This Night

This night I don’t have much to say. I did my exercise this morning, as I have been all week; I took my dogs for a long walk, as I’ve been doing since school got out. We went and got the keys to our new rental today, and I got to see the place where I’ll be living for the next year for the very first time (We looked at a model, but we hadn’t seen our actual place before now.). Then we had friends over for dinner.

So everything was lovely today. And everything was also very hard. The walk was fun, but my dogs can be frustrating; they walk very independently, so since I have one leash on each arm, I get pulled in a lot of strange directions all at once; they’re also very bad about keeping their noses out of bushes or especially holes in the ground: and since we live in the desert, bushes and holes in the ground are where the snakes are. I saw a four-foot rattlesnake today — though fortunately not when my dogs were there. So I have to be on high alert. Riding my bike for exercise was fun, but also very tiring; going to the new house was a bit nerve-wracking, and seeing it was both exciting and disappointing, because it’s nice, but it’s small. That’s the point, we’re downsizing, and it’s a good thing because we have more space than we need, which means we should have less space; but it’s hard to accept that and be happy about it. It’s like eating less food and realizing you don’t actually need to eat as much as you have been: it feels good to eat healthy, but also, you miss being able to eat seconds and thirds just because you could, and maybe you miss that feeling of being that full. Even if it’s not healthy. We don’t need all the space we have, but — it’s still nice to have all that space. Seeing friends for dinner was great — but getting everything for dinner, and then making dinner, and getting everything ready for guests in the house, was exhausting.

Today was a lot of work.

It was worth it, every minute of it; but it was a lot of work.

Forgive me for not having more energy to say something of value here.

I’ll try again tomorrow.

This Morning

This morning I didn’t want to do this. I didn’t want to do it yesterday, either, but that’s when I knew that I had to.

I don’t want to write about abortion any more. I already said everything I wanted to say, as well as I could; it was exhausting and depressing — though happily, I got a positive response from the post, for which I’m grateful (though that also tells me that I was mainly preaching to the choir, which is expected, but unfortunate) — and even though I said in it that I would try to present an emotional argument to complement the logical argument I was aiming at, I just couldn’t make myself do it. Not least because I don’t want to exhaust people who read this blog with post after post of difficult, tiring, angst-inflicting subject matter like abortion.

But I have to do this. Because Clarence goddamn Thomas is on the Supreme Court of this country, and therefore has a platform for his bullshit that I can never match: and it is exactly that reason, that imbalance in our respective influence and reach, that means I have to throw myself at his mighty marble pedestal of bullshit, and try to knock off a chip or two.

Let’s start with this: Thomas shouldn’t be on the Court in the first place. He was underqualified, having spent only two years as a federal judge when he was nominated by President Bush in 1991 — not a disqualifying fact, of course, but certainly not in the “Pro” column. And then Anita Hill stood up. The accusations brought against Thomas by Hill during his confirmation were supposedly nothing but “He said/she said” claims. The same sort of thing that Brett Kavanaugh also recently stamped past, waving his chubby fists angrily in the air,  winking at the other bro-type fellers who we all knew would be frowning seriously for a full thirty minutes before they voted to confirm him (As an aside, there’s a remarkable quote from the article about the Hill/Thomas hearings which I will be referring to in a moment: ‘When apprised of Hill’s accusations, Senator Howard Metzenbaum, the Ohio Democrat, said, “If that’s sexual harassment, half the senators on Capitol Hill could be accused.”‘ The idea that it couldn’t possibly be considered sexual harassment because all kinds of rich powerful white fucksticks are guilty of it is really a stunning position to take on, well, anything.). Except in the case of Hill and Thomas, they weren’t just a “He said/she said” set of accusations:

For viewers at home, it looked like a typical he-said, she-said sexual-harassment case, in which it was nearly impossible to determine who was in the right. Believing Hill required believing that a federal judge on the verge of Supreme Court confirmation would perjure himself; believing Thomas required believing that Hill would have fabricated vivid allegations out of whole cloth.

This appearance of irresolvable conflict was neither wholly accurate nor accidental. Four friends of Hill’s testified that she had told them about the harassment at the time, lending more credibility to the claims. Three other women were willing to testify about being harassed by Thomas, too. But Biden chose not to allow one of them, Angela Wright, to testify publicly, instead releasing a transcript of a phone interview with her. Strange Justice, a 1994 book by reporters Jill Abramson and Jane Mayer, concluded the Judiciary Committee had failed to follow up leads on allegations against Thomas and had conducted only a cursory investigation. Whether such testimony would have been adequate to convict Thomas in a court of law is unclear, but perhaps also beside the point. It was as strong or stronger than the evidence that has toppled several members of Congress, including Senator Al Franken.


A corroborated story, part of a pattern of behavior, should have raised enough questions about the man to shift his 52-48 confirmation vote the other way, even if they were afraid to appear racist by voting against him. I certainly see the value of having an African-American person on the Court, but I personally find it pretty hard to believe there wasn’t another, better, African-American nominee than Clarence Thomas to replace Justice Thurgood Marshall. (Perhaps a black woman?) But we all know perfectly well that Thomas was not nominated for his race, he was nominated for his conservative views and his willingness to follow the script. He was confirmed because of his race. The fact that the  ultra-white Senate and particularly the Judiciary Committee ran away from confronting Thomas head-on shows one of the many reasons why the government should not be monocultural. Can you imagine if Thomas had told Maxine Waters that she was carrying out a high-tech lynching? Or Kamala Harris?

(And though I really don’t want to get off the topic, let’s all remember who headed the Judiciary Committee in 1991, who failed to follow through on the leads in this investigation, and gave us this piece of shit on the bench because he couldn’t stand up to a black man who played the race card, as Thomas did [Too many asides and I should have written about this whole thing when Kavanaugh was pitching his hissy fits: but how the fuck were Anita Hill’s accusations against Thomas a “high-tech lynching?” Because it was being broadcast on the televisions? That’s fucking high tech? Seriously? You talked to her about how big your dick is, sir: this is not high anything: it’s low brow, it’s low class, it’s low quality. Enough, sorry.]: Joe Biden. Please, I don’t want to pick the Democratic nominee before the process plays out, but whatever you do, don’t fucking vote for Biden, okay? Pretty please?)

So as I was saying, Clarence Thomas shouldn’t even be on the Court. Once he got there, he should have been impeached for his consistent refusal to recuse himself despite serious conflicts of interest mainly through his wife, a political activist who started a Tea Party PAC in 2010. Thomas has had clear conflicts in the Citizens United case, and in the Affordable Care Act case, and yet, he voted, and we have those decisions in the books.

(Summary of Thomas’s conflicts of interest, though it is out of date)

So here we are: and Thomas has something to say. About abortion.

It’s racist.

That’s right, abortion is racist, sexist, and ableist, Thomas opined in his concurring opinion on Tuesday after the Supreme Court voted 7-2 to split the decision on an Indiana abortion case: because abortion is the tool of eugenicists.

I mean, it’s not.

But Thomas says it is — and Thomas is an honorable man.

Here: this is Thomas’s opinion. It’s full of legalese, of course, and the writing is honestly pretty bad, but you are welcome to look and judge for yourself. Let me give you the tl;dr version of it.

Essentially, Thomas claims that abortion is a weapon used by eugenicists to reduce the number of unwanted people in the world in order to purify or improve the genomic quality of the human race. He says that people who want to make the human race better want to remove anyone who is of low intelligence, or who is not white, or who is a woman. To prove this, he cites Margaret Sanger, Alan Guttmacher, and various members of the American eugenics movement of the first half of the 20th century. He takes the Court’s decision not to decide on part of the Indiana case as a reason to get all fired up in defense of all non-white babies, women babies, and babies with limited capacity or genetic complications.

Here are the problems with his argument. Ready?

  1. Margaret Sanger, while she had some genuinely fucked up elitist views, never promoted abortion. She promoted birth control. She never conflated the two; and Thomas fucking admits it in his opinion: ‘She [Sanger] recognized a moral difference between “contraceptives” and other, more “extreme” ways for “women to limit their families,” such as “the horrors of abortion and infanticide.”’ That’s right, Clarence: she thought abortion was a horror. Not a tool of eugenics. Not birth control. (But Thomas says that Sanger was a pro-abortion eugenicist; and Thomas is an honorable man.)
  2. Alan Guttmacher, while he was arguing that abortion should be legalized in the 1950’s, said this (Taken from Thomas’s opinion):

    He explained that “the quality of the parents must be taken into account,” including “[f]eeblemindedness,” and believed that “it should be permissible to abort any pregnancy . . . in which there is a strong probability of an abnormal or malformed infant.” … He added that the question whether to allow abortion must be “separated from emotional, moral and religious concepts” and “must have as its focus normal, healthy infants born into homes peopled with parents who have healthy bodies and minds.”

Here’s the thing, Your Honor — and stick with me, now — it should be permissible to abort any pregnancy for any reason whatsoever. In fact, it is permissible to abort any pregnancy for any reason whatsoever. We can talk about the proper time to do it, and I suppose we can wax poetic about why women should want to keep their children and all that jazz: but none of that fucking matters. What matters is not why a woman chooses: what matters is that the woman chooses. Period. The end. Full fucking stop.

But let’s stick to the matter at hand. I will agree that Guttmacher’s comments can be seen as preferring people without genetic abnormalities or birth defects. “Feeblemindedness” of course is a code word for conditions such as Down’s Syndrome (Which Thomas also refers to in his opinion, also getting his facts wrong on that as a reason for abortion — but Thomas says Icelandic women abort 100% of children with Down’s Syndrome, and sure, he is an honorable man.), and so Guttmacher might be saying that people with such genetic conditions should be aborted.

No, wait: no he’s not. He’s saying that abortion should be allowed. Not that it should be sought. Not that it should be promoted. Not that it could be used to build the Ubermenschen. He’s saying that the debate over abortion should focus on healthy children in healthy homes: meaning that situations that are unhealthy are reasonable places to see abortion as an option, as a means of avoiding a dangerous and harmful situation. You want to read that as referring to parents or infants with Down’s Syndrome? Go for it, but that’s not what Guttmacher said. The closest he comes to it is the one word “normal” in reference to the children: and if you are going to read “normal, healthy children” as referring to only children without Down’s Syndrome, then you are the one arguing that Down’s makes one abnormal and less than healthy. Which makes you, Justice Thomas,  the ableist.


But I was trying to enumerate the problems with Thomas’s argument that abortion is the tool of eugenicists. Let me just boil it down: the eugenicists he refers to, which did include Sanger and might have included Guttmacher, never promoted abortion as a means of accomplishing eugenic goals. They preferred birth control — and where they were fucked up Nazi types (and plenty of eugenicists were fucked up Nazi types), they promoted forced sterilization. [Great article about this: Thomas refers to a book about Carrie Buck, a woman who was forcibly sterilized by Virginia, and then the Supreme Court in 1927 supported the state’s right to do that to her. Except Thomas misunderstood the book’s point. Because the book is not at all about abortion. Weird.] And even if they did really want to use abortion as a means to a eugenic end, THOSE PEOPLE ARE ALL DEAD NOW. None of them are setting the policy for the country, for Planned Parenthood, for abortion providers, for anyone. They are not behind the laws the Supreme Court is ruling on, they are not behind the challenges to those laws. They are irrelevant. They provide interesting historical context: but they do not show problems within the modern day argument over abortion. It’s like saying that the Republicans are corrupt because Warren G. Harding was a corrupt Republican. Or that they’re tall because Lincoln was. This is (ironically) called the genetic fallacy: presuming that something is wrong because of where it came from — that Planned Parenthood is evil because Margaret Sanger thought we should sterilize poor people. It’s also an ad hominem attack, going after the people rather than the argument; and it’s a red herring, because Sanger and Guttmacher and the rest were not arguing for abortion even when they were arguing for eugenics, and they weren’t arguing for eugenics when they were arguing for abortion. It’s the Fallacy Trifecta. I know we see that kind of shit all the time on the internet — but God, why do we have to see it from a Supreme Court Justice?

The nonsense continues: Thomas pulls out some shit about African-American women seeking abortions at a higher rate than white American women, which is true — but he never even tries to examine the real reasons, which are the systemic poverty and the lack of access to health care which ensure that African-American women are less likely to have good access to birth control, or to have the resources to carry healthy pregnancies to term. Instead he throws down this tired, out-of-context quote from Sanger: ‘We do not want word to go out that we want to exterminate the Negro population, and the minister is the man who can straighten out that idea if it ever occurs to any of their more rebellious members.’ (To be clear, she is not saying that she wants to hide their true motive of genocide from the African-American community, she wants to make sure that people don’t come to this INCORRECT conclusion, exactly as Thomas is doing here. The proof? The phrase “straighten out that idea” does not mean “cover up the truth,” it means “correct a mistake.” And she wasn’t writing to the ministers themselves, so she’s not trying to sugarcoat her actual meaning. My kingdom for a Supreme Court Justice who understands rhetoric.) So apparently, because he misunderstands Sanger, Planned Parenthood is still following her direction and aborting African-American children more frequently than white children.


Then he grabs some crap about Asian women seeking sex-based abortions, meaning that Asian women abort female babies more often than male babies, which is also true — but he never even tries to show how that means we should limit abortion access in this country. Come on: try to make an argument out of it. Chinese women, under that country’s disastrous and appalling one-child policy, more frequently aborted female children, a trend that is also common in India because of the social importance of sons over daughters. And therefore American women should not be able to abort their pregnancies because . . . ? As goes New Delhi, so goes New Jersey? If America ever imposes a one-child policy then Asian-American women will repeat this pattern — uh . . . because . . . ?

Here: this article spells it out well. Read it just for the point about Down’s Syndrome abortions and Iceland.

Look, this is really pretty simple. The right to an abortion, which Thomas opposes (And he gets salty about in his conclusion, when he claims the court created a Constitutional right to abortion which didn’t exist previously), is an individual right, and it is protected within the Constitution under the right to privacy. But whether it is protected as private or not, it is a right: because a woman has the right to determine what happens in her own body. She has the right to decide if she is going to be pregnant or not. You want to argue with me about that? Read this. But otherwise, start from that point. A woman’s choice to abort is her right.

Now: tell me that women might abort pregnancies because of the fetus’s presumed race.

A woman’s choice to abort is her right.

Tell me that a woman might abort her pregnancy because the fetus is female.

A woman’s choice to abort is her right. 

Tell me that she might do it because the child might have genetic abnormalities or birth defects, or ill health, or any other serious complication.

A woman’s choice to abort is her right.

Do you see? Do you get it? The question is not what happens to the infant: it dies. We know that, and it’s ugly. And we may frequently disagree with why a woman makes the choice she does. But that does not matter. That is not the question. The woman having racist or sexist or ableist reasons does not change her rights: she has the right to bodily autonomy, she has the right to privacy: she has the right to choose. That’s it. And though I was being facetious earlier when I said that Thomas’s reading of bias in Guttmacher’s statements reveals Thomas’s bias, this is for real: the theory that eugenicists would use abortion as a tool to achieve some kind of racial purity presumes that women have no ability to think and decide for themselves, but would simply be led to abort pregnancies they otherwise would want, because eugenicists told them to do it. And that is about as sexist as it gets. (Or else it presumes that women with the very qualities that eugenicists deplore would wish to eliminate their own traits from the gene pool and would therefore abort their own pregnancies to accomplish that goal. Which is just — I mean, it just exhausts me.)

So to sum up.

If you tell me that you have the right to freedom of speech, and then I say you might use that free speech to call Clarence Thomas a fucknugget, I hope you can see that I have in no way argued against your right to free speech. If you tell me that you have the right to bear arms, and I say you might use that right to bear arms in such a way that it would lead to the deaths of disproportionately high numbers of African-American men (Won’t . . . bring up . . . police killings . . . NO!), you should respond that my comment has nothing whatsoever to do with your right to bear arms. (A better example: if you use your guns to hunt legally, and I say that’s gross, it doesn’t mean you don’t have the right to bear arms. Even though hunting is gross.) If you say you have the right to refuse to allow British troops to be quartered in your home, and I say that means they’re going to be trampling all over the azaleas and shitting behind the rhododendrons, you should still not allow redcoats into your home and give them your Netflix password.

Want me to keep going? I can keep going. There are a great many personal rights specifically enshrined in the Constitution, and a great many more protected by its strictures on government power. Not a one of those personal rights is granted by the Constitution: they are human rights and civil rights, rights that we possess as a condition of our personhood and our citizenship. Not a one of them is predicated on the reason why we use them or how we use them. Not a one. There are restrictions on how we use those rights, as there are restrictions on how abortions can be performed; but never why. The argument Thomas is trying to make — and he comes reeeaaaaalll close to making it explicitly — is that abortion is a violation of the fetus’s rights. That abortion is discrimination against the fetus on the basis of sex or race or physical or mental disability.

But the fetus doesn’t have rights. Not in preference to the rights of the mother. Neither does society. Not even if the mother does decide to terminate her pregnancy for eugenic reasons. It is still her body, it is still her right.


This Afternoon

This morning, I quite literally forgot to write.

I’ve been busy trying to get ready to move, and also to do all the things that pile up during the school year which I save for the summer: I have books to read and books to write, shows to binge watch, movies to re-watch, and of course I have to lose twenty pounds and go visit Las Vegas.

In no particular order.

No, actually: the books are first, after the move. All the rest of it can wait or simply not happen.

But while I was thinking about moving, I thought about the Sims. And I wished that moving in real life could be as simple as moving in the Sims: you click on all of your possessions and put them into your inventory; then you click on the house, click Move Family Out, and then go to the new house and click Move In, and BOOM! Done. Then you just move the furniture back out of your personal inventory, and everything is perfect.

The only realistic touch in moving in the game is that it is absurdly expensive. Though again, point and click and you can instantly make money, by selling furniture that magically vanishes into thin air once you make the decision to sell, without a single awkward phone call or visit from somebody from the depths of Craig’s List. You can even sell the paint off of your walls.

That’s another thing I’d like for real life to be like the Sims: money. First, I’d like to get paid every day; I’d like to get promotions basically every week; I’d like to have increasingly nice vehicles come to pick me up for work every day, ending with either a limo or a helicopter. Though I’d hate getting those phone calls from your boss when you miss work; that would be a pain. I’d like to get hired for every single job I ever asked for, and to be able to go back to an old career at exactly the same spot where I left it. I’d like job searching to comprise between three and seven possibilities every day, every single one of them at least potentially appropriate to me and my needs.

I’d like to be able to gain or lose weight in a matter of hours with a treadmill or a refrigerator. I’d like the refrigerator to supply all the materials of a meal, with only a little chopping and mixing for meal prep. I’d like the food to be cooked in seconds, and I’d like to be able to store leftovers in the fridge simply by picking up the plate of food and shoving it in the ol’ Frigidaire. I’d also really like to be able to pull leftovers out of the fridge and set them on the table exactly as they were when last served: and also steaming hot the second I put them on a plate.

I’d like to be able to learn important and complicated skills like machine repair and cooking with a few hours and a book. I’d like to know what all of my needs are, and how to fulfill them in simple, straightforward ways, and I’d like to reach any of those reward-type events that come from satisfying all of my needs: I’d like to enter the Zone, or turn all gold and sparkly. I’d like to dance with happiness, spontaneously and often.

I’d like to be able to leave my life — though it had better stay on pause when I do; the console version of Sims 3 was an atrocity for that reason — and go visit other people’s. I’d like to be able to manipulate both my own story and other people’s, though I’d like to be able to say that I would only do it benevolently. I’d like that to be true. But I know perfectly well that my Sims play has not shown me to be a benevolent master: I am far more likely to torment than to guide, to debase rather than uplift. What can I say? It’s more fun. Besides, I’m not talking about whether I should be allowed to run the world like a massive game of Sims: clearly I should not, as my long history of Sims serial killers should show; I’m just talking about what I would like.

I would really like to control Donald Trump.

There are certainly aspects of the Sims I would not want to reproduce in my life. First is the time frame: Sims don’t live long. I would not want my life to be measured in days, no matter how efficiently run those days could be. The Sims are always more interested in socializing than I am; my Sims’ social interactions are inevitably rote and reluctant, stuck in between more interesting tasks (where they are not strange and warped as part of my more diabolical plans), and I am always annoyed by their constant need for other Sims in their lives. I do indeed need other people in my life, specifically my wife and my pets, but I don’t suffer the Sims’ rapid disintegration of mood in their momentary absence, and I don’t want to change that. Sims are much too materialistic for me: they are made instantly happier by buying slightly more expensive versions of the stuff they already have, and I have very little interest in that. And, of course, I want to be able to open a door even if someone did leave a plate in front of it — and I would really hate it if I left a puddle on the floor just because someone was standing in front of the door to the bathroom when I had to go.

I’d kinda like it if there were actual fireworks in the sky every time I WooHooed.

Anyway: I guess the point is that I wish I had more control over my life, that every thing I did could be intentional and a valuable use of my time. (Clearly I also want rewards without effort, but hey, who doesn’t?) My Sims play is marked by efficiency: I love nothing more than lining up a dozen tasks for my Sims, and then letting them run through their entire day while I watch and intervene as needed. My life is very much the opposite of that: as you can tell by my rapid decline in posting a This Morning post every morning, as soon as my school year ends. I am nothing if not inefficient. But also, I don’t want to do what would be needed to become more efficient: because it’s my inefficiency, my wasted time, that allows me to be the one thing my Sims can never, ever be:



Okay. Look. I wasn’t expecting that much. I knew it was small  — five feet in diameter. I knew it was trendy, and therefore I didn’t expect much.


My burrito blanket arrived today.

That’s the first thing, actually. Because I ordered it from California Burrito Blanket six freaking weeks ago, on April 12.

2019-05-28 16.42.23

$29.95 felt steep. But my wife, Toni, lives for burritos. She survived college by making her own burritos. She taught me how to make burritos, and we eat them once a week at least. She also loves blankets, and being wrapped up and cozy.

And for the last month or so of her time as a teacher, which just ended last week, I had been giving her little presents. Nothing serious, just little prizes every morning when I woke her up, because she hates getting up and she hated going to work, and having me give her a little toy or a stuffed  animal or something made it a little easier. Mostly it was things I bought at Wal-Mart or Target or some such — Walgreens’ post-Easter sale was a gold mine. So I wanted one thing that would be a big final prize, to give her on her last day. And that’s when this thing went viral, and then showed up in my feed on Facebook. So I clicked on the link, and I bought it.

Here’s what I ordered:

Can you see there where it says “100% microfiber?” Right: I figured it was one of those sort of velour lap blankets you can buy anywhere. It looked fun. I thought Toni would love it.

It arrived today. (A full week after I meant to give it to her —  but that wasn’t the problem.) Here’s what was in the mail.


Huh, I thought. Kinda — thin. Not very big across, either; about the size of a DVD case. Very light. So I opened it up, and there, encased in more plastic, was my wife’s final Thank You For Teaching gift.


The picture doesn’t do it justice, for two reasons: one, it does not look like a tortilla, it looks like a bloody sheet that was laid on top of a murder victim, or maybe a close-up of melanoma: it’s vaguely beige, and the “scorch marks” are far more red than brown. Here’s my attempt to show it as a shroud, with myself as murder victim — and also, this is why you cannot take pictures on the floor when you have dogs. (Also note I had to take the above picture while my wife held Roxie back, because she wanted to stand right in the middle of it and wag her tail. Adorable. And I’m trying to be mad here.)


Also, I think this one captures the other problems with this “blanket:” one, you see that sheen? That’s because it isn’t microfiber, it’s freaking polyester; and IT’S ONE-SIDED!

Here’s the reverse:



And two, the biggest problem of all: THIS THING IS THINNER THAN A GODDAMN KLEENEX!



IT’S LIKE FUCKING PLASTIC WRAP!! See that dark mark over “slug?” That’s one of the bloodstains — I mean scorch marks.

What’s that, you say? That’s just the white side, which is clearly not meant to be on top? Surely it isn’t transparent from the burrito side? AU CONTRAIRE, MOTHERFUCKER:


I’ve seen emergency camping blankets, those things that are essentially tinfoil, that are more comfortable than this plastic rag.

This is no blanket. It’s not even a burrito: it’s a stained tablecloth. Here, look:



It even makes Roxie sad. See her sad face?


So, ladies and gentlemen, please: DO NOT PURCHASE THE BURRITO BLANKET. Especially not from California Burrito Blanket. My assumption is that when it went viral, as there was probably no way to copyright a blanket that looks like a tortilla, a thousand other companies jumped on board, including the company I bought it from, and they produced the cheapest pieces of shit I’ve ever seen. And of course, Facebook was more than happy to push their shit on my timeline. I have no doubt that there are far higher quality blankets out there, but obviously there is no way to tell in advance which one you are mail ordering. At some point these things will be in actual stores, and you can pick it up and feel the quality yourself before you buy it. Like I should have done.

Fucking internet.

This Memorial Day

On this day, perhaps I should be thinking about those who laid down their lives in defense of this country, our people, and our ideals. Those who gave all, who made the supreme sacrifice. And I am: but first, I am thinking about those who still live, but who nonetheless gave all, who sacrificed more than anyone should ever have to. I am thinking about those who loved them, as well, their friends, their families; and I am thinking about all that those survivors lost, as well. I am thinking about the unbearable price that all these people paid: and I am wondering if it was worth it.

I think sometimes, for some people, it was.

But other times, it was not. The price was too high, the benefits bought by sacrifice worth too little to justify it. Especially in the wars of the last several decades, the wars of adventure, of conquest; wars carried out for political reasons, and rationalized with lies.

Today, for all of those men and women who fought and suffered, lived and died with their burdens — and for those who live still — I must reiterate my case that the only rational, the only humane, the only justifiable act this country can take is to end all of our wars, to cease all foreign aggression, to step down and eventually eliminate the U.S. military, leaving only a strong national guard to protect against actual threats to our land and our people. Our forces that protect our allies should remain as an obstacle to aggressive acts against other sovereign nations, but the threat and use of force to prevent global conflict should not come from one country: else it is not peacekeeping, but warmongering; not an attempt to protect sovereignty, but an attempt to create an American hegemony — and so it has been for a century. It must stop. We cannot continue to pay for the aggrandizement of our nationalist pride and the military-industrial complex that President Eisenhower warned us against. The price is too high.

But don’t listen to me: listen to the words of the ones who paid that price, who pay it still.

Last week, the U.S. Army’s Twitter account shared a short video featuring an American soldier explaining what he has gained from his service with the U.S. Army.

And then they asked an open question: How has serving impacted you?

I think they did not expect the responses they got. But they should have. There should be no surprise here. Nobody should know better than the military what cost is borne by veterans and those closest to them. What is perhaps most upsetting about this is the number of these people who suffered at least in part because they did not get help. But what we should pay the most attention to is the fact that this suffering is borne by those we ask to fight for us.

And the one fact that should stand out above all others is this: we must stop asking them to bear it. We must. There is nothing we gain that is worth this.

Or this:

Or this:

Or this:

Or this:

Or this:

Or this:

Or this:


I would like to ask you to do something, to honor our lost warriors on this Memorial Day. Go to any of these links — easiest to start with the first one, but they all go to the same place — and read the entire thread. (Click on the bar at the bottom of each tweet, with the blue text link.) Read what all of these soldiers say, what all of their family members and loved ones and friends say, about how the US Army has impacted them. It won’t be easy. But nothing can be as hard as what they went through, and I think the least we can do is listen to them, read their words, and pay attention.

Pay attention.

Pay attention.

Pay attention.




They’re not all bad. Some people who posted are proud of their service, some had positive experiences in the military. But again and again and again, the soldiers and their families talk about misery and pain, neglect and misuse, and death.

It is clear from this thread that veterans need far more help and support than we are providing. If we didn’t already know that. It is clear from this thread that the empty thanks and praise we offer them, calling them heroes, while we ignore their real suffering, is even worse than simply ignoring them would be. If we didn’t already know that. It is clear from this thread that the only right and good thing to do is stop doing this to our own people, our own brothers and sisters, who are willing and able to volunteer, to fight, to do what is right. We must stop taking human beings and turning them into casualties.  We owe it to all of them, past, present, and future.

We must stop.

We must.

My thanks to those who have fought for all our sakes. My grief for all that have suffered.

This Week

So it’s been a solid three weeks since I last did this, but I don’t intend to just give it up after two habit-testing attempts, so here it comes back again. The intervening three weeks have really been more about survival: I had to finish the school year, I had to grade, I had to sleep, I had to keep my spirits up. So that’s the habit I’ve been trying to maintain every week for the last three weeks: sleep, work, live.

I’d like to report that I stuck with all three things every day for the last three weeks. I suck at sleeping — which is not news —  but it’s not a question of habit, it’s a question of stress; when I wake up at 2 or 3am, when I’m stressed, I start thinking about the thing that is worrying me. Believe me, if I could break that habit, I would; now that it is summer, the habit will be broken for me, which is nice, but kind of not the point of these posts, these attempts. I am good at the habitual grading of papers every single day; but that’s not a habit I want to maintain — and it too has been ended for me this past week. Living and keeping my spirits up? Sure, that’s a thing I want to keep doing. I’m sure it will be quite a bit easier now.

So I’m moving on to new ideas.

If you recall, three weeks ago I decided to give up snacking, particularly gum, per my wife’s suggestion. I did it for the week, and it wasn’t terrible: though I admit I cheated a time or two, once because I honestly forgot that I was doing it for the week, and I grabbed some chips at Costco and snacked on them; once at school because I wanted the snack and I said, “Screw it.” I also ate donuts at school because donuts were available — it was Teacher Appreciation week, when we don’t get a raise and people don’t treat us any better, but they do bring us food and shit — along with cake and a few other gift-snacks. So it wasn’t  a perfect abstention from snacking.

I never chewed gum, though. Not once. So, success.

Really, the main point was not to munch on my salty snacks once I got home. They’re my main food vice, and there are times when I get out the bag of Cheez-its and forget that I’m eating them until I’ve downed way more than I should have; that’s the habit I was looking to break, really. And that I did not do.

But like the video game stoppage the week before, it didn’t really amount to much. I didn’t feel healthier, I didn’t feel better, I didn’t lose weight — but I also wasn’t miserable, and I didn’t fall asleep at 8pm, which is one reason I do snack sometimes, because it keeps me awake. Basically I proved to myself that I don’t need to snack, but that I am a bit happier when I do.

The last week or two has actually been something of a better test: because I really haven’t snacked unless I’ve been hungry or craving something; and more than once, I decided to avoid snacks because I didn’t want to ruin my dinner. And that has been — just fine. So maybe because of the week without evening snacking, and maybe just because I’m steadily growing more aware of what I eat and how I eat it, I think I’ve actually got a pretty good handle on my snacking.  So again, success.

This week I think I’m going to go with exercise. I go to the gym, and I ride my bike; but in both cases I’m very on-again, off-again. A little bit because my wife likes going to the gym with me, and she hurt her wrist pretty seriously back in January and has been recovering ever since (It’s her drawing wrist, so we’ve been taking it very seriously), so she hasn’t been able to do much gym time, which often means I don’t go, as well. But I’ve also come to understand that I can go without her and it doesn’t actually bother either of us too much, so I have to give up that excuse. Again, it’s been rough trying to survive for the last month, so I haven’t really gone, and now that the school year’s over I want to get back into the habit. I also want to spend some of this summer getting into better biking shape because I’d like to get myself to work like that as much as I can next year.

So that will be this week: every day I will either go to the gym, or I will ride my bike. I will probably give myself an exception this coming Saturday, as we are going to move starting that day, so my “exercise” will be cleaning and/or lifting heavy things. But we’ll see. Between now and then, it’s every day workouts for me. (Yes, I already did one today. It hurt a lot. Part of the reason I want to get back into the habit more.)

I will report back next Sunday. Hopefully.

This Morning

This morning I am thinking about lists.

I am generally opposed to lists. If asked to name my top ______ (five, ten, one hundred) favorite ___________s, the number given is always either too small or too large, and I’m stuck taking things off the list that belong there, or stretching to think of something that isn’t too bad which I can include  with the truly great ones. And of course I always think of better examples once the list is finalized. My wife is a list-maker when it comes to tasks she has to complete, and every time she does it, though it obviously helps her keep track of things, looking at the full list makes her more stressed, because she naturally thinks of ALL of the things she has to do. I’ve found that marking items off of a list is satisfying, but finishing the list is a letdown, because by the time I’m done with the list (if it’s not 2-3 items long, and if it is 2-3 items long it feels like a waste of time making a list) I’ve forgotten the joy of completing the first tasks I marked off, so I have this huge list and I just feel like I did this one last thing, and that’s it.

So I don’t like lists. When it comes to tasks I need to perform, I prefer to do them when I think of them. It allows me to feel a sense of accomplishment regularly, rather than finishing a task and marking it off only to run my gaze over all the other things I have to do, which tends to decrease my sense of accomplishment. True, this does mean that things get lost — I haven’t worked on my novel in two months, because I just kept having school tasks — and my time management is terrible. But I don’t think the efficiency gained from lists is worth the heartache.

All that said, I needed to do something lighter for my blog today, after yesterday’s abortion horror show; so, for no good reason and in no particular order, here is my bucket list.

*See the entire world. All of it. From the highest mountain peak to the lowest valley. I want to see all the ugly parts first, and then all the beautiful ones. I’d like to finish up with seeing all of the ugly places that have become beautiful in the time I’ve been looking at everything.

*Learn to speak every language, and visit every country and culture.

*Meet the youngest and oldest persons in every country and culture. Also the happiest and the saddest, the best and the worst. Keep looking until I find one person who is both extremes of a single category.

*Meet the most famous artist and the least famous but most talented artist in every country and culture, for every art. Like and appreciate the least famous one every single time.

*Learn about and understand every religion. Accept that all of them are false, and that the world would be better off without them (Hey, wait — I already did that last part! I can mark this off my list! Go me!).

*Spend time with the Dalai Lama, because even if religion is toxic, he’s the coolest man in the world. If possible, take drugs with him and watch him ascend to a higher plane of consciousness right in front of me.

*Read every book.

*Separate all the books into good books and bad books, and eliminate all the bad books. Remove them from the world, and from human consciousness so the authors of the bad books don’t have to feel bad about themselves for being on the bad list. (But I will remember.)

*Travel to the center of the Earth. Ride a dinosaur.

*Be named the sexiest man alive, and refuse to accept the title.

*Grow gills and immunity to pressure, and then swim everywhere in the ocean.

*Take the perfect nap.

See every band I love live. Buy all the t-shirts and deny seeing the show every time someone comments on them.

*Eat the perfect meal, and decide that I like donuts and coffee better.

*Sample all of the finest coffees in the world, create my own blend that is the perfect mix of the very best coffees, the drinking of which will allow one to follow the Dalai Lama to the higher plane.

*Master typing so that I never again make a mistake and have to hit the backspace key.

*Experience life as a woman.

*Smash the patriarchy.

*Experience life as a dog.

*Eliminate all hatred and prejudice. Also, Mitch McConnell. With extreme prejudice, like prejudice’s last hurrah is all heaped on that fucking guy.

*Experience life as a sloth. Or maybe a hummingbird. I dunno, though — do you think they get annoyed easily? Like are all hummingbirds Type A personalities?

*Put my consciousness into a machine and travel into the virtual world.

*Go to Wonderland. Have tea with the Mad Hatter and the March Hare. Have a rap battle with either or both of them. Win.

*Slap Donald Trump unconscious. Shave his head. Braid his hair into a mystical gag that he will never be able to take off, so that no one will ever have to listen to him speak, ever again. Curse him with eternal life until he actually learns to listen to everyone else.

*Burn the military-industrial complex to the ground. Salt the earth where its bones lie.

*Eliminate the need for government world wide, creating a perfect system of justice so that everyone can live in peace and harmony without being exploited or neglected.

*Discover a previously unknown tropical island, preferably one hidden by a mystic cloud of mist or one newly formed by volcano but old enough to have grown vegetation. Build a sprawling estate on it, with secret rooms, palapas  to enjoy the cool ocean breezes, underground grottoes with brightly colored mineral deposits in the walls and cool ponds to swim in, and hammocks and bookshelves in every room.

*Rescue all the dogs  and let them all stay with me on my island. Bring everyone who abuses dogs there so all the dogs can stare at them disappointedly  until they understand the weight of their guilt– and if they never do, let the dogs tear them to pieces and then feed them to the crabs.

*Learn to play every musical instrument, and then make beautiful music every night under the stars to serenade my millions of rescued dogs.

*Write the very best novel that I can write. Appreciate it for what it is, and don’t regret it for what it is not.

*Love my wife forever, and actually make her understand perfectly how much I love her, without having to use weak words and silly gestures of affection to do it.


*Go to other planets. Start over again.  (Bring the dogs. And my wife.)