I did not want to write this. I really, truly did not want to write this, so much so that I actively tried not to write this. I went to sleep last night, not writing it. I woke up this morning and kept not writing it. But some stories just want to be written, even if the writing of them is painful and unwanted. They can be insistent.
So I’ve written it. It’s short, and it hurt, but it’s done.
Promise me one thing, though. If you read this, read it with Neil Gaiman’s voice in your head. Because it was very much in mine as I wrote it, even if my words don’t come anywhere close to his.
You might need to read it twice, because I’ve no talent for narrative. And sometimes, that’s just how grief works.
I don’t want to write about Charleston. There are plenty of other people out there who are – and I’ve said plenty myself on social media – but adding to the growing cacophony of blognoise in the face of such evil just isn’t my thing. Whenever tragedy strikes, I feel like a whole lot of people jump on it for the sake of getting their slice of the nation’s attention, and it all just feels too much like capitalizing on suffering for the sake of pageviews. Not gonna do it.
Not directly, anyway.
God, I hate Supermoms.
You know the type. They always have the perfect plan for the perfect day with their perfect children that goes perfectly as planned, as documented by perfect Instagram pics and Facebook posts. They always have An Answer for everything, and a Tsk-Tsk Comment for anything. And they’re all full of shit.
There’s a festival in China that you’ve probably never heard of, that you really need to hear about. And then shout about, because sometimes social media slacktivism can make a difference. In this case, it’s about the only thing any of us can do, and it looks like it’s working. Or at least has a chance.
The festival in question takes place in Yulin, China and involves eating dogs. And that’s about it.
There’s a lot of alcohol involved too, apparently, but mostly it’s about eating dogs. And puppies. And people’s pets.
This past weekend, there was another shooting in America. This one was in Dallas, Texas. At police HQ, of all places. The gunman sprayed the building with rounds from an assault rifle and planted explosives before fleeing in his van, presumably to go back to his home down by the river. He never made it though, because a police sniper took him out and all was again right with the world. Somehow, he managed to neither kill nor wound anyone in his lunatic attack, which was nice.
Minutes after it was all over, Texas Governor Greg Abbott displayed a profound insensitivity to sensitivity by immediately signing a new open carry law for the state, allowing the open carry of handguns in addition to “long guns”. Then, just to make sure everyone knows how ‘Murica he is, he tweeted a picture of himself doing a little shootporn down at the gun range. Because yeehaw Texas and freedom and shit.
We’re a classy lot here in the Lone Star state.
Of course, open carry is complete bullshit.
Yeah, you heard me. Bullshit. Now let me tell you why…
The deal with Rachel Dolezal has nothing to do with Caitlyn Jenner, or transsexuals in general. Or transracials, if that’s even a thing. I kind of think it is, although mostly it’s to do with culture rather than skin color – but then again, so is most racism these days. But more on that in a minute. For now, let me just try to convince you to stop comparing the two like they’re at all alike, or thinking you’re making a clever joke as if thousands of other people haven’t already beaten you to it on Twitter.