porn, you keep on keeping on. Everything has its place. Even porn. I’m a firm (heh, firm) believer that everyone has their kink, as as long as no one gets hurt, you do your thing. 

However, there’s PORN, then there’s Fifty Shades of Grey. 

Oh, don’t even get all technical with me and say it’s erotica, or even literotica. What it is, my little cauliflower florets, is one of the worst books I’ve ever read in my entire life. And I have read a LOT of books. A LOT a lot. 

First, can I just explain, please, why I read this book. It was on the cover of Entertainment Weekly and I didn’t even read the article and I was like, huh, must be interesting or something, and I put it on reserve at the library. Then I heard it was getting banned all over and I thought, well, NOW we KNOW it must be interesting! If someone tells me I’m not ALLOWED to read something, then I REALLY want to read it. Then people started telling me what it was about, and I thought, huh. Well, who cares, I don’t mind erotica. I read all of those stupid Ann Rice Sleeping Beauty books. Those were pretty steamy. 

Oh, in case you live under a rock or maybe in the outback or something, Fifty Shades of Grey is about two people in a consensual BDSM relationship. Plus some other stuff. We’ll go more into that later. Also, do I have to tell you that a., there are going to be spoilers here, and b., WE’RE TALKING ABOUT SEX STUFF TODAY? So kids, go watch a Disney movie, or something, and people who want to remain unspoiled for the book (I think most anyone who wanted to read it have by now, though) you can go read my archives or something, I suppose. 

See? Nice. Go watch this, kiddos. Don’t keep reading, you’ll get a complex.

Moving on. I was not at all comfortable with the older women in my office who decided to have a conversation about it with me in the lunchroom before I’d even read it, though. I’m not friends with these people. I DON’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT SEX WITH YOU.

OIder lady 1: Amy, you like to read. Have you read Fifty Shades of Grey?
Me: Nope.
Older lady 1: You should. It’s about…(whispers) SEX.
Me: I’ve heard. I have it on reserve at the library. I’ll read it someday.
Older lady 1: All KINDS of sex. KINKY sex.
Me: Mmm-hmm. (Frantically reading book, eating sandwich, trying to look busy so the conversation would stop)
Older lady 1: SO MUCH SEX. I was wondering, where’s the plot? Because there was SO MUCH KINKY SEX. People were TYING PEOPLE UP!
Me: Oh? Huh. (Reading! Eating! READING!)
Older lady 2, walking in: Hey, ladies! What are we talking about?
Older lady 1: Fifty Shades of Grey! It’s a book about ALL THE SEX!
Older lady 2: Oh! Wow! (sits, settles in for a long discussion)
Me: I…um…have to get a thing from the place. (leaves in a hurry) 

(SIDE NOTE: I don’t MIND discussing sex, just not with women old enough to be my mom that I don’t know very well and don’t like all that much. And not in the work lunchroom. That seems unsanitary. That’s where the FOOD is.) 

OK. So. Fifty Shades of Grey. Why’s it so bad, Amy? Is it the sex? No. The sex is fine. Is it the subject matter? Nope, like I said, whatever, there’s a place for porn (or erotica, or literotica, whatever) and great, good, you go, book, you go. 

Here’s the problem. 

IT IS ONE OF THE MOST POORLY-WRITTEN THINGS I HAVE EVER READ. 

Here’s a quick rundown. Anastasia Steele, a very, very clumsy girl about to graduate college, is roped into interviewing Christian Grey, a very rich businessman. They dig each other. They get together. He’s into being a dominant! He wants her to be his submissive! He has ISSUES! In his own words, he is “fifty shades of fucked up!” Plus, his last name is GREY! HENCE THE TITLE YO! 

Will these two crazy kids make it work? Oh, will they? I CAN’T WAIT TO FIND OUT! Oh, wait, yes. Yes, I can. I can wait. I can SO WAIT. I can wait FOREVER. 

I assure you this single photo is a billion times sexier than the entire series. And I didn’t even read books two and three.

So I got the book from the library. I was a little worried it would be sticky. You don’t know what people do with library books that are NORMAL, I don’t want to know what they do with PORN. 

I read about thirty pages and was in tears of laughter about how badly it was written. I scared the cat. I was talking to the damn book. OUT LOUD. 

First, I was only a little way in before I said, “Huh. What’s going on here? Ana seems a lot like Bella from Twilight, with the self-doubt and the clumsiness. Is clumsiness the new black? If so, I am on the CUTTING EDGE OF COOL since I fall down ALL THE DAMN TIME. Where’s my knight in shining armor, I wonder?”

Oh my NOOO! Look at poor clumsy helpless BELLA! (Man, did I hope this truck was going to hit her. It didn’t. I had sadface.)

Then someone on Twitter pointed out that the book started as Twilight fan fiction, and the Twi-hards were all, “Um…naughty! But titillating!” so the author just changed the names and published it. 

Listen, had I known that, I would NOT have read this book. I hate Twilight. HATE. With the fire of a thousand suns HATE. 

Also, it says something that even Stephenie Meyer was all, “Um…yeah. No. No, this isn’t…good for her, but…no.” 

So even though it was the worst book ever, based on one of my least-favorite series ever, I kept reading. Why? To be honest, I wanted to blog about it. It’s the main reason I do anything hilariously awful lately. 

Here are some (and there are many) issues I have with this book. 

Argh 

One of the only times that “argh” is permissible. Plus, it’s Joss, he can do whatever he wants.

At least twice that I counted, in the middle of some very “hot” sex (the sarcastic quotes are because there’s nothing hot about the sex Ana and Christian had, ever, except, I suppose, the temperature when they were having it in a bathtub) Ana made the noise “argh.” Now, I’m pretty sure if you make the noise “argh,” you are a., a pirate, b., tripped over an ottoman, c., foiled again, curses, d. doing the Mutant Enemy Joss Whedon credits and saying “grr, argh.” You’re not in the throes of passion. (She also made the noise “Aaaaah!” and “Aaaaagh.”) An easy fix? “Ana moaned.” See? See how much more sexy that is? NO ONE WOULD SAY ARGH DURING SEX. If I was having sex with a guy and he broke out the “argh” I would laugh so hard one of us would roll off the bed, I’m not even kidding. Oh, you want an example? HAPPY TO OBLIGE. Let’s take this. The Bloggess had her laptop stolen. So she wrote a post entitled Aaaaaaargh. THIS IS AN APPROPRIATE USE OF ARGH. Not during SEX. Not during something you’re ENJOYING. (Well, I guess unless you have a charley horse. Not that this has ever happened to me. OK FINE ONCE IN COLLEGE. And it was the WORST. Talk about something that took me by surprise. GOOD GRAVY.) I don’t take a bite of cereal in the morning and go “ARGH!” unless  the milk’s gone bad. Who does this? The answer is no one. No one does this.

Euphemism 

Oh, I’m pretty sure this was utilized in the writing of this book.

I’m not saying I needed a clinical textbook or anything, but the only body part that was referred to by its proper name (I’m of course referring to our swimsuit area body parts, don’t be ridiculous, of course she said “arms and legs” or whatever) were breasts. Everything else was all “throbbing member” and “the juncture of my thighs” and “the place where he was both velvety and hard, what a titillating combo” and “my warm and wet place.” ZEE OH EMM GEE. Here, look what you can do in print without the world exploding, ready? Penis. Vagina. Clitoris. WHAT WILL HAPPEN WHAT WILL HAPPEN? Nothing, is what. I’m not saying porn would be hotter with “he then inserted his penis into my vagina” – that sounds a little too much like a sexual how-to pamphlet in hell – but it’s amazing to me that you can make it through an entire 514-page book riding on a boat made of euphemism. They’re just words. I mean, you had these people whipping and chaining and such, and you’re quailing at the use of “vagina?” Please. 

Britishisms 

Yep, this about sums it up.

Ana made a big deal about being country mouse and never having left the continental United States. Christian was well-traveled, but grew up and lived (as did Ana) in Seattle. However, for some reason, the two of them said things – constantly – like “have a tidy-up” and “well-remembered, you” and “well played.” Hmm. Why would Seattle denizens speak thus? OH. BECAUSE THE AUTHOR IS BRITISH. I really got the feeling the closest she’d ever been to MERKA was to watch a couple episodes of Dallas one time. If that. Maybe.

GIGANTIC THESAURUS WORDS 

No one thought: they pondered. No one was interested: they were titillated. No one was wordy: they were verbose. No one was moody: they were sullen. This woman never met a three-dollar word she didn’t just love, she rode until it was all up in a lather and then she, for good measure, beat it into the ground while cackling like a crazy. Oh, sorry, like a banshee. Or an utter lunatic. Or an institutionalized harpy. I KNOW BIG WORDS TOO. And I know there’s a time to use them. It’s not always in your bad porn. We still know it’s bad porn, lady. 

“inner goddess”/inner monologue 

Mine likes to wear pajamas and loaf. A lot of loafing.

Listen, Ana was annoying. The MOST annoying. The whole book, unfortunately, was from her point of view. We constantly had to listen to her inner monologue. And at least once on a page, you had to hear what her “inner goddess” was thinking. “My inner goddess was doing cartwheels.” “My inner goddess was hiding behind the couch.” “My inner goddess was doing a sultry samba.” WHO TALKS LIKE THIS. I don’t have an inner goddess. If I did, you’d get “Amy’s inner goddess is eating Ben & Jerry’s Phish Food out of the container on a couch covered in cat hair while watching Celebrity Rehab.” 

I think everyone was schizophrenic 

Yes, I realize Jack wasn’t a schizophrenic in this movie, but I love this picture so much. Let me have it. I just read a really awful book for you. Thanks.

I know. People are unpredictable and wild! That’s nice. It is. Thing is? People aren’t. Not really. Sure, people do things that are out of character. But these things usually point toward something being wrong with them. How many times has a friend of yours done something weird, and you’ve said to a mutual friend, “That’s unlike Frank/Francine. I hope everything’s ok with him/her.” Probably you have. I know I have. People are, for the most part, a predictable species. NOT IN THIS BOOK BUCKAROO. People say one thing and do another! People say they want to be beaten with a belt, then get mad at their boyfriend for actually going through with it! People say they don’t want a relationship and then two pages later say, “All I can think about is being in a relationship with you because I love you now!” I can’t take anything seriously when it’s this all over the board, I really can’t. 

Stilted writing of unnecessary scenes 

Pretty sure we’d find this in the author’s house. Only with glitter stickers on it. Of hearts and shit.

There were page-long descriptions of “I decided I might be hungry. But what might I be hungry for? Maybe an omelette. I don’t know. Was I in the mood for an omelette? My inner goddess wanted some fruit. I decided to make some pancakes. I didn’t know where the bowls were. I looked in the cabinets. I found the bowls. I put the bowls on the counter.” ZOMG IF I WANTED A BLOW-BY-BLOW I’D VIDEOTAPE ME MAKING DINNER. I don’t care. I don’t CARE! There’s an old rule of thumb – if it doesn’t further the story, you don’t need it. Apparently, E. L. James was too busy masturbating to thoughts of Edward Cullen to read any “how to write something that doesn’t suck” manuals. Sorry. Was that totally the grossest and all the TMI? Wait until I get to my next section. 

The sex isn’t at all sexy 

I’m fairly sure this isn’t the face I was supposed to be making when reading the sex scenes. Yet it was pretty much my reaction.

There’s a lot of sex. Don’t get me wrong. A LOT OF IT. Like, every few pages, someone’s getting a throbbing member thrust into a wet and warm place. But it’s not sexy. From the time Ana loses her virginity (the pain of which? “a slight pinch” – um, ok, good for you, darling, not how I remember it, but fine) to the most DISTURBING TAMPON SCENE YOU CAN EVEN IMAGINE (I’m not even going to go into it, but watch this totally amusing fake YouTube book trailer if you want a hint, a gross, gross hint) to the BDSM scenes, which I suppose would be sexy, if I didn’t hate both Ana and Christian so much I wanted him to accidentally choke her out, have to bury her in the backyard, and then get caught and locked up for life, you get all the non-sexy sex you could desire. With a lot of “my inner goddess swooned” interspersed. Oh, and she never has an orgasm. Instead, she “shatters into a million pieces and slowly puts herself back together.” EVERY DAMN TIME. That’s another word the author is afraid of. Orgasm. ORGASM IS A DIRTY WORD YOU GUYS. Nipple clamps and fisting are on the table (heh, on the table) but not orgasm. (I just checked, and yes, she does say it once and a while. I apologize. Not OFTEN, but apparently it’s not the naughty word that penis is. My fault. So sorry.) 

Also, there was a lot of “he pulled at my nipples until they elongated.” As in, more than once. In multiple sex scenes. Um. OUCH OUCH OUCH. THAT’S NOT WHAT THEY’RE FOR. They are not Silly Putty. You cannot transfer the comics onto them. THERE ARE NERVE ENDINGS IN THERE. 

I wanted to punch every single character in the neck three times a page 

Ana was a useless waste of space who went into the relationship expecting this guy to change even though he told her exactly what he was looking for (granted, he acted like a schizophrenic with the changing of his mind, so maybe that’s why she was fooled.) She also fell down a lot and ran into things and almost got hit by a bike. Christian was a control freak who was sexually abused as a teenager and most likely abused as a child (that was hinted at but not explained. YET.) Ana’s mom talked like a pre-teen. Ana’s friends were either controlling bitches or would-be rapists. And that’s pretty much everyone in the entire book. There’s no one to root for. NO ONE. 

No one talks like this, NO ONE 

…and here’s another reference book she used. Used WRONG.

People say things like “WHOO all this UST in the room!” and then I have to look up what “UST” is and it’s unresolved sexual tension. WHO THE HELL TALKS LIKE THIS NO ONE NO ONE. Or, how about Christian’s brother’s term of endearment and goodbye to his girlfriend, which Ana and Christian adopt as their own: “Laters, baby.” LATERS, BABY? Oh, no. Oh, my, no. Also, there’s a lot of “I bit my lip” and then Christian goes BATSHIT CRAZY all “Don’t DO that, you KNOW how that affects me, I WANT TO BE THE ONE BITING YOUR LIP.” What the actual hell? And the title? The title of this post? Direct quote from the book. THAT IS SOMETHING ANA SAYS TO HERSELF DURING SEX. You know, because when you’re in the middle of all the sex, you think of a sentence as clunky as that. Or, OR, when Ana and her overbearing roommate and BFF (why? who knows, Ana’s a douchenozzle) were talking about how Ana lost her flower to Christian: “Kate looks wistful. ‘Yeah, took almost a year to have my first orgasm through penetrative sex, and here you are…first time?’”If my BFF said “penetrative sex” to me, I think I would throw something at him, possibly the television remote, and then laugh until I had a choking fit. Who says “penetrative sex” in a casual conversation? That’s the kind of thing someone says in a safe-sex talk at the local Planned Parenthood, or something. Not two BFFs sitting around shooting the shit. I feel like this author was raised by wolves. Wolves with nothing to read but thesauruses. 

THERE ARE TWO MORE OF THESE 

Why. Why. WHY.

The book ended on a CLIFFHANGER ZOMG (let’s be honest, I didn’t give a shit) and there are TWO MORE OF THEM. Fifty Shades of Greyer and Fifty Shades of Suck My Soul Out Through my Nose if I Have To Read Any More of This Shit. NO THOSE AREN’T THE REAL TITLES. Am I going to read them? No. No I’m not. Life’s too short. I assume, with no prior knowledge, that most likely Ana and Christian end up happily ever after, with her accepting his lifestyle as her own, with some modifications, or something like that. It’s not like this woman can write or come up with anything original. OOH! Maybe someone has a magic sparkle baby like in Twilight! That’d make me want to read more!* (*no it wouldn’t) 

Now, listen. I’m not completely against this book, for two reasons. Two. And only two. And to show you that I can be UNBIASED, I will share them with you. 

The power of viral marketing 

This woman published these with a tiny e-pub house in Australia, and with the power of viral marketing and word-of-mouth, they’re topping the bestseller lists. That makes me want to vomit until I’m sore, but that’s not the point. The point is, whoever’s marketing her books is doing one hell of a job. Or just people talking did this, I don’t know. Whoever it is, or a combination of both? Kudos. These terribly written pieces of trash are the it thing. Undeservedly so, but they are. And that’s impressive. Now let’s use our powers for good and get some GOOD books on the bestseller list, what do you say? 

Getting women to talk about sex more openly 

I know I was all ew ew ew earlier about the ladies in my lunchroom (and I’m still ew ew ew, that hasn’t changed) but I don’t think there’s anything wrong with women feeling like they can openly discuss sex. If this terrible book makes them feel like they can do that? Well, fine, then it has served one purpose, and now we can use it to prop up the short leg on the coffee table. Seriously, sex isn’t dirty. There’s a time and a place for it (and if you’re a stranger and you think we’re going to talk about it on Twitter, hit the road, I’M TALKING TO YOU DING DONG JOE) but sure, it’s not something women should be ashamed of talking about. Men talk about it all the time. Women should feel free to do so, as well. So, yeah. Just – there are better books, sexier books, that you can read. You know that, right? OK, good. Just checking. Go read those. Because I don’t know about you, but I find it hard to slip into a sexy frame of mind when the writing is so bad in a book it makes me laugh until I’m crying, you know? 

Goodreads really needs an option for .00001 stars, because giving this one star really didn’t give me the satisfaction I wanted. 

For additional awesome, please to visit this Tumblr, which has provided me with hours of entertainment.  

My inner goddess is hungry now and I think I need a sandwich or maybe some wasabi peas. Laters, baby.


Show me that smile again; don’t waste another minute on your homophobia.

OK, we’re talking about celebrity shenanigans today, so buckle up, kiddos. I don’t want to get pulled over, seriously, cops get really mad about not having your children in carseats. Remember when Brit-Brit was all “That’s how we DO it! We’re COUNTRY!” when she was driving around with her kid on her lap and got pulled over? SO PUT ON YOUR SEATBELTS. I can’t afford a ticket right now.

Oh, I didn’t do my daily “how’s Amy’s sanity” check-in. Let’s do that. Amy’s sanity is…somewhat intact? Four more days of work. The end is in sight! Sort of! People are getting testy testy TESTY over there. Whoo! However, I have yet to bathroom-weep, even though they stole my Twitter. I’m kind of irrationally proud of that. Which means that probably tomorrow, there will be bathroom-weeping, but that’s the way it goes, I suppose.

So, yeah, it’s going. People who do such things, if you are so inclined, please continue to send me adorably supportive and/or sarcastically bitter emails, which make me laugh and feel like I’m in a warm bubble bath of love. Thanks ever so.

Anyway, so today, let’s talk about celebrities and the shenanigans they’re currently causing. What’s that? Do I think I’m TMZ? Who cares? Oh, no one, probably, and no, I don’t think I’m TMZ, at least not the last time I checked. But I’m currently incapable of thinking too deeply, and when I want to turn off my brain: CELEBRITY NEWS.

First: Oh, WTF, Courtney Love. DUBYA TEE EFF.

This is how I like to remember her. All adorable loud Riot Grrrl. This was my favorite iteration of Courtney.

OK, so I know, I KNOW, that Courtney Love is a hot mess. I know that. I KNOW. I am not unintelligent. However, here’s the scoop.

I’ve mentioned this before, but I love, and will always love, Courtney Love. Even when she’s being an utter looney and doing horrible things and being destructive and hateful and crazy heaped on top of crazy topped with a cherry of crazy.

In one of the darkest times of my life, Hole was the soundtrack. And Hole, say what you will, helped me keep it together. And, even though she’s got major issues, I feel a kinship to Courtney Love. I’m not saying I think we could be BFFs and hang out and yell at hairdressers together or whatever, but I just feel BAD for her. She’s SO MESSED UP. There’s drugs and a dead husband and her own daughter doesn’t seem to want anything to do with her and mental issues and she doesn’t ever seem to get any help, or if she does, it doesn’t seem to take, does it?

Anyway, her latest thing (ugh, SIGH, Courtney) is that she went on Twitter (AGAIN) and ranted and raved that Dave Grohl was hitting on Frances Bean, and she wanted to shoot him, and that he was in love with Kurt the whole time. And it was, as always, typo-ridden and just over-the-top-weird.

And Frances Bean responded with a very adult, “Um, that never happened, Twitter should ban my mom.” Only, she said, “While I’m generally silent on the affairs of my biological mother, her recent tirade has taken a gross turn.” Her BIOLOGICAL mother. Ugh. OUCH. Seriously, say what you want, but Courtney did seem to, to the best of her abilities, love her daughter. Who has completely cut her off, apparently. This is heartbreaking.

Also, have we SEEN Frances Bean lately? GORGEOUS, you guys. Utterly stunning.

Anyway. I don’t know what the solution here is, honestly. I mean, it’s not up to me to solve the world’s problems, so who cares if I have a solution. I’m not Dr. Phil. But this is just the saddest. And I’m pretty sure one of these days we’re going to hear that Courtney Love is dead, you know? It’s surprising it hasn’t happened yet. And it will make me really sad. Listen, I’m not saying my heart is intelligent? Quite the opposite. It’s very, very stupid. But I have a Courtney Love thing. You know how I’m relentlessly loyal to my people? Courtney Love is my people. Sorry if that is an embarrassment. But my heart hurts for her. She’s like that kooky cousin you kind of shake your head over, but you still love. And she helped get me through a bad time. So, yeah. I’ll always love her. And worry about her. A lot.

On to similarly upsetting topics.

KIRK EFFING CAMERON.

OK, so you know Kirk Cameron, right? Growing Pains. Mike Seaver. Best friend named Boner. Always getting into kooky jams and scrapes, but always learning important lessons. About LIFE.

SO SEXY, right? I mean, the muscle shirt, and the red pants, and the feathery hair? That jacket won't even STAY on those intensely muscled arms. TOO SEXY NO NO NO.

Well! Let’s play “where are they now,” shall we?

So the Kirk Cameron you see above, with the pants of redness and the jacket that is just TOO COOL to be worn, just all slung CASUALLY over his shoulder all sexy-like, has turned into this:

Also, that's a lot of forehead, Captain Homophobe.Guess there's no feathering that hair now, yeah?

Kirk Cameron became a born-again Christian. Now, I have nothing against born-again Christians, per se. As long as they aren’t loud. And hatey. But Cameron? He’s the loudest of the loud and the hatiest of the hatey.

On Piers Morgan in early March, Kirk Cameron “explained that he believes homosexuality is ‘unnatural… I think that it’s detrimental, and ultimately destructive to so many of the foundations of civilization.'”

Because, you know, there’s no one who knows the mind of God more than a born-again Christian self-righteous asshat. AND, the mind of God is apparently FILLED WITH HATRED AND JUDGERY.

Also, he has this website where you can learn about things like:

  • His super-good movies, where he refuses to kiss on-screen, because that’s breaking his marriage vows! Apparently, everything he does on screen is for REALSIES, you guys. Also, you can learn about his role in those Left Behind movies that my mom used to be obsessed with and that gave me the willies. Because if I end up left behind with judgey assholes like the Kirkster, I’m going to hitch a ride with one of the four horsemen right out of Dodge, no joke.
  • His ministry, where you can “break out of your comfort zone and share the everlasting gospel with atheists, agnostics, cult members, and family members – it is more of a thrill than bull-riding or sky-diving!”
  • How his words were TWISTED by the EVIL PIERS MORGAN! Who is probably AN INSTRUMENT OF THE DEVIL! And how he regrets NONE OF WHAT HE SAID! However, no one should mistreat the gays or the bisexuals. They should just say things like how unnatural they are. That’s not “mistreating” them. That’s just “professing his faith.” (I don’t know where he stands on transgender folk. HOW WILL I SLEEP TONIGHT KIRK.)
  • How he’s doing some sort of tent-revival about how to save your marriage! WON’T THAT BE A HOOT!
  • A video where Anderson Cooper interviews Kirk Cameron about what he thinks about that time all those birds died! (Spoiler alert: Kirk Cameron thinks the gays did it with their gay thought-beams of gayness. JUST KIDDING. He has no idea. Because he is NOT A SCIENTIST. Also, Anderson Cooper looked disgusted throughout this interview. Smart man, that Anderson Cooper.)
  • He has six kids. Has he mentioned? Six. Hey, he has six kids. Can he mention it again? SIX KIDS. (It’s because he doesn’t believe in birth control. You know. Because of JESUS.)

Alright, let’s just get this out of the way right now: Kirk Cameron, I never thought you were hot. I always thought you had an oddly-shaped head, and I’ve never been able to trust a man who uses that much product in his hair. I was all about Sean Astin when I was young. Sean Astin and Ralph Macchio. I know, looking back, these are also not the smartest choices, but at least they haven’t turned out to be hatemongering douchemonsters.

If you were a true Christian, you would not go around furthering an agenda of hate. You would love everyone. You say you’re just going by the Bible. Right? OK, I can play that game, too. I taught churchschool, Poindexter. I know my Bible. How about this: John 13:34-35, New International Version (NIV): 34 “A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. 35 By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.”

Are we ignoring this one for the “NO GAYS NO GAYS” one? Because I think, were Jesus here standing in front of us right now, and were given the Sophie’s choice of “Hey, Jesus, you get to pick one of these edicts, but ONLY ONE, so choose wisely: a., ALL GAYS ARE EVIL BAD EVIL BAD FOREVER EW EW EW, or b., As I have loved you, so you must love one another. So, which’ll it be, Jesus old buddy old pal?” I’m pretty sure you and I BOTH know, Cameron, which one he’d choose. Right? And it wouldn’t be the one you’re spouting hate about all around the town. I think Jesus leaned a little more toward the love and a little less toward the judgey hate. Also, now, correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t there a “Let he who is without sin among you be the first to cast a stone?” in the Bible? I’m pretty sure there was. And I think we all know the outcome. NO ONE WAS WITHOUT SIN. Including you, Cameron. INCLUDING YOU. I mean, your crimes against fashion in the 80s ALONE are enough to condemn you to at LEAST a few eternities in one of the minor circles of Hell once you perish, I think we can all agree?

Anyway, I’ve decided there’s more than a little a “methinks the lady doth protest too much” going on here, especially once this study came out the other day: Study Finds Homophobes Often Have Repressed Homosexual Tendencies.

I mean, I kind of always KNEW this? But I love that science backed it up, finally. I’m not going to recap this. It’s totally worth the click. It’s not going to give you a virus. But here’s a teaser sentence: “the study shows homophobia as a defensive response to suppressed feelings.” So the next time you come across a violent homophobe and you think, hmm, why so homophobic? Yeah. There’s probably something more going on there. Like you always suspected. You can smile to yourself, a smile of knowing all the knowledge. Science backs you up.

In happier news, Cameron’s Growing Pains co-stars do NOT stand behind his rant. They were solidly “no no no” about it when it came out. So apparently he did not learn ANYTHING from the Seavers, and there needs to be a Very Special Reunion Episode of Growing Pains where they have an intervention and Mike comes out of the closet and all the Seavers nod knowingly and say, “Gah, FINALLY, Mike!”

Also, in related news, this happened today, and it made me insanely happy. But, since Funny or Die and WordPress apparently are mortal enemies, I can’t embed it, even though I’ve tried for like twenty minutes and I’m close to tears. So you have to click. It’s funny, I promise. Even though I’m so mad at it right now I could throw a ninja star at it.

OK. It’s late, I’m tired, I’m cranky as hell, and I want to try to get some sleep that’s not interrupted by panic attacks, what do you say?

Happy Friday, all. Love your faces. Four more days, four more days.


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