This Sixth Day

I am not enamored of babies.

Never have been. Never had one, I am not an uncle  (nor an aunt); my friends have kids but I generally wasn’t around them when they were babies –my friends’ kids, that is, I certainly wasn’t around my friends when they were babies, if they ever were. (I mean, I can’t be sure, right? I wasn’t around. Sure, they say they were babies… though hang on, I’m not even sure they ever said it… This bears looking into.) When I have been around my friends’ babies, I have generally been a little intimidated: I worry that they’re too fragile, that I shouldn’t touch them or pick them up in case I drop them. It is weird that they are tiny things that will grow up into complete humans. I can’t really grasp it.

But I do not feel that way about animal babies. I absolutely adore puppies and kittens and tadpoles and chicks. I think they’re amazing, and though they are often very fragile, I still want to pick them up and cuddle them and kiss them on their awkwardly big heads.

So I’m learning to be more fond of human puppies. I guess. Still kinda weird, those little things. Though they do generally have nice eyes. And cute toe-beans.

One thing I know for sure: new babies, new life, is magical and precious, and heartening, in a time like this. I have a friend, a former student, who just had a beautiful healthy daughter this last Friday; her first. Alexandria. Everybody’s fine. My friend is going to be a good mom. I don’t want to share pictures, because it’s not my story to celebrate; but it is news worthy of celebrating, so here it is.

And here’s another birth worth celebrating, which I can share:

NEW BABY HEFFALUMP!

Congratulations, everybody.

Did you know I’m from Boston?

Or, well, Newton, which is a suburb of Boston. And I’m not from there in the sense that I was born there; I moved there when I was 8. But it is the place I have the strongest memories of, the strongest ties to as a childhood home, so I call it the place that I am from.

Home of Crystal Lake (Not that one).

Namesake of the Fig Newton.

Place of Heartbreak Hill, the mile-long uphill climb that comes at Mile 20 of the Boston Marathon.

Former residence of an ABSURD Wikipedia list of famous people. (I’m sure some of these are true. I’m equally sure that not all of them are true. Newton is a very old city and it is right next to Boston, so many of these people may have lived there for a short time — but this list is ridiculous. Needs additional citations for verification, indeed.)

List  of Famous People From Newton, Massachusetts

 

And because I grew up in Newton, I am proud to say that I can hear this sign out loud.

Kodak🔜 FWA (@tigerdotexe) | Twitter

Also, while I am social distancing as well as I  can, I did have a two-hour videoconference call with two of my best teacher-friends today (And my wife, though that was  more so she could talk to them than so she could talk to me — she was in the other room on her phone. I could hear the bird screaming with echo effect.), and it reminded me, as much of an introvert as I am, and as important (WICKED important, mush) as it is to quarantine to slow the spread and flatten the curve, we need to stay in touch with those we love  and care about. We need to interact. We need to see and speak to other people.

Just do it safely.

Thanks to everyone for everything you are sacrificing for society, and particularly to help those in need, and those who are sacrificing to help all of us. I hope I can give  you a smile. Since I can’t give you a hug.

This Third Day Is Harder

I’m having a tougher time finding the positive space today. I didn’t sleep well last night, had a rough hour with one of my online classes today; and of course, the universe dropped this on us:

I tried to think of something I could share today that would be happy; but honestly, I’ve just been singing Bill Withers songs in my head all day. I won’t say I grew up listening to him (I kind of did, though, because “Lean On Me” is an anthem for me. First song I learned to play on the piano, back when I was still going to Sunday School. And that was a looooong time ago.) but the last few years I’ve come to appreciate his genius: once I found out just how many beautiful songs he wrote that I already knew. My favorite thing that I found out today, listening to his Best Of… album, was that one of my favorite R&B hooks was taken from Mr. Withers.

You just need to hear the first ten seconds — though of course, if you want to hear the whole song, it’s worth it. And it’s only two minutes.

And here it is again, from 1996:

 

But thinking about this is sad. So I can’t write about this.

At the same time, though, I can’t pretend even on my happiest day that the world isn’t caving in under the weight of sadness and fear and pain — I want to add “right now” at the end of that sentence, but it’s always like that for some of us, at least some days: every day is sad. Every day there is death and loss and sorrow and grief. And while I don’t want to dwell on that, I want to bring some joy even to people who are grieving right now — and any time — I don’t want to ignore it, either, don’t want to pretend that the pain isn’t real.

So while I will grieve for Mr. Withers’s passing, I will remember this, from another of my very favorite artists:

“Listen,” said Granger, taking his arm, and walking with him, holding aside the bushes to let him pass. “When I was a boy my grandfather died, and he was a sculptor. He was also a very kind man who had a lot of love to give the world, and he helped clean up the slum in our town; and he made toys for us and he did a million things in his lifetime; he was always busy with hishands. And when he died, I suddenly realized I wasn’t crying for him at all, but for the things he did. I cried because he would never do them again, he would never carve another piece of wood or help us raise doves and pigeons in the back yard or play the violin the way he did, or tell us jokes the way he did. He was part of us and when he died, all the actions stopped dead and there was no one to do them just the way he did. He was individual. He was an important man. I’ve never gotten over his death. Often I think, what wonderful carvings never came to birth because he died. How many jokes are missing from the world, and how many homing pigeons untouched by his hands. He shaped the world. He did things to the world. The world was bankrupted of ten million fine actions the night he passed on.”

Granger stood looking back with Montag. “Everyone must leave something behind when he dies, my grandfather said. A child or a book or a painting or a house or a wall built or a pair of shoes made. Or a garden planted. Something your hand touched some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die, and when people look at that tree or that flower you planted, you’re there. It doesn’t matter what you do, he said, so long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something that’s like you after you take your hands away. The difference between the man who just cuts lawns and a real gardener is in the touching, he said. The lawn-cutter might just as well not have been there at all; the gardener will be there a lifetime.”

Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451

I’m sure I’ve posted this before, but this is the passage that sticks with me. This is what I think of when I think of death, and when I think of memory, and of legacy. I don’t know if I believe in a soul, but I certainly know two things: the world has been bankrupted of uncountable fine actions, now that Mr. Withers has passed on; and, whenever we hear things like this, things that he shaped and touched, he will be there. His soul will live on in this.

 
 

And here, of course, is where Bill Withers’s soul will touch all of us: because Mr. Withers told us how we handle the unbearable weight of the world. With the help of others.

Thank you, sir. Rest well.

This Second Day

(By the way, did anyone notice that my last post was my 400th on this blog? Me neither.)

I’m still not ready to share my sad post. Here’s this, instead.

I started a podcast. 

I know this is now a joke, a cliché; I read a whole post about how people should NOT take this time in quarantine to start a podcast. But this is not supposed to be an ego trip, or a special way to share my hot takes or expand my brand: my intent here was to create content that homeschoolers and distance-learning teachers could utilize. I do also want to share my love for literature, of course; and inasmuch as that’s my brand, and these interpretations of these pieces are my hot takes, I suppose this is exactly the cliché podcast.

I don’t care.

I am very proud of this. I have gotten compliments from people ranging from seventh-graders to septuagenarians; from complete strangers, to my wife, who was genuinely impressed at how good I am at literary analysis, and how well I read and speak about literature. And any compliment that comes from my wife makes me inordinately proud.

So this is my positive post for the day: I made a podcast. If you haven’t listened to it, check it out: this is today’s brand new episode — on what is not, sadly, a happy story; but it is an utterly perfect story.

The Story of an Hour

(If you want positive literature to listen to, go for “since feeling is first” or “The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County.”)

This Day

Yesterday was a bad day.

There have been a lot of bad days, lately. For all of us. And when put in comparison with all of us, my bad day yesterday was not so much of a much: I had to do a thing for work that I didn’t want to do, and it made me feel — hopeless.

It wasn’t so much what I had to do. It was that it’s easy to feel hopeless.

It’s so easy, right now, to focus on the negatives. Sometimes we have to: because sometimes the negatives overwhelm everything else, and must be confronted, conquered or adapted to.

But other times, even in these times, it’s not good to focus on the negatives too often, or to focus on them too hard, to the exclusion of all else. I did that yesterday, and when my wife tried to hug me to make me feel better, I didn’t even hug her back. I was too low. And I was wallowing.

I wrote a blog yesterday, in the depths of my sadness. It didn’t make me feel better, but I wrote it. And honestly, I think it’s accurate, and it’s something I want to say, so I want to share it.

But not now. Not yet. Not today.

Today I want to share this. Even though I’ve shared it many times before. I think today, this is something worth focusing on.

These are my dogs, Roxie and Samwise. Also my birb, Duncan. Roxie is the tall angular one, who particularly likes soft things — that’s her favorite chair, the purple one; also her favorite blanket, under which my wife tucks her pretty much every morning; the bottom one is her on what we call the “poofy nest,” a mattress topper that the dogs lie on because the concrete floor is too hard and cold for them, sometimes. Duncan is the one with the crown of yellow feathers, moving so quick he’s a blur. I had videos of our tortoise, Neo, but I couldn’t upload them.

Maybe I’ll focus on that, tomorrow.

I’m going to try to find something worth focusing on, worth sharing, every day. At some point, I’ll decide it’s a good day to share my very sad post.

But not today.

This 100th Morning

This morning I am writing my 100th daily post in a row.

I’m quite proud of this: I didn’t miss a day, and I ran the gamut of posts, from short jokes or links to long essays on important topics, with everything in between. It has been extremely good for me to have this daily deadline, especially during the last few months of the school year, when I tend to want to do nothing strenuous or intellectually challenging because I have to summon so much energy just to keep teaching. This blog has kept me writing, and it makes me happy and proud.

I’m very thankful for the people who have been reading: the numbers on this blog have all gone up, subscribers, visitors, and viewers. I admit that sometimes I’m surprised that people still come and read this, considering some of the crap I’ve said on here — both silly things and offensive, controversial things —  but I am grateful that you do, indeed, seem to  keep coming here to read what I say.

And I hate to do this to you.

But I have to shift my focus. It’s summertime, and though it sounds long it feels short; and this is the best chance I have to finish my book. The Adventures of Damnation Kane, Volume II. I have to keep my promise: I told people at the Festival of Books that I would have the second volume edited and published within a month or two; I didn’t make that deadline, but I can at least do it now.

I don’t plan to stop blogging: there are still things I want and need to say, and this is the best place to do it. I just won’t be doing it as much, at least for a little while. The book really is nearly  done: the main story is written and typed already, I just need to format and edit it; I’m nearly done with the bonus chapters, at least in first draft. So I am hopeful that it will be finished soon, and then maybe I can go back to daily posts — though there is also that third volume out there, waiting to be written . . .

 

I hope this doesn’t drive people away. I hope I’ve earned enough of your kindness and consideration that you will let me finish this other project without feeling that I’m too lame for not being able to do both. Who knows? Maybe I can do both. (I’m pretty sure I can’t do both and move, which pretty much eliminates blogging for the next week or so.) Maybe I can manage a really short post a day, just something to spark a thought or bring a snort of laughter. I’ll try. And I’ll keep trying. Even if you all do stop visiting here and reading what I have written.

Thanks again, and see you soon?

Also, read my book: the second volume is forthcoming.

The Adventures of Damnation Kane

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.

Source

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.

Motherfucker.

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.

Sure.

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.

Period.

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:

Me.

THIS BULLSHIT

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.

BUT THIS IS SOME BULLSHIT.

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.

20190528_143602

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.)

10942

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:

20190528_143652

 

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

Here’s me holding it. YOU CAN READ MY UCSC T-SHIRT THROUGH THE GODDAMN BLANKET!

10941

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:

10940

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:

 

20190528_143831

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.