Oh, Pro-Life Activists, Why Must You Be Such Immoral Asshats?

Y’all, this is so rich I about can’t believe it.   And I hate to give it any more hits than it deserves (which is clearly none), but you have to see this to believe it.

I have been linked to by a pro-life blog.  No, not just a pro-life blog, which I would be fine with.  Blogs are for linking and being linked to.  But I have been linked to by a pro-life blog aggregator which skates so far close to the line of unethical that it just skates right over it into asshat land.

Let’s count sins, shall we?

1. Not being clear that you’re an aggregator who is reposting bits of other people’s content, but instead making it look, at first glance, like all of the content is yours.

2.  Not identifying that that’s my content you’ve put up on your site.  My words, which I wrote.

3.  Using my words, which I wrote, which you failed to identify as mine as content for your blog WHICH YOU SELL ADVERTISING ON.

You didn’t write those words.  You didn’t add commentary to those words.  But you’re making money off of my words.

You know what that makes you, Martin Marks, and your Pelican Project?


You’re stealing my content and then turning around and selling it to your advertisers.

You know what God says about that kind of bullshit?

I don’t know, sometimes the Bible can be hard to understand, but let’s see.  God says, “Thou shall not steal.”

That means, um…


Well, that you should not take things that don’t belong to you and pass them off as your own so that you can make money.

I see no room for special dispensation for pro-life folks, so shape up, motherfuckers.

I am All Over the Place

Y’all, I will be on the internet version of Liberadio on Friday.

I will be in my garden all weekend.

And I will be guest-blogging at Feministe the last week of August and the first week of September.

Also, I did download the new Those Darlins album and it is awesome. It has everything a good country album should have–songs about drinking, a song about Mama, and a song about trains.  Which, after you listen to the whole album, you have to believe they did on purpose.  Which, frankly, made me love it more, because not only is it a good album, but it’s made by folks who love the music the way I do.

And I love that.

Cooter Talk

Well, really, more some PCOS talk.  I read yesterday over at Jezebel about this study in Sweden that links exercise and electro-acupuncture to a fixing of PCOS.

And, y’all, it made me very angry.

Not the good self-righteous anger where you know you’re right and the world is wrong and god damn it, folks had better start listening to you–you know the kind of anger that drives good blog posts.  But just a kind of ill-defined anger.

I thought at first that it was like the anger I sometimes still feel when I think about how sick I was that Fall of 2000 and no one could figure out what was wrong with me and I had to endure the lecture from that nutjub gyneocologist about how God does not like to give children to fat women.

I thought at first maybe it was like the anger I feel when I think about how, my whole life, I have been told I need to lose weight if I want to find a man or have any kind of life, over and over, by family and doctors, some who saw what I ate and how it wasn’t any more than what anyone else in my family ate (and was, for a while, much much less), and others who just assumed I was lying.

I thought it was like that anger, but now I think it is that same anger.

I know it’s not what the study says, but I feel like it’s more of this “if only you had tried harder, exercised more, stuck pins in the right places, you wouldn’t be in this position and you wouldn’t need medication.”  In other words, I still read that as “this is not something you have, but evidence of how you have fundimentally fucked up running your life.”

Like being on medication is somehow an indication that I have failed to handle it myself.

And again, I know that’s not what it’s saying, but just how I feel.

I don’t know. I know I don’t talk about it much, but basically because, for me, there’s not that much to say.  I mean, it goes without saying that I’m tickled to not have debilitating cramps or three week long periods after three months of nothing. I’m really kind of enjoying how I feel, how exercise now just makes me tired and sore and doesn’t make me feel like I want to throw up and then die and then throw up again.  I like that, if I’m late eating, I just feel a little woozy, but not grouchy and sick.

It’s hard to explain, but I feel like my body just works differently.

But the thing I’m struggling with the most is still that old fairytale of “If only I tried hard enough and did all the right things, I’d be rewarded with a thin body.”  That’s not happening. And I have really kind of enjoyed the last year, since the diganosis and the medication, of feeling like “eh, well, there never was/is going to be any ‘trying hard enough’ because there’s something wrong with me.”

It’s been kind of nice, like this truce with my body.

But I read stuff like this and it just makes me feel like it’s wrong for me to declare a truce.

It’s funny, you know. I can’t breathe.  I never have been able to, from the time I was very little.  I’ve had pneumonia six times. I can hear a little unhappiness now when I breathe from all the smoke this weekend.

But I never feel like my shitty lungs are a reflection on my worth as a human being.

It just is what it is. Maybe there just wasn’t enough time between bouts when I was little to ever let them heal properly. Maybe I was breathing something in my environment that aggrevated them.  Who knows?  Who cares?  You know?  Having shitty lungs does not make you a shitty person.

And I know that having this body does not make me a shitty person, but frankly, I feel really angry that I have to remind myself of that as often as I do.