Wednesday, October 28, 2009

Get out of my face:

Natalie Portman.

If we don't tolerate rape, why do we tolerate meat?

I am all for vegetarianism, but there are some people in this world who have to depend on meat for survival. Nobody has to depend on rape for survival.

Speaking of rape, this just happened. A commenter at Jezebel responded to this quote:

"These suspects are monsters. And, I don't understand how this many people capable of such atrocious behavior could be in one place at one time."
-Richmond, California Police Lt. Mark Gagan

with this:

Does anyone else feel like this cop doesn't get it? The sheer number of men/boys involved in this attack indicates a societal problem, not a random gathering of particularly heinous people.

I'm inclined to agree. THIRTY people participating in the assault and victimization of a lone woman at a public event strikes me as a manifestation of deeper problems within our culture and communities, rather than a tragic random happenstance.

Then there is the whole Roman Polanksi deal, and while I do advocate the victim receives the peace and privacy she has begged for, this poem by Calvin Trillin sums of the truth of the matter.

That doesn't stop total crap individuals like Gore Vidal from saying things like:

"I really don't give a f-ck. Look, am I going to sit and weep every time a young hooker feels as though she's been taken advantage of?"

A thirteen year old hooker is not a hooker. She is a victim of abuse. She is a rape victim. She is a child.

Thirteen. Thirty. Neither of these numbers are acceptable. Not-Rape, Rape-Rape. Whatever. We obviously have a problem with hating women, and that problem is that we are okay with it.

Bioshock



Wednesday, October 21, 2009

The Wolves in the Walls


Or the rabid squirrels. Or undead raccoons. Not sure exactly what they are, but they are SCARING THE PEE OUT OF ME. They started running through my walls again just as I began typing, as if to emphasize the power they wield.

My new bedroom is on level with the attic. Our attic is apparently full of zombie squirrels and sarcophagi. They spontaneously run across the floor inside the walls, and it sounds like they are in my room. I think soon they will be.

Today I was sitting at my desk (So far that is all that is in my room. A gloriously dark wooden desk, with a cute little steampunky desk lamp. The most expensive piece of furniture I have ever purchased. It gave me palpitations.), and I heard this terrible shuffling sound at the back of my closet. This is the closet that has terrified me since childhood, with the not-ever-quite closed trapdoor to the attic situated in its bowels.

When I moved back to my childhood home a few weeks ago the trapdoor was laying on the floor, and the miniature (aka EVIL) doorway into the attic was wide open. Multiple times a day, for several days in a row, I would walk up the mini staircase to the bedroom. I would take a breath, open the closet door, and peer into the blackness. Five seconds. I would shut the door. A few hours later. Ten seconds. Fifteen. On and on until I managed to stare a full minute into the abyss. I even went with a flashlight the last time, but couldn't work up the nerve to shine it into the horrible dwarf doorway.

I think my mom caught on how terrified I was both of the room and the closet. One morning while I was still in bed, she hammered the trapdoor back onto the doorway. Huge relief. Sort of.

The shuffling. Today I was sitting at my desk sifting through the slushpile for IGMS, when it started. I looked in the closet and noticed that the trapdoor is only nailed shut at the top. Something really determined could push its way out-- like a large rodent. Or a mummy.

I grabbed the hammer, two long nails, and braced my feet up against the door. Brave, like Joan of Arc, Sara. Strong like John Henry! I pounded and pounded, while something sat scraping from the other side.

The nails wouldn't go through. This is why I crammed all my clothes and toys into the back of the closet when I was little.

Something is going to get out.

Something is going to eat me.

(Picture by Jon Foster.)

Thursday, October 15, 2009

Dark glass

I need to save some money for a spiffy digital SLR. It will give me something to do in between reading bad scifi and avoiding bathing.

I think taking photographs is a good way to help you gain patience with a place. I would like to hone in on the details that make Virginia Beach interesting, worthwhile, and its own. I need to explore, and have a more willing eye.

I am having a hard time adjusting. It's all well and good not putting on makeup, or real pants, for days at a time, but I'm starting to feel a little claustrophobic. I'm also having a really hard time breathing, literally. Virginia, especially in the fall/winter is very hard on my lungs.

I know coming here for a while was the right choice, but breathing always comes in tops. My lungs are already on serious drugs, and I've cut out dairy; not sure what else I can do. Acupuncture? Hypnotism?

If this move stops me from dancing I'll have to karate chop someone in the throat. And then go crawling after my inhaler.


(Doesn't that look comfy? Waah.)

Monday, October 12, 2009

Chiquitas

Hey, if you're going to APE (Alternative Press Expo) in SF this weekend, make sure you check out these two awesome ladies.

Meghan is the artist I am collaborating with on the graphic novel. She is also a great friend. She will be at booth #228, along with her awesome boyfriend, Chris.

My best friend Valerie will be at table #216 with some other cool ladies.

Hooray, ladies!!!!! So sorry I couldn't be there, but it was just too close to the move.