Problem Solved

1.  Google the word taqiiya.
      Never mind.  I will do it for you.


 "Taqiyya is an Islamic juridical term whose shifting meaning relates to when a Muslim is allowed, under Sharia law, to lie. A concept whose meaning has varied significantly among Islamic sects, scholars, countries, and political regimes, it nevertheless is one of the key terms used by recent anti-Muslim polemicists. 

"Muslim scholars teach that Muslims should generally be truthful to each other, unless the purpose of lying is to "smooth over differences."

There are two forms of lying to non-believers that are permitted under certain circumstances, taqiyya and kitman. These circumstances are typically those that advance the cause of Islam - in some cases by gaining the trust of non-believers in order to draw out their vulnerability and defeat them." 

2.  Watch the movie "Thirteen Hours".

They do not even delve into the part where Ambassador Stevens is cattle prodded in the genitals. But I will refresh your memory.

Warning: Horrible image follows so don't look at it if you are squeamish.  Some say it is fake. Let us pray that be true.

3.  Google taqiyyah.

4.  Stop being charitable toward muslims.  Why do you expect them to know what Christian Charity even is?

5.  Do something.The world is laughing at us like we are dancing monkeys on a stick.

6.  Stop letting yourself be a dancing monkey on a stick'

By the way, you can apply for a FOID card on line.

Further:  I am an islamophobe.

SEE WHAT YOU ARE SAYING?

The Spectrum of Bitterness -- part four

"The last time I saw Richard was Detroit in '68 and he told me. . . "

                                                                           Joni Mitchell

Last night I spent about three hours on a three -way, (don't get your hopes up. . .) cell phone, voice and text message discussion.  A person close to me called.  They were in distress half-way across the country from me.  I spoke and texted with all three members of this debacle, until my wi-fi finally said, "Fuck this." and gave up the ghost.

Among other things, I was told pieces of family history that a person had told another person that were part enhancement, part disremembering , and part hog wash.  I dealt with tears, lies, condemnations, praise, laughter, pleading, drunkenness and despair. This morning I was texted that every thing was hunky dory and they were going to experiment with one of the pieces of advice (Not the one where I said shut the fuck up) and see how that worked out.

I responded, since they were all in search of emotional peace of some sort and none of them had a handy firearm, that the texter should tell one certain member of the triad that I find it very difficult to text while my tears are pouring over the keyboard. I pretty much felt like I was run over by a truck.

It isn't like this same horrible blood-letting drama hasn't unfolded on at least three other ocasions, word for word. No. This was all new, fresh wounds and never before experienced pain and anguish.   Remind me to press record call the next time it happens.

One of the persons, near and dear to me, is very well known to react, or should I say 'lose her shit' over specific issues that this unnamed person does not care to deal with at that moment, which is 99% of the moments in that person's life.  So I am hoping that some of these people will soon learn not to rock that boat, or pull the tail of that tiger, or poke that hornet's nest. Of course I admonished one and all that it would be very difficult work to even reach 50/50 compromises on these hot button issues and they all agreed that they would whole-heartedly make that effort. Again.

I am thinking of ordering a t-shirt that says, "I am not Ann Landers."  but no one knows who that is anymore.  I am a rather socially solitary person and I cannot figure out how I end up in the middle of these things.  After each one of these crises has passed, if I dare say, "So, how's it going" or "So, what's new?" I usually get the "Go away, you meddlesome bitch" sneer.

My brothers were feuding for a good many years.  I felt like a frigging ping-pong ball.  They actually, were they to accept an inquiry, could neither of them remember what the feud was about. The demise of our beloved father caused them to put the conflict aside and be "brothers" again. This, of course, since I am not only the middle child, but also an ignorant female whose life experience with dealing with  aging and dying parents and rest home bills, etc. counts for naught, means the ping- pong table was folded up and put in the crawl space, and this ping-pong ball was immediately relegated to a dusty corner of the "high, high" shelf. And, since I have had many a year to develop certain scars and calouses, I just don't give a shit.  I am just me.

It isn't even reality.  Everything that I experience takes place only in my brain, a beautiful garden where I am very content.  Lots of weeds, but I know how to get rid of them. I am quite capable of generating a colorful alternate history. (Which any of you that wish to, can delve into.  Google me. Cherry pick from the reality and the fiction. Whatever suits you.)

"No man is an island."  That's baloney.  I am an island and if you are on it, be it ever so briefly, it is because I allowed it.

And Richard died, so I don't have to deal with that anymore either.

Nuance.

Of course there are many languages. Some related . Like French, Spanish, Latin. You can sometimes figure out what the words are without studying the language. With familiarity to the alphabet, I can sometimes do that with Russian or Greek. I used to be able to tell the difference between  a person who was from Louisiana and a person who was from Texas. Can't anymore. Probably cuz I don't really listen to anyone  anymore.

Then there are languages like Swedish or Urdu. You have to wonder from where they arose.

And in each language: dialect, slang, jargon, accent. Southern states, "Bless her heart" pretty much means "Wow. Is she dumb."

Then I read this Jane Austen quote. The language I am most familiar with is "English". But, man, is that messed up. For God's sake, why do Brits, be they Scot, Welsh, whatever, say "whilst" instead of "while"? Is that a sort of contraction of "while it is"?  Or did we Americans elide the ending away? I can't get my head around it. I have to try not to think about it, it bothers me so much. I haven't the time or the gray matter to deal with it. And don't even start me up about grey and gray. Particularly regarding those who correct you about which is correct.

But then, a long awaited breath of fresh air from Jane Austen. Honestly, I can't recall reading her, but I must, even if only to dwell on her combinations of the 26 letters. "

"

So brilliant.  So overstuffed with personality, subtlety; so layered with both  appreciation and deprecation.  My favorite language of all:  intelligent  snark.

OUTRAGE

When was that Selma Alabama memorial march thing?  Some day last week?  How fucking adorably ironic.  Martin Luther King is spinning in his grave.

I am through. I will never ever again proselytize about accepting people for their own self worth or recognize effort and ability without prejudice or distinction. This is the straw that broke my less than perfect back.


- BizPac Review http://ow.ly/K4prT




Hey.  Guess what?  If you didn't notice yet, I have no struggle at all having conversations with people who don't "look like me".   Doesn't that sound more like this prick has a personal problem instead of a RACIAL problem?  But then, there is that BLAME thing going on.

 This is the high school my daughter and I graduated from. When I was there, there was one black student. Her name was Faith Julian. She was Dr. Percy Julian's (google) daughter. They burned a cross on his lawn when he moved into Oak Park, Illinois. That town contains a larger concentration of sanctimonious dickheads than any  other city in the world. My dad was a cop there. I moved back when I got married. The mayor was corrupt. He was paying his extramarital sweetie over a million dollars a year as a computer consultant. I am getting ahead of myself.

Faith Julian was a sweet, friendly, unpretentious girl despite being ungodly wealthy. She would walk into one of the school's enormous, thronged girl's bathrooms and a hush would fall. I was a senior when she started there.  She was a year or two behind. As far as I recall I am the only person who ever spoke to her in a social situation at that time. But everyone knew it would be me. I would talk to anyone.

When I went to St. Mel's grammar school, there was one black girl. Her name was Hazel. Her parents were rich. We could tell by her coat. It was an Irish neighborhood where most of our coats had too short sleeves and were threadbare hand-me-downs.  Hers was tan with a brown velvet collar and a fucking matching hat.

We walked into Madigan's department store and my two and a half year old brother saw his first black person. I will never forget the look on his face. My mom had to explain his reaction to me.

I would  love to tell you the story about why all the parks in my subdivision  have been remodeled in the last ten years and there is no longer a basketball hoop to be found. (I now live way North of Oak Park. When I moved out fifteen years ago, my real estate taxes were over $8,000 for a forty two foot lot.)

On the stairwell at my high school there was a huge picture of some guy named McDaniel who founded the school. I said he was my great grandpa. Maybe he was. I hope that picture was taken down before thugs covered it with obscene graffiti.

Oh.  Here is another ironic aside.  In Baton Rouge, Louisiana, there is an old plantation that is kept as a historical site for tourists and stuff. It is called The McDaniel Plantation.

In college, I went to visit my then boyfriend in Spring Hill, Alabama.  The Airport was weathered in so we had to take a bus from New Orleans to Mobile.  I saw a drinking fountain that had a sign Colored Only.  Not a photo.  Not a reproduction.  A flaking, old, white enamel sign above a drinking fountain.

Why does not someone talk to this current school principal, who is principal for the same stupid reason Barack Obama is president, and mention casually, with maybe a sixteen pound sledge hammer, that he is promoting and fueling racial divisiveness?  Why are we so FUCKING scared to speak up? Why do we give stupid assholes like Al Sharpton air time and print inches?

I am through with tolerance. I sneer at it. It is all about me now. Me and MY affinity group.

Son of a BITCH. This is SOOO fucking outrageous. I cannot believe it happened. I cannot believe it was allowed. If I was a 99 pound sophomore and he barred me from MY auditorium in MY school, I would have kicked the mother fucker in the balls. Or do "they" not have any?

Unfollow me. I don't fucking care.

Actually, I only EVER pretended to care.


Photo attribution:   Idon'tgiveaflyingfuck.org.

Tolerance

I know there is a larger hue and cry about discrimination of any kind. There are web sites that actually have to say,  "Hey.  There are still nice guys in the world."  There are waaay too many (in my female opinion) websites supporting feminism, a particular thorn in my side. And there is the subject of race, and/or skin color,  a subject I apparently look at differently than the rest of the world. (See upcoming story about giraffes.)

I am old. I am also a grand daughter of immigrants. I also belong to a group of people with a physical characteristic that has been the butt of jokes, teasing, bullying and other forms of discriminatory behavior.  I have put up with this since I first realized it was going on when I was four. I, for some genetically informed sense of self-worth, have always attributed that to envy.

I am a person who has seen, actually, not photographs of, but actual water fountains that have signs saying, "Colored only". How many people do you think are left that can give witness to that? So, I feel like I know the lay of the land. This has always gone on. Packs of animals or a mother of a single animal, ostracize or often kill, or in some way reject one born out of the norm. Recent news stories show that humans also do this.

The thing that is different, besides there being massively greater numbers of humans to report on, is tolerance.  There is none.  And the lack of tolerance is more malignant than the discrimination. Somebody somewhere is suing because they believe their daughter did not make the cheer leading squad because she has brown hair and there are already too many brown hairs and not enough blondes. Don't worry about the redheads. There is always the "token" redhead.

If something doesn't go according to plan, for instance you get shot and maimed during a robbery attempt, the first reaction is to sue.  They should have posted they do not welcome robbers.  They should have posted they were armed against intruders.  To carry it to a ridiculous point, I am suing because my line of work, robbing, thieving, stealing, etc. is my only legitimate way to support myself because of my abusive childhood, etc. and no one will allow me to freely practice my chosen trade. 

When there were fewer people, maybe it was easier to tolerate differences.  But I think that the practice of intolerance grows and reaps so many benefits, successful lawsuits, special accommodation, free telephones, etc., that it is epidemic. People see and hear of the results of the positive  reactions to intolerance that they look for personal flags to carry.  You are doing that just because I am this.

I have unsubscribed from four news services feeds on facebook this week because I can't let anything roll by without putting my two cents in and it was getting the best of me.  But I have commented over and over, "Why do you need this bandwagon to follow behind you and support you?"  "Why can you not just be proud of yourself and what you have accomplished, (despite the fact that you are tall or short or skinny or fat, or feminine or masculine, or spotted or striped) and realize that you did such a good job because you could and you wanted to and you made yourself or let yourself do it?"  That it doesn't  matter whether the black or yellow or red or pink people gave you encouragement. You did a fine job.  You did the very best you could.  Stop looking for someone to blame.  Stop looking for excuses for your shortfalls. Then you won't even notice whether no other purple person is allowed to do that because they are purple. Because all the purple people are busy doing their very best. For themselves.

Photo attribution:  galleryhip.com

My Fitbit and Me

I received a Fitbit for Christmas.  No insult.  I wanted one.  I had a little trouble putting it on, but with the help of three people, I figured it out and now I can do it all by myself.  I had a little trouble understanding how to use it.  Where to look for help is a little confusing, but customer service is really nice.

It kind of bothered me that I could run up and down two flights of stairs all day doing laundry and it would say I took five steps, but I try not to put it in context, and as long as it says I walked more or burned more calories I am fine with that.

I had a little difficulty understanding the sleep program which I was particularly interested in.  This is where info conflicted, but I set it up.  First time it said I slept seven minutes.  Probably not accurate, but whatever. I wore it constantly and thought I was aces.  I even wore it in the shower sometimes.  Only sometimes.  It says it is shower proof, but you are not going to pull the wool over this old girl's eyes.  Usually.

Then one night, I set it for going to bed.  I guess they don't care what you do in there.  The next morning I took it off to get in the shower and forgot to put it back on right away.  When I noticed that, I put it on and went to my computer to see what it said.  It said I slept for 68 hours.

For my age, I think I am doing fairly well with all this technology stuff. 

Never Let It Go

Of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these, "It might have been".

GMOs and Me, not you.

Jimmy Kimmel did a bit at a farmer's market asking people if they tried to avoid products that were, or contained GMOs. All said yes they would avoid them, but only one person knew what it stood for.

You know the difference between a roma tomato and a beefsteak tomato? Genetic modification. Educate yourself.

 You know the difference between Cro-Magnan man and me? Uh huh. Genetic modification.




Image Attribution:  www.motherearthnews.com