The Recovering Baptist points out that three kids in Iran died of the Avian Flu because they were playing with the dead body of a chicken who had died from it.
And that? Is why diseases are harder on third world countries than they are in countries that have nice, environment destroying-yet-disease-free, plastic toys.
Amen, sister.
*****
Also, check out that tiny cat! You’re going to tell me that pants on that kitten wouldn’t be the funniest, break-your-hear-iest thing in the world?
You know what I’d like to be doing right now? I’d like to be sitting in my Uncle Bri’s cabin at the lake, with a roaring fire in the fireplace and my feet propped up in front of it.
I’d like to be contemplating S’mores and going for a walk.
I’d like to smell that warm cigaretty smell, mixed with cheap beer and I’d like to shut my eyes and fall into a short nap to the sounds of the men playing cribbage.
Of course, you can’t go to the cabin of a dead man, so, there you go. Sometimes, the shit you need is just not going to come.
Last night, I was sitting over in east Nashville talking with some of the women involved in my summer project and one of them was talking about how she’d been told once that she just needs to start being the leader she’s looking for.
My grandma (oh, a post full of ghosts this afternoon) said something similar to me back in high school–be the friend you wish you had.
I mention all this because I did something yesterday I’m still cringing about. I was corresponding with one of y’all and I actually wrote: “I mean, you get that I’m a socially awkward marshmallowy woman who rarely leaves her house, right? I really do worry that when you meet me you’ll be disappointed that you’ve wasted so much effort befriending such an ordinary girl.”
I know, seriously, what the fuck is that? You’d think I was negotiating one of those traditional marriages where a man agrees to take another man’s exceedingly ugly daughter as his fourth wife if he can get access to the stream running through the father’s land and seventeen cows and a good dog.
Let’s just overlook the fact that I don’t have enough time to negotiate elaborate deals with each and every one of you–“If you’re willing to over look the fact that I’m hideous and unlovable, I’ll entertain you. And you, if you’re willing to overlook the self-righteousness, I’ll provide you with touching tales about my brother”–if I heard one of my friends spouting that nonsense, I’d kick her ass.
Why can’t I hold myself to the same standards of behavior I expect from everyone else?
Clearly, I can and must start, because this bullshit is bringing me down. I’ve got my small chunk of happiness, and we’re going to start fucking nurturing it.
Christ. It can be none too soon.
Don’t we have another senator? Can’t we give half of Frist’s evil bullshitting ways to him? Let’s spread out the evil bullshit. On some days, let’s let Frist be the nincompoop who insults every institution of higher learning in Tennessee by complaining that no one teaches about country music* and Lamar Alexander can be the evil son of a bitch undermining our democracy.
Check out Glenn Greenwald’s look at Frist’s threat to reorganize the Intelligence Committee because he’s an evil sycophant who cannot put the good of the country ahead of his every misguided attempt to keep power “increasingly concerned that the Senate Intelligence Committee is unable to its critically important oversight and threat assessment responsibilities due to stifling partisanship that is exhibited by repeated calls by Democrats on the Committee to conduct politically-motivated investigations.”
Even though it’s clear that Gonzales lied to Congress about the activities of the NSA and even though it’s clear that the majority of Americans would like somebody, anybody, to make sure that what the President is doing is legal, Frist is reframing this as Democratic belly-aching.
Please, Frist, as one of your constituents, I’m begging you, look into your heart and ask yourself whether you really think what you’re doing is for the good of the country. I know you have some problems always figuring out what the right thing to do in any situation is, so let me remind you what Jesus** said: Treat other people how you want to be treated.
Would you like it if someone took your kitten and hacked it open to see how it worked inside after they’d promised you they were going to keep it as a pet? Would you like it if someone passed legislation forbidding you from honoring your wife’s wishes? Would you like it if a Democratic President and Congress did all they could to ignore the Constitution in order to consolidate power?
No, you would not.
So, stop doing it yourself, jackass.
(Hat tip to Andrew Sullivan.)
*Yes, it was a long time ago. No, I can’t get over it.
If Vanderbilt University is such a center of literary criticism, then why has Vanderbilt not done more about the literature that is country music? Or why does Belmont University in Nashville or the University of Tennessee or University of Memphis not do it?
Unbelievable. Does no one in Alexander’s office know how to use Google? Anyway…
**You may have heard of him briefly while you were busy attending that giant political rally over at Two Rivers Baptist Church, but in case you haven’t, the original Baptist was this crazy dude named John and Jesus was his wise hippy cousin. They were in a gang (hence the awesome nicknames– “John the Baptist,” “The Son of God,” “Doubting Thomas,” “The Rock,” etc.) , but, due to the intervention of the state, they were reformed. And now they have the franchise rights to most of the houses of worship in this country.
Tiny Cat Pants 