Don't Get Me Started with Linda Sharp

Petulance Will Not Win The Day

You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you might find you get what you need. - The Rolling Stones

Oh, how those lyrics have been playing on a loop in my head the past few days as the DNC has gotten underway.  And while this convention completely embarrasses the shitshow put on by the RNC last week in terms of speakers, message, representatives, party platform, and a true rainbow coalition of attendees, there is always enough embarrassment to go around when it comes to politics.

I am speaking of the diehard Bernie Sanders coalition who have left their stain by booing and attempting to drown out the speakers in front of them, including Bernie Sanders.

It is shameful.  It is childish.  It is the exact same behavior they have openly mocked in GOPers for the past eight years.  It is petulance born of not getting their way; it is tantrum throwing; it is embarrassing; It is thoughtless.

And embarrassing, tantrum laden, thoughtless petulance will not win the day come November.

I get it, I do.  There is disappointment.  But guess what?  There is always disappointment.  Come these conventions, one side and their supporters always lose their shot.  Come November and the general, one side and their supporters always lose, too.  This is not new information.  This is not history making.  This is politics.  Anyone acting like they are staring into the sun for the first time and having their retinas *surprise!* burned is disingenuous at best.

I voted for Bernie in the primary.  Let me make that perfectly clear.  Not because I hate Hillary.  I do not.  I admire the hell out of that woman.  Because I have been paying attention for YEARS, not just in the past year as the muckraking, lying, and shit flinging has ratcheted up.  And at this point it seems that the GOP led witch hunt which has produced NOTHING has been more effective at swaying Bernie supporters who needed reasons to hate Hillary, than in swaying anyone on their side.   

Is she perfect?  Puh-leez.  Someone explain to me who is.  Bernie?  Get a clue. 

Perfect does not exist.  But she is the most qualified person to ever seek the office of the President.

Again, I voted for Bernie in the primary.  But hear me now:  I have zero problem voting for Hillary in the general.  Because I understand what is at stake.

I have a transgender son.  His very existence is threatened by the small minds, religious zealotry, and discriminatory legislation of the GOP.  Their careless rhetoric and demonizing of my child has put him in more danger.

I have two daughters who are viewed by the GOP as less capable of handling equality, and unable to shoulder their own decision making.

My discomfort at not getting my way with Bernie; my petulance, my righteous indignation completely shrivels up and dies in the face of protecting them by standing with the party that not only acknowledges their existence and worth, but stands with them.

I have watched as so many comment threads fill up with heated dialogues about voting for a third party candidate or not voting at all because people did not get their way with Bernie.  These same people claim to be advocates, champions of equal rights, supporters of sick people accessing insurance, friends of the LGBTQIA community.

Let me make this very clear:  If you are willing to throw your vote away - and yes, voting for a candidate who has zero chance at winning is the same as throwing your vote away - you are NOT an advocate, a friend, or quite frankly, a very big thinker.  And you may as well collect your things and go stand in line with Trump because that is what you are endorsing. 

Advocacy is more than just changing your Facebook profile pic or liking an article from time to time.  That is fadvocacy, because it makes you feel good in the moment, gives the impression to others that you care about their marginalized lives.  Real advocacy is HARD.  It requires determination, forethought, and constancy.  It requires ACTION.  And in this case, it requires that you get beyond your disappointment and look at the bigger picture.  Throwing your vote away like some toddler denied a second helping of Goldfish crackers will have crushing consequences for REAL PEOPLE.

That so many seem unwilling to untangle themselves from their bruised egos and see this just reinforces what I have always said.  People care in DIRECT PROPORTION to how close they are to an event, disaster, illness, or issue. 

Is this an attempt to shame some of you into opening your eyes?  Absolutely.  What you will do will impact other people.  It will impact my child.  And do not give me this "My vote doesn't matter" line.  IT MATTERS.  Now more than ever.  Not just because it would be our first female President.  Yes, that is cool, history making, wow-in-my-lifetime!  But more because voting Democrat will protect people who need protection.  Just because you may not be one of them, does not absolve you from responsibility.

The next President will impact the Supreme Court for decades to come.  Those judges will impact my child for decades to come.  The GOP party platform gleefully goes after my child for simply being who he is.  It goes after my daughters who will have even less control over their bodies under their bullshit religious "morality."  Their party platform allows for conversion therapy - which is torture.

But hey, if you're not LGBTQIA, have daughters or ovaries of your own, have or love someone with darker skin, or worship other than Christianity - then this really doesn't impact you at all.  So you go ahead and keep stomping your feet, BOOing your loudest, and throwing your votes in the Trump toilet.  And when it all goes to shit, and the realities begin to affect REAL PEOPLE, you can stand there and cling to your righteous indignation like you didn't have a hand in it.

YOU WILL HAVE HAD A HAND IN IT.

The GOP cannot win if people who understand the big picture VOTE blue.  They do not have the numbers.  Their bigots, zealots, white nationalists, misogynists, and cadre of willfully ignorant are outnumbered.  Just as they have been outnumbered the past two general elections when they swore they were going to win in a landslide.

But if your big picture capability only extends as far as your own mirror (which, incidentally, you are not looking in or surely you would see how much you look like what you castigated for eight years), then you will be handing them not only the White House, but your permission to hurt people like my son.

No one likes not getting their way.  Welcome to life.  But this time there is far too much at stake to indulge in tantrum throwing.

You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you might find you get what you need.

We need your vote come November.  My son needs your vote come November.

Petulance will not win the day come November.

Will There Be Justice? Fat Chance

Look in the mirror.  Go ahead, go look in the mirror - at your whole body.

I'll wait.

Hell, no mirror?  OK, look down.  For most of us that's enough.

What do you see?  Cover model perfection?  Airbrushed skin, taut, firm flesh?

Yeah, me either.

The reality is none of us is, or ever will be, completely satisfied with our packaging.  Fat, thin, skin saggy, brown dots, bruises, birthmarks, cellulite, poor muscle tone, scars, short legs, long legs, big nose, bumpy nose, heavy eyelids, crows feet, hammertoes, long second toe, flabby knees, tube sock boobs, barely there boobs, pot belly, beer belly, inches to pinch, or thin enough to count ribs.

It doesn't matter.  We all have something physical we deplore, hide, struggle with, or are actively trying to change.

Even those who appear to have the physical perfected are not immune to this most normal of human traits.  I have known trainer after trainer and athlete after athlete who are absolute specimens of physicality, and they all have something they are working on, wish they could improve.  I have often joked that the ass is always leaner in the other pair of pants.  That we always look at others and think they have it so much better - that all the answers to life's happiness would be ours if we, too, wore a size "insert magic number."

It's just not true.

The older I get, the more I understand that happiness is found in health, not in the tag in the back of my skort.  It is found in feeling good, laughing easily, and taking care of the one body I have.  I am 50.  In my adult life I have weighed as little as 93 pounds (eating disorder) and 160 pounds (first baby, eating for 8).  And I have hit every number in between those two as my body has adjusted to the years, the mileage, the input, and the exercise.

I never want to be 93 again - that was stupid and dangerous.  By the same token, I do not ever wish to be 160 again.  That was partly baby, mostly indulgence.  So I do what I can for me.  I do what I can to better the odds, to work with what I have, making it as strong as I can, as healthy as I can.  I eat clean, I work out.  Am I some super model ready for her close-up?  

Pardon me whilst I laugh.

I am barely 5'2".  I am 50.  While I have not yet hit menopause, my metabolism has been giving me the finger for years now.  So I have to work harder than ever to maintain, let alone lose.  And that's ok.  I do it for me, and I do not give a damn what anyone else thinks.  I may not look like an Olympic athlete while out running, but I am out running.

Which brings me to the point of all of this. 

We live in a society in which it is somehow not just acceptable, but elevated to a sport of sorts, to mock those who do not fit a certain physical aesthetic.  Call it fat shaming, I call it cruel.  And wrong.  And bullying.  Why someone's circumference is anybody else's business is beyond me.  What does a person get by running down the body of another?  Especially when the one throwing stones is probably just as easily mockable for something. 

Maybe their own ass.  Maybe the back of their own legs that look like they got hit by a sack of nickels.  Maybe their crooked teeth, their big ears, their thin hair?  Or maybe their humanity deficit.  Harder to see, I know, but those who suffer from it usually out themselves pretty easily.

Meet Dani Mathers.  Dani is a Playboy model, in fact, Dani was Playboy Playmate of the Year for 2015.

Now, before any accuses me of looking for an intentionally provocative picture of Ms. Mathers, save it - this was by far the least provocative picture I could find.  Dani likes her body, likes sharing her body with the masses.  And that's fine.  Her body, her choice.  She puts it out there, she gives consent to be looked at.

Dani, however, doesn't understand that last part when it comes to other people's bodies.

Ms. Mathers has recently found her firm fanny in a sling for not only taking a picture of a naked woman showering at LA Fitness, but for sharing it with her followers on Snapchat.  The woman was older.  The woman did not look like Dani.  Yes, the woman was larger.  And Dani posted these two images along with her own special caption:

(Yes, I have obscured this woman.  Dani shared her with the world without such consideration.)

While many of her equally unenlightened followers lauded and cheered her efforts at shaming this woman, more stood up and chewed her ass into pulp.  That she was surprised at the reaction speaks volumes to the character famine inside this person.  It never dawned on her that not only was it a violation of someone's privacy, but that it was unlawful as well?  Never occurred to her that not every person lives and breathes to attain the title of Playmate of the Year?  Never crossed her small mind that this woman was in a fitness facility, showering after working out???  Which speaks to the fact that this woman actively cares for herself?

When it became apparent to poor Dani that more people were against her photography efforts than for them, she provided a truly politician-esque apology.

I want to acknowledge my post from snapchat earlier. There is no excuse…I understand fully the magnitude of this post and that I have hurt a lot of people, women. Body shaming is not okay, and is nothing to joke about… This was meant to be a part of a private conversation that never should have happened. There are no words to describe how deeply sorry I am for hurting and offending you all. Women make my world go around, I respect women, I surround myself with women and I completely understand the magnitude of this post. Please please please know how upset I am with myself and take my word that this won't happen again. I love and appreciate every one of you and know that everyone is beautiful in their own way… That's what makes us all so special… I can't undo this mistake, but I ask your forgiveness. Should never make light of another woman's naked body. I'm sorry for what I did… I need to take some time to myself now to reflect on why I did this horrible thing. Goodnight.

"This was meant to be part of a private conversation..." <---she blamed her newness to Snapchat, that she meant to send it to one person, not a million .

I see, so ridiculing her is ok, just not en masse?  Sorry, Dani, you lose.  You did this because you thought you were better than a woman clearly 20+ years older than you, and many pounds heavier than you.  You did it because you thought it was funny and that your 1 million+ followers would laugh along with you.  Mostly, you did this because you did not think you would get called out for it. 

Think again.

Since your lame attempt at damage control, including your tearful video posted to Youtube, you have been suspended from your radio gig, kicked out of every LA Fitness center, and are now being investigated by LAPD for "disseminating private images." 

As you should be.

What you thought was funny, was criminal.  What you thought was a knee slapper, should get you convicted.  Sadly, all that will probably get legally slapped is your wrist.  (Making someone feel bad isn't a criminal offense.  But it should be.  Prolonged, sustained, it can lead to depression, and worst case, suicide.)

The bigger ramifications are obviously coming from the public.  And you deserve it all - the derision, the shame, the humiliation.  All the things you tried to do to that woman whose only sin was working out and taking a shower in a place she thought was private.

I have news for people who think and act like Dani Mathers - your collagen won't last forever.  Your metabolism will ultimately betray you.  Your skin will eventually sag.  Your face will wrinkle, and your hair will thin.  I do not care how hard you work at it, if you never stop working at it, age will do what age does.  We are all decomposing, daily.  Little by little.  Bit by bit.

And that's ok.  We are organic life forms - our prime lasts only a short while.  Dani - you won't be gracing the cover of Playboy forever, and they will eventually recall your bunny ears and tail as younger, firmer flesh kicks your aging ass to the curb.

And when that happens, what do you want?  Some young dolt with a camera phone snapping your naked pic in the shower after you try your hardest to just stay healthy in the body you have?  Or a society that sees you, ample or otherwise, and looks beyond your circumference?  Sees your effort.  See your humanity.  Sees YOU.

We live in a world where "perfection" is sold to us daily.  Magazines, commercials, movies.  Taut flesh is valuable.  Flabby flesh is sad.  We all know the rhetoric.  We all feel the rhetoric.  We live in a world where Kim Kardashian is on some ridiculous pedestal for constantly Instagramming her naked flesh.  But here's the thing, even Kim is beholden to that mindset of unrealistic perfection.  Every "candid" photo she shares is a painstakingly thought out process of angles, lighting, filters, and photo finishing before she "shares" it with the world.  Hell, anyone can download any number of photo programs to their phone for free that can erase wrinkles, soften skin, enlarge eyes, whiten teeth.  I know someone who actually filters their child's pictures before sharing them.  Their child.  At no point in life is our skin ever more beautiful than when we are children, yet this person airbrushes her child's skin.

We all know it is bullshit.  ALL OF US.  We know that cover models' photos are excruciatingly Photoshopped and filtered.  We know we are fed a reality that isn't real.  We can see reality all around us.  We can see that 99% of the population do not look like movie stars or high fashion runway models.  WE KNOW THIS.  Yet we mock other people all the same.  We roll our eyes at them in the grocery store.  We openly disparage them when they board airplanes.  We take secret photos and share them online.

Be kind.  How difficult is that?  The only body that you need to concern yourself with is YOURS.  That goes for everyone.  And your body is not the same as his body, as her body.  Every body has a story behind it.  Disease, illness, childbirth, stress, joy, training, relaxing, trauma, indulgence, age, genetics.  And you do not know the story inside just by looking at the cover.

Life is short.  And life is hard enough without making it harder for each other by bullying and shaming.

Look in the mirror.  Go ahead, look in the mirror - at your whole body. Even the parts you wish you could change.

You and your story are more than your reflection. 

Because trust me, Dani, if we only went by your cover, we'd think you were a beautiful human being inside.

TP For Brains

It comes as zero surprise that the Trump campaign would not only pay for this logo design, but approve it, and begin passing it around.  No one in that campaign has any common sense, any vision, any true finger on the pulse of reality, or any self awareness of any sort.  So they deserve every bit of internet gold coming their way.

Samantha Bee may have topped them all, however...

 

Breaking the mattress of America. pic.twitter.com/M4Cq62YS2c

— Full Frontal (@FullFrontalSamB) July 15, 2016

Incidentally, Pence's part in this logo design is almost foreshadowing.  More than anyone, he truly stands to be f**ked by Trump come November.  And it couldn't happen to a nicer 1-ply human being, too.

Are You Awake?

84 people did not wake up this morning.  84 people will never wake up again. 

In the blink of a horror filled eye, 84 people were mowed down like so much human grass on a green.  A truck filled with guns, grenades, and hateful certitude ended their lives as it careened down a beautiful promenade in Nice, France.  And as hate is an equal opportunity destroyer, those who perished cover the human spectrum in color, religion, political stripe, and age.

Oh, the age part.

If this picture doesn't bring home the fact that hatred simply does not care who it touches, I don't know what can.  Those 84 who did not wake up this morning include children like the dead child above.  Children who were out for an exciting evening to watch fireworks with their families, just as countless children did here in the States only two weeks ago.  Children who were only beginning to enjoy this world.  Children who were beginning school, beginning summer vacation, beginning LIFE.  One witness tearfully described seeing a baby whose head was completely smashed into the pavement.

Scores not killed, lie injured in hospitals.  Of those, 50 are children.  Waking up to pain, fear, confusion. 

Hell, we are all waking up to pain, fear, and confusion.

And shame.  Or at least we should be waking up to shame.

Humanity is not a series of disconnected pieces.  Humanity is a puzzle, yes, but a puzzle in which every piece is connected, touching the next piece and the next.  Our lives, regardless of where we live, are connected to one another.  We are responsible for one another.  Yet here we , once again waking up to a world in which we stare open mouthed at horror, hang our heads in despair, perhaps change our profile pic on Facebook, and move on.

As if it has nothing to do with us.

I have written many times before, in the wake of tragedies, how proximity is in direct proportion to the amount we care.  Tornado ravage your town?  You care a whole awful lot, Mr. Lorax.  Wildfire burn a neighborhood to the ground on the other side of the country?  Meh. 

Human nature?  Of course.  It's not that we don't care - decent people will always take note of others' suffering - but even decent people will quickly move on with their own lives.  Until tragedy touches us personally and then every breath, every sunrise, every smile on someone's face is a personal affront to our suffering.

We owe one another more than that.  We owe one another more than just circling our personal wagons and hoping "it" never touches us.  Because "it" will eventually touch us all. 

Whether "it" comes in the form of a natural disaster, a car crash, a suicide, a mass shooting, terrorism, a house fire, disease, or simply old age - "it" - death, will touch us all.  And when it does, as we lay prostrate, tears soaking the ground around us, grief so heavy we can barely draw another breath, we will never feel so alone.  So bereft.  So isolated. 

We must do better for one another.  Every morning you are granted the privilege of opening your eyes, of seeing another sunrise, of greeting the dawn - you have the chance to make this world better than you left it the night before.  To raise another person up.  To touch a life.  To change a life.  To change your life. 

Wringing our hands in helplessness, beseeching a deity - regardless of what people believe - God and the "gift" of free will, or nothing at all, the answers to this will never be found by looking up. We MUST start looking straight ahead, AT EACH OTHER.

Prayer is lovely and well intentioned, but it is also passive. We MUST move towards one another to effect change.

No, you probably won't stop the next certitude possessed monster from leaving a one mile stretch of bodies and blood in its wake, but you can strengthen the connections to others that may result in them reaching out to the next person, and on and on.  Kindness is infectious, and we all have the potential to respond in kind.  Think not?  Next time you hit the Starbuck's drive-thru, pay for the customer behind you.  Then sit back and watch what happens.  Story after story of this very phenomenon are everywhere.  As one person grows to two to four to ten to fifty - each person's day made just a bit brighter as they are told by the cashier, each person then smiling and paying it forward in kind.

Will everyone respond to your generosity of spirit?  No.  People are fearful, people are suspicious, especially in this day and age.  DeDe, a long time DGMSer, found this out this past week when she saw two different people fall in the same spot on two different days.  Both times, she stopped, went to check on them and offer her help.  Both times she was rudely rebuffed.

That's ok.  The point is she stepped up.  Her humanity was awake and engaged.  And even if they spurned her kindness, her kindness left a mark, a chink in their armor.  A small hole through which the next kindness offered may find entry, until those people soften enough to reshape their fear, their suspicions, their self imposed isolations.

We all live.  We all die.  Two absolutes.  Long gone are the days where the biggest X factors on longevity were disease or accident.  We live in a world where life may be snatched away for simply choosing the wrong cafe', the wrong movie, the wrong plane, the wrong spot from which to watch fireworks.  It is cruel, it is unfair, it is paralyzing.  But it is also affording us a gift of sorts.  Yes, a gift.

Hear me out.

As creatures of habit and routine, humans have always been the best at taking life for granted.  Assuming there will always be another day to get it right, to apologize, to forgive, to love, to try, to reach out.  Another day to wake up.  However, with each Nice, we are reminded that this moment may be our last.  We are constantly being reminded that time is no longer a certainty, an endless supply.  It is a gift. 

What will you do with the gift of today? 

84 people did not wake up this morning.  84 people will never wake up again. 

You are awake.  Get moving.

Little Dog Gave Me Paws...

A couple days ago, I wrote a short piece over on the Transparent blog to go with a video I was posting.  In it I spoke of standing up for others, getting involved - in the case of the video, it referred to the danger, bigotry, and fear transgender people may encounter in any given bathroom scenario.  The aloneness felt in those moments.  I encouraged others to help, to not turn away - I even hashtagged it #StepUpStepIn.

And it applies to everything.  Like it or not, we NEED one another in this world.  We are connected as never before, yet separated by that same technology.  We are more likely to be out zealously looking for pretend Pokemon than looking a real human in the face these days.  We fear one another.  And with each breaking news story, each heinous act that that is perpetrated, and each piece of dangerous rhetoric fed into our inner narratives, we fear each other more and more.

It is a dynamic we all built, and a dynamic only we, the architects, can dismantle.

Opportunities abound - you just have to be open to them, paying attention, and willing to take a chance.

Today I had occasion to #StepUpStepIn.  And while it has more to do with a little dog than the adult players in the story,  it gave me pause, because as it unfolded, I saw how little effort it took to effect a lasting change.

I had just come back from Target.  Had waffled all morning about going today or tomorrow.  Truth be told, I had been waffling since yesterday morning.  Like big waffles.  Like Belgian waffles on steroids waffling.

Self:  "Surely there's enough cat food for one more day." 

Self 2:  "But it's Target.  You love Target. And don't call me Shirley."

Self:  But I have painting to do and it is peopleyyyyyy out there...."

Self 2:  "The cats don't want Special K again, you whiney shitbiscuit covered in butt marmalade.  Now put your %^$#$ shoes on and let's get this over with." 

Self: "FINE.  mumble mumble. The cats LIKE Special K. mumble mumble..shitbiscuit.  WTF is a shitbiscuit? mumble mumble.  Butt marmalade?  Ewwwww."

So it was that I went, I shopped, I conquered the Land of Too Peopley, and was returning home.  I pulled up the hill into the garage.  <I saw nothing.  Neighborhood quiet.>  As it was garbage morning, our rolling bin was on the curb, now empty.  So I left the garage door open, walked down the hill, and rolled it back up into the garage. <I still saw nothing.>

I then turned to walk across from the bin to the back of my car.  <And I saw him.>  Out of the corner of my eye, there was a small rumpled dog weaving on the sidewalk at the bottom of my drive.  I gave the street a quick scan, thinking its owner was with it on a walk.  Hmmm, no one.  Being that it was 100 and sun outside, and thinking maybe it had tags, I made the universal "animal, come here" noise with my mouth.  You know, that Hannibal Lector/chianti/fava beans sucky sound, only snappier and less moist, and only two.  He stopped.  I knelt down on the driveway, and said, "Come here, baby."  Bobbing and weaving, he made his way towards me.  Then bumped into me.

Yes, the poor thing's eye fur was glued shut by countless burrs.  No wonder he was weaving.  He followed my voice into the garage and out of the heat.  Not the slightest bit aggressive, he let me pet him and work at the eye fur.  I managed to re-glue it with burrs in such a way that it no longer obstructed his vision.  He looked up my way, and my heart broke - his little eyes were white.  What vision he had was surely poor and he was used to navigating by sound.  I got him water, and thankfully had leftover food still here from Oreo - I went back in the garage and sat with him in the shade while he ate and drank his fill.

What to do, what to do?  While he dined, I dialed.  I called my vet, explained the situation, and asked for direction.  While I could bring him to them to check for a chip, he would ultimately end up with Animal Control, so I opted to call our local AC service at the police department.  I explained the situation to the offcier on the phone, she said she would have them come out, and I went back to sitting with the heavily panting little guy.

As I did not know how long the wait would be, I walked him quickly through the house to the back porch.  More food and water, and the ability to potty and roam if so desired.  (He did potty - how I know he is a he.)   As I waited, I watched him venture out into the grass, and then come back to my side and lay down.  He repeated that circuit in triplicate.  Curiosity getting bested by companionship each time.

Now, being a pet owner, I had immediately taken note of his fur (decent shape despite the burrs), his body mass, and his behavior.  All signs pointed to someone's pet.  My brain fought with my heart:

Brain: So he's friendly?  So what?  So is that feral in the backyard.  You know, the unofficial Sharp cat?

Heart: She doesn't belong to me, I just feed her.  And pet her.  And wipe her mouth with Bounty cause she drools when I pet her.  And this has nothing to do with the dog who clearly belongs to someone.

Brain:  The world abounds in dicks - someone probably dumped him because his eyes look like Got Milk commercials.

Heart:  Yes, people suck.  I know that.  But they also don't suck.  And I am betting on someone who doesn't suck and is missing their sweet dog.

Brain:  Fine, but don't get your hopes up about a chip, Doris Day. Not every story has a happy ending.  And don't think I can't hear you humming In The Arms Of An Angel down there.  This is not a viral rescue video, Sarah McLachlan.

Heart:  Have I ever told you you're a shitbiscuit?

After about 20 minutes, I heard a vehicle pull up.  I walked out front to greet the officer.  She handed me her card as we walked to my backyard and I brought her up to speed.  Her name was Leslie.

She and I sat on the patio and she checked him out, getting kisses from him with every turn.  She immediately agreed that he was actually in very good shape, burrs aside, for a stray.  Groomed fur, good weight, very social - all pointing to someone consistently caring for him.  She then declared, "Let's go see if this little fella has a chip."

We went to her vehicle where she put him on the front passenger seat in front of the A/C vent.  He liked that.  She then went around the vehicle and pulled a handheld device from her bag.  One swipe.  That's all it took.  One swipe and we both smiled as we heard a BEEP.  Best BEEP I have ever heard. 

She pushed a couple buttons, and it opened up contact information stored in his chip.  Hopefully it was accurate and would lead to some soon-to-be-very-happy owners.  As she was getting ready to leave with him. she hugged me and thanked me repeatedly for taking the time to get involved.  Lamenting that so many would not.  How so many would have just shut the garage door and gone on with their day.  I told her it never dawned on me to turn my back on him.  Easy isn't always right.

We said good bye and she promised to let me know what transpired.  Within 30 minutes, Leslie was calling with an update.  The information was good, the dog had been being babysat by the owner's in-laws, and he had gotten out their back door, quickly becoming a stranger in a strange land - aka, not his neighborhood.  He was being reunited with them, and they were overjoyed that he was ok.

I have spent all afternoon thinking about this little twist of fate, the timing of being where I was, and of never even considering ignoring him.  Whether it is a dog, a family member, or a total stranger - if we see someone in need, compromised, frightened, alone - we must #StepUpStepIn.  The good people in this world still outnumber the shitbiscuits - I firmly believe that.  We just cater to a media and a mindset in which the squeaky, bad, awful wheels get the grease.  And the news cycle.  And the attention.  It feeds our fear.  It ingrains our isolation.

We can stop it. 

If we invest in one another, in kindness, in empathy, in advocacy and action, we will change it.  Take the time.  Step Up, Step In.

Be the one who calls the dog to you and takes the steps to care about his welfare.

Be the one to say "I'll go with you" when a transgender person is being accosted by yet another "great mind."

Be the one in the next viral video who sees a racist verbally attacking someone in a restaurant and steps the f**k IN.

Be the one to ask a stranger about their day, to smile.  And be the one to actually listen to the reply.

People are hurting, they are raw, they are numb, they are angry - between campaign rhetoric and so many wrongful deaths of late - we are all experiencing a societal ennui over this frequency of violence, and a broken heart over this frequency of violence.  We may watch Game of Thrones, but we don't want to live in Game of Thrones.

Our best chance is each other.  In caring, listening, learning, and defending each other.  As long as we breathe we are each capable of effecting change for someone else. 

Because just as I did for that pup today, if I were stumbling half blind, hot, and scared down an unfamiliar street - and let's face it, these days we are all emotionally stumbling half blind, hot, and scared down unfamiliar streets -  I would so hope someone would take pity, take a moment, take care of me.

#StepUpStepIn

 ~~~~~~~~~~~

Brain:  I swear on day old rye toast, she is so sappy sometimes.

Heart:  Oh, go put some butt marmalade on your rye toast.  She's awesssssssome.  In the arms of the angel, fly away from here... sing with me, shitbiscuit!

(Editor's note:  No cats were fed Special K anywhere but in the telling of this story.)

The Running Of The Bulls(hit)

It's that time of the year once again.  Time to gather together with friends, kick back and imbibe, time to suck the marrow out of life, and to grab the bull by the horns ... or hope the bull doesn't grab you first.

Yes, the running of the bullshit has commenced again, so I thought I would pull this one forward from 2007.  The year may be different, but the sentiment is the same.

(Interesting tidbit:  After each morning's run, the bulls of the day are rounded up and face their fate in the ring with matadors.  Once killed, their meat (the bulls', not the matadors') is cooked up and enjoyed as a delicacy in the evening.  So, really, can you blame the bulls for goring a runner or five in the ass?)

(Sad tidbit:  A 28 year old runner was gored to death this morning, while several others were gored and/or suffered minor injuries.  In the ring, Victor Barrio, a 29-year-old professional bullfighter - died when the bull gored him in the chest. He is the first to die in the ring since the turn of the century.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ahhhh, summer in Pamplona.

Lazy days, comfy siestas, getting effed in the A by a three foot horn...

Yes, it's that time again - the running of the bulls.  A time honored tradition whereby men of all ages eat their Wheaties (read: drink lots and lots of alcohol), and run in front of herds of charging bulls, began this morning in the little Spanish town.

This year's San Fermin Festival looks to exceed last year's reveler count of over 200,000. 

And if you think I'm kidding about the alcohol component, think again...

Not only was the first run delayed this morning so police could clear the streets of debris and drunken crowds, Matthew Genovese, 25, from Washington, Conn., who was in Pamplona for the first time says, "I stayed up all night drinking. Thank God for espresso."

Yes, nothing like a bloodstream full of alcohol being sped up by high octane caffeine to make you run with more accuracy.  (Think Red Bull has gotten smart and begun to sponsor this event?)

Of course, Spanish locals look down their nariz at amateurs like Matthew.  "They don't know what they're doing; bulls can kill," said Ruben Munoz, 24, from Madrid, who has run with the bulls during each of the last five years. "I do it for the adrenaline and because I feel liberated."

Riiiiiiiiiiight.  Can I get you another cerveza there, Ruben?

The running of the bulls(hit) continues for eight more days.  The running of the mouths, however, will continue long after the festival is over.

Watch your back, guys, and run fast, because no amount of alcohol or adrenaline is going to be enough to mask the pain when one of these creatures catches up with you and liberates your butthOLE'.

Taking One Life Does Not Bring Back Another

Growing up Catholic, my Sundays always began with church, my Sunday nights always found me in catechism class.  While I abandoned organized religion long ago, I can still close my eyes and hear the words, muscle memory would certainly lead me through the moves of the mass, and the hymns can still be played in my iMemory.

One that easily comes to mind this morning had the words, "An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth, that was the law of the land."  Taken from the Matthew section of the Bible (yes, I Googled that - as comedian Kathleen Madigan says, "We Catholics don't read the Bible, we read the bulletin.), it speaks to equity in transgressions against one another.  Basically, you hit me, I get to hit you right back.  Poke me in the eye, I get to choose an extra sharp stick and gouge you right back.

It has been going round and round in my head this morning as I watch the updates on the shootings of so many police officers that took place in Dallas last evening.

And as that hymn plays on repeat, so does this quote attributed to Gandhi, "An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind.”

Last night's coordinated, planned, and heinously executed sniper attack at the Black Lives Matter protest brings that maxim to life.  Or to death, may be the better way to say it.  As of this writing, five police officers now lay dead, 7 other officers injured, and two civilians also wounded.  Dead for doing their jobs.  Standing vigil at a protest, a protest organized in the aftermath of two equally heinous murders carried out by other police officers.

The circle here is sickening in its equilibrium destroying inertia.  It is the absolute personification of the term "shit spiral".  Bad cops kill, so good cops protect protesters of bad cops, good cops gunned down for being guilty of association with bad cops who kill.  And on and on.

While the full motive of the attacker has gone to the grave with him, it is certainly not a stretch to do the obvious math and come to the conclusion that this was retribution, vengeance, an eye for an eye being taken to its most literal.  Police have identified the attacker, now dead, as Micah Johnson, a former Army Reservist who told them during the standoff that "he was upset with white people and wanted to kill white people, especially white officers."

Hear me now - TAKING A LIFE DOES NOT BRING ONE BACK.

This is not some video game where you get points, heartbeats, or more life cycles for destroying an opponent.  These bullets - those fired into Philando Castile, Alton Sterling, and these police officers are REAL.  The guns used to fire the bullets are REAL.  And they only take life, they cannot ever give it back.

This is impotent rage given murderous ability.  This is acting out because of hurt, anger, misplaced fury.  And yes, this fury was given life taking ability by our nation's refusal to step up and finally define the Second Amendment; to finally acknowledge that our precious founding fathers were not fortune tellers with crystal balls who looked into the future and saw a nation of heavily armed, ridiculously armed citizens and said, "Cool."  Those founding fathers surely spin in their graves at what their once carefully crafted words have wrought.  How their intent, based on THEIR REALITY, has been bastardized, warped in the most horrific of ways.  How their time frame's need for defense in a freshly birthed, fragile and growing country, has been used as an excuse to rationalize away the killing of schoolchildren in their classrooms, movie goers in their cinemas, black men with broken tail lights, 12 year olds playing in the park, and police officers doing their most basic of sworn duty - insuring the peace.

As I wrote yesterday, do not place these further deaths at the feet of the Black Lives Matter movement, and do not come back with the frail and pathetic All Lives Matter garbage.  That protest last night in Dallas, like those held all around the country, is about one very specific FACT - black lives are repeatedly shown to NOT matter.  And standing up with this movement does not mean we are saying other lives don't matter.  If that is your kneejerk, then nuance is not your strong suit.  And your eyes are clouded by the privilege you don't even know you have.

I have seen people hollering that Black Lives Matter is anti-cop.  NO, IT IS NOT.  It is anti-BAD cop.  It is anti-black-people-are-seen-as-expendable-by-BAD-cops.  I stand with Black Lives Matter.  I am not anti-cop.  Not even remotely.

Again, no pun intended, this is NOT black and white.  (Well, some of it is, but hear me out...)  This is not a matter of if you call out a bad, murderous officer then you are summarily dismissing ALL officers.  Rational, thinking citizens are capable of understanding there are bad always mixed in with good.  Bad priests with good priests, bad accountants mixed with good accountants, bad doctors mixed with good doctors, bad athletes mixed with good athletes, bad <insert profession> mixed in with good <insert same profession".

There ARE bad, inept, emotionally unstable, God complexed, bigoted, trigger happy cops out there.  There just are.  How many videos do we need to see?  How many dead black kids and adults do we need to count before we unite and send the very clear message through protest and prosecution, that this will no longer be allowed to be swept under the rug?

And to that end, how many innocent police officers must we watch buried, dead for the sin of association with the bad officers?

In nearly every other profession, we ferret out the bad representatives and remove them.  Obvious exceptions are professional athletes who somehow fail up; priests who simply get forwarded to a new diocese like so much junk mail; and cops who get protected by a bullshit "code".

That last one has to change.  It has to.  Public confidence, hell, respect, for police officers dwindles more each day because there is so seldom punishment from within, accountability with consequence, or true legal justice when a cop has completely gone off the rails and committed a cold blooded murder.  Good cops know who the bad ones are.  But until the script gets flipped to where there is incentive, reporting without personal ramification, shit, PRIDE in taking out the trash - this sick circle will continue.

Good cops will protect the bad.  The citizenry will get more and more disenfranchised.  And the raging ones with easy access to weaponry will continue to take it out on the good cops who protect the bad, and on and on we will go.  Inertia making us ill; a human centrifuge where we will continue to spin out more and more blood.  An endless cycle in which death is the only certain outcome.

Police officers died last night.  Were they all "good" police officers?  I have no idea.  Perhaps even they did not yet know, never facing a defining moment in which that is exposed.  And this morning it does not matter.  They did not deserve to die, to be murdered in cold, misplaced rage.  Last night they were simply performing the most basic component of their jobs.  Protecting a rightfully angry citizenry from hurting itself. 

And for that they paid with their lives. 

Gandhi was right.  An eye for an eye will leave the world blind. The answer?  I so wish I had an easy one.

All I know this morning is that my "eyes" are blinded by tears, and that their deaths have not brought back a single life.

Nor will they ever.

Comply vs CompLIE

As a parent, we teach our children many things.  Please, thank you, chew with your mouth closed, knock before entering.  We instruct them on etiquette issues, showing respect, how to tie their shoes, count pennies, answer the phone, drive a car.  Don't take candy from strangers, don't talk to strangers, stay in pairs, be aware.  The lists go on and on - mostly similar under each roof, but there is a glaring difference in some.

I am white, and I can tell you I have never had the "comply" conversation with any of my children.

I have taught them right from wrong.  I have taught them personal responsibility.  I even remember teaching them to play dead if their school ever came under attack.  When teaching them to drive, of course we discussed what getting pulled over is like.  I stressed politeness.  No belligerence.  But never did the word "comply" enter the discussions.  Because I do not worry for their lives in that scenario.

I am white, and I have never had to teach my children that their very lives depend on their compliance.

Because they are white.  And we have privilege.

Anyone made uncomfortable by that statement, get over it.  If you are white and squirm at the words "white privilege" ask yourself why??

Those who typically squirm aren't even aware of having it, which is the very height of what privilege is about.  It just is.  It exists as a taken-for-granted part of every breath you take.  It just is.  Every moment, every interaction, every day.  So you don't even notice it.  It is your normal.  It just is.

I am very much aware of it.  Because I care, yes, but mostly because I pay attention.  And because it costs me nothing to admit to something I did nothing to earn, deserve, or be cloaked in.  I was born white.  There, that's my big achievement.  An accident of birth, the mere result of my white parents getting busy, and here I am.  Raising my own white babies into white adults who wear the same Harry Potter invaluability cloak.  The cloak that allows us to walk into stores and not be that suspicious side eye.  Rather we are welcomed, smiled at.  The cloak that grants us better job interviews, interactions, service.  And the cloak that all but guarantees we come out of an ordinary police encounter still breathing.

Think not?

This past February while driving out to Colorado, I was pulled over for speeding in New Mexico.  Middle of nowhere, Sirius 8 blaring, speed limit 65, and yes, I was going well over 85.  Lights came on, I pulled over.  I was not even remotely panicked.  Toby's friend Lindsay was in the back seat and I woke her up to let her know.  She sat up.  She did not panic.

But then, she's white, too.

The officer - who looked like Boss Hogg from Dukes of Hazzard - came up to the passenger window.  I greeted him.  He greeted me.  I still was not panicked.

He asked if there was any reason I was speeding.  I smiled my cute, petite, white woman smile and answered that no, my only defense was that I was listening to my music while Lindsay napped and was just not paying attention.

He laughed.

He asked what music?

I said I had on the 80s channel and it was Bon Jovi.

He asked what song.  I told him.

Still not panicked. 

He was listening to the same thing in his car.  We laughed.  Happy white people sharing a giggle and a common high school time frame.

He took my documents back to his car.  Still not panicking.

He eventually came back.  Smiled at the little white lady and her backseat charge, and said he was knocking 10 mph off the ticket, which lowered it by $100.

We all shared another laugh, I thanked him, we went our separate ways.  No violence, no bullets, nobody dead.

Contrast that to Philando Castile of St. Paul, Minnesota who was pulled over with his fiance and 4 year old child last night.  His crime?  Broken tail light.

Philando greeted the officer.  Philando followed concealed carry instructions and informed the officer he had a weapon and a license for it.  Philando reached, as instructed, for his wallet containing his driver's license.  Philando is dead.

Shot five times by a white officer with an itchy trigger finger - itchy by what though?  A broken tail light?  Ooooooooo!  A man politely explaining he is following the law and providing the officer with the required information about his gun? Gasp!

Let's be real here.  Philando Castile died while being black.  That's his crime.  I live in Texas and people everywhere carry their goddamned security trinkets in their holsters, their purses,  their glove boxes, strapped around their rotunda shaped midsections.  But these white people seem to escape death daily when pulled over and following the same set of instructions.

Philando complied.  He complied.  As he was taught by his mother.  A mother who spoke this morning and stressed he had been taught since a child to COMPLY.  Because to comply is to hopefully better the chances that his black skin would not be torn by bullets.  She had had the conversation, repeatedly.  The conversation I have never thought to have with my kids.

"I know my son ... we know black people have been killed ... I always told them, whatever you do when you get stopped by police, comply, comply, comply."

A word I have never used with them.  Because we are white.  And I know my, and their, every outcome is simply destined to be better because of our stupid shade of skin.

Philando's fiance had the composure to begin livestreaming the encounter - a video now watched millions of times over, the world over.  She prays he lives, you hear Philando dying, she asks the officer WHY?  The officer, gun still drawn and aimed into the car, is hysterical, hypercharged.  And at no point does he deny what she says to him about what actually took place.

Without that video, we would be facing another dead black man who did as he was raised - COMPLY, and another bad cop who immediately turns bad actor to compLIE.  Just as we have seen over and over and over - cops draw down on a black person, end their life, and then spin a web of lies - until thankfully a cell phone video, a surveillance video from a store, or an infrequently used body cam actually tells the true tale.

Such is the case playing out in Baton Rouge where Alton Sterling was shot repeatedly in the chest, while on the ground, face up, two cops on top of him.  Both of their body cams miraculously malfunctioned and did not catch the encounter.  No matter, cell phones did.  Dirty cop hollers about a gun - set the stage, shout the motive to shoot - and then unloads into the man's chest.  Alton's gun is then clearly seen being removed from his pocket by one of the officers as Alton bleeds out.

Video clearly shows Alton did not have any gun in his hands, he had two cops on top of him.  He was COMPLYING.

Yet right before shooting, one of the officers compLIES and hollers about a gun.

Alton is dead because he is black and black lives seem to be expendable to too many police officers.  Whatever switch gets flipped in their weak heads, black means more dangerous than white, ergo, their first impulse is to shoot.  Yet we see video after video of white encounters in which white men have weapons, strike out at police, have come from freshly mowing down innocent lives - and they make it safely to a police station and a mug shot.

This is the crux of the words BLACK LIVES MATTER.  Don't give me your threatened little white person counter of ALL LIVES MATTER.

Yes, Einstein, all lives do matter - to some of us.  All lives should matter to police officers.  But the very fact that they do not, disproportionately so, is why the words BLACK LIVES MATTER exist.

And do not get on the copologist bandwagon with me.  There ARE bad cops.  There just are.  We see it repeatedly.  And there are chicken shit cops who cover for them because it is some bullshit system every bit as bad as the Catholic Church.  But instead of covering for touchy, feely, rapey priests, they cover for their bigoted, shitheaded, murderous brethren.  It is completely possible to support the police, value their profession and sacrifices, and still call out the bad ones and hold them accountable.

Look, my life is no more precious or important than Alton's or Philando's.  Or Tamir Rice's or Freddie Gray's. 

My whiteness is not some cloaking device.  Well, it shouldn't be.  I should not walk into Target and merit not a glance while my black friends are followed and scrutinized the entire time.  I should not get pulled over and get my ticket lowered when Philando got pulled over and paid the ultimate price.

Are there bad black people?  Of course.  Just as there are bad white people galore.  Bad comes in every color of the rainbow, every layer of the economic strata, every culture, every religion.  Yet we repeatedly see that being black is a crime in and of itself.

I cannot remove my white privilege.  I did not seek it, it was granted and continues to be granted by a society that views people through the prism of skin color.  My friends cannot remove their black disadvantage.  They did not seek it, it was inflicted and continues to be inflicted by a society that views people through the prism of their skin color.  A prism in which I am somehow valued, and my friends are immediately suspect.  A prism in which I breathe easier, not even knowing I breathe easier, by simply being white.  A prism in which their every breath is measured, considered, thought out - so as to not draw attention, be misinterpreted, be in danger.

I sit here tonight with a heart breaking for the people who loved and lost these men.  Men who were once boys who were repeatedly taught the lesson that never crossed my mind to teach my children - COMPLY, COMPLY, COMPLY.  A lesson they both learned well, but in the end, even that was not enough to save them from being black.

It is high time we take our precious white privilege, stand up to the dirty system that protects murderers cops who do not deserve to wear a badge, and not allow them to compLIE, compLIE, compLIE any longer. 

We are not better because we are white. We are just lucky.  And as long as we cling to that privilege, we are also complicit in these deaths and the ones yet to come.