Hostages

Last night, the Professor and I were talking about gay marriage, which lead to a discussion of the efficacy of straight people not getting married because gay people can’t.

I think my position on gay marriage ought to be clear, but in case it isn’t, here it is. I don’t think the State ought to be getting involved in preferential treatment of any consensual sexual arrangements between adults. I don’t think they ought to sanction any marriages–leave them to religions to define them as they see fit and stay the fuck out of it–BUT, if we’re going to continue to have state sanctioned marriages, and it appears that we are, then we ought not to privilege some consensual sexual arrangements between adults and not others.

Marriage for everyone who wants it, and wedding cake for their guests!

But there are some straight people who refuse to get married because gay people can’t and some gay people who feel that straight people ought to refrain from getting married out of solidarity with gay people.

My question is, is that effective, in any way?

And I think, clearly, the answer is “no.”

The answer is no for two reasons. One is because of a common liberal mistake*.

1. Liberals spend a lot of time figuring out what our position is in the world and trying to be aware of the ways in which we benefit from the oppression of others. You see, we mistakenly believe that, armed with this knowledge, we can somehow get outside the system, that we can untangle ourselves from our privilege, and thus not be implicated in a system we see as inherently unfair. Of course, there is no way to not be implicated. We are born with debts and obligations.

But the mistake is greatly compounded by the mistaken belief that, if we give up our own privileged position (if there really is some way to do that), under privileged people can take that space.

Which leads us to number 2.

2. Liberals make shitty hostages.

Let’s stick with gay marriage. I could decide right now to never get married until gay people can get married. So what? James Dobson doesn’t want to marry me. It’s not like I can say “Uncle Sam, you’re getting none of this sweet, sweet pussy until you let my friends get married” (assuming I’m holding out on Uncle Sam until our wedding night, which, frankly, considering how much I get drunk and flash my tits and make out with whoever’s near me, is just not possible).

My not getting married only matters in terms of the “statement” it makes to gay people. It doesn’t do anything to actually help gay people achieve what ought to be a basic right, to marry whoever the fuck you want.

It’s like this. Say someone is giving out free ice cream, but only to people with wonderfully curly hair. Does it hurt that person if I don’t take the ice cream out of solidarity with straight haired people? No, it doesn’t affect the ice cream man negatively at all AND it means that I can’t have ice cream.

Isn’t it obviously better to work to get everyone ice cream?
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*Can we switch tracks here slightly to talk about another misguided liberal strategy? The protesting outside of the 21st Avenue KFC. This is the only KFC I’ve seen people protesting outside of in Nashville and I think it’s because it’s both so close to Belmont and Vanderbilt; they can get a lot of do-gooders out on a Saturday.

But the problem with this strategy–of driving down sales at only one KFC–is that it doesn’t send the message of “stop abusing chickens or we’ll run you into the ground” to the corporate headquarters. It sends the message that this particular store doesn’t make a whole lot of money on Saturdays, which could result in the owner losing the store or the store closing.

This has no effect on the chickens, but it sure as hell has an effect on the people who work at that KFC.

Why is chicken welfare more important than the welfare of these humans who really need money or they wouldn’t be working that shitty job in the first place?

Anyway



Enough of that depressing stuff. I live in the South now, and so I will make myself a lovely dress out of draperies (or, in my case, plastic blinds) and drink a little Southern Comfort, and tomorrow will be another day.

Meanwhile, if you’re curious what a girl can do with Paint & Powerpoint (which lets you save .jpgs), here’s what I did with it.

If you’re sufficiently charmed, you can check out the merchandise. Nothing costs $10,000…yet, but there are some magnets for the Shill and some shirts for whoever else is interested.

It won’t hurt my feelings if you don’t buy something, but if you do, and I see you in it, I promise I will smooch you, right in public, and probably cry a little, too.

Oh, it’s one of those days

Well, I was all excited to show you what I’d been up to lately, but I woke up this morning to find that the Butcher’s car had been repossessed.

Yep. Repossessed. Take away. Silently in the night, without even a chance to get the cell phone out of it.

Sure, the dog will bark at the neighbors coming and going as they do all the time, but she didn’t bother to wake anyone up to let us know they were carting the Butcher’s car off.

So, he’s got my car so that he can get to work and I had to ask one of my co-workers for a ride home.

Up until that point, I thought the whole thing was rather funny in a “what the fuck could possibly be next?” way. But she didn’t find it funny and said I was enabling him. And that made me mad and so, of course, I cried.

But it still is funny in a “what the fuck?” way. I mean, fucking duh, of course it’s upsetting. Christ, the boy doesn’t have a job that pays him enough to pay the bills and up until now he’s been able to arrange his social life in such a way as to be lively enough that he could avoid thinking about his problems and now, here it is. Everything is come due.

He’s still got a job that doesn’t afford him enough money to pay his bills. I just signed another year-long lease for this place. I still need him to cover the paltry shit he’s got to cover and minimum credit card payments are on the verge of doubling, which, as you may have guessed, is going to really affect me. Because I am an idiot, but not the biggest one in our house. I mean, of all the moments he could fuck things up this bad, why not now?

Am I enabling him? It’s just a side question, but I have to tell you that the answer is “I don’t give a fuck.” I want the money he can give me when I need it. And as much as it sucks to watch him fuck up repeatedly this much–I mean why the fuck won’t he take care of himself?–I still need him here, contributing in his very small way. Even if it’s “bad” for him, fuck that. I’m not his mom. It’s not my job to do what’s right for him.

It’s my job to keep a roof over our heads and a car under my ass and food in the bellies of the mammals in the house. If I need him here, even driving my car to work every damn day until he can find another fulltime job on a bus route, he can’t leave.

Plus, seriously, where the fuck would he go? Back to Mom & Dad’s house? Well, take the small bedroom, buddy, because if you go, I have to go.

See, it is funny. I’m crying, but it’s funny as hell.