Lady Consumptia

I've now had this cough for 5 weeks and it is getting worse. I've done a course of antibiotics, used a humidifier, enjoyed the pleasures of a Neti pot, and taken liberal OTC medicines (as well as codeine), all to no avail. So, today I went to get chest X-rays. When the technician looks at the proof after he's taken your Xray, winces and says 'Ooog'...

They won't get to my doctor for a day or two. I am really unhappy. I can't laugh, sing, talk for more than a few seconds, my tongue is blistered from all the cough drops and the amount of sugar from so many of them is making me nauseous, and I can't sleep.

It wasn't this bad a couple days ago - in fact, I had thin, bleary hope that I was getting better. Then things just plummeted.

This sucks. I've started hating life.

Hibiscus

I like tea

And comings and goings

Of all those little twinges that press

Themselves onto me, bad lovers, and

Share-crop out my moments of joy.

I admire the paper pokes of words

That seem classic in their niftiness

Nothing is nifty any more. Blame

The distraction of mortality.

There is a sea before me

And, too impatient to let evaporation

Make salt crystals of the whole mess

I palm the foam off the top and use that

For memories, for decomposition

The corpses of merfolk.

I snap petals, if they’re meaty enough

The thinner breeds I roll into pulp

None are safe from my unwashed fingers.

A massacre of blooms, here in the garden

Why unseemly

Just because I prefer to murder flowers

At the blossom, instead of the stem?

My Kinda Gal

Yesterday I was in the Barnes & Noble bathroom, and someone had written on the stall wall:

I <3 him so much i could cry

It just knocked me over (not literally). The fact that she was sitting bare-assed on a toilet, peeing or pooing, and felt compelled to write that is just...how great IS that?!

And what if she wasn't using the facilities? What if she just got overwhelmed and had to duck into the stall and write it? Just as good. No matter what scenario you conjure, it's beautiful.

Definitely the most romantic thing I have seen in a long time. 

Nothing In Life Owes You Anything, Including Movies

It may seem absolutely unthinkable that I can support Michael Bay and tear down two of the three Batman movies. Or, it's thinkable, but the thought is just that I have ghastly taste. I'd like to offer a defense.

Movies do not owe you anything. You are not entitled to be moved, impressed, captivated, made to think, or even entertained by a film. That may be the director/writer/actor's intent for the end result, and it may happen, but you are not ever once guaranteed that will happen. Because they don't owe you shit.

You know who they owe? Two groups - the studio from whom they borrowed money and now need to repay plus profit so they can continue to have a job by getting another film backed, and/or the artistic elite who will hand them the awards that recognize and validate their art. They may be pleased that you went to see their movie; they may feel gratified, but the never once felt a duty or obligation that compelled them to make their film because you personally are entitled to watching a good movie.

To me, that's reasonable. I did nothing to earn the right to be given awesome films. The film industry knows we're not entitled to good movies, which is why we have Chris Rock singing about an afro - they don't care about our being enlightened through cinema any more than McDonald's cares about our health.

So, knowing that filmmakers don't owe us a good movie, and knowing they know that, we get down to honesty and transparency.

Michael Bay does not lie to us. At all. He doesn't say 'Transformers is really a metaphor for the transity of life, the idea that our hold on this earthly plane is tenuous at lest and that we are dangling precariously over Nietzsche's Abyss. Also, Megatron is supposed to be the incarnation of America's rape culture." No. He says 'BOOM'. And that's what you get. Do you think it's shit? Go ahead. I won't disagree. The dialogue's  badly written, the plot makes no sense, the fight scenes gave me a headache because they were shot so crazily, the villain has zero on-screen presence and is boring as shit...

Oh, sorry. I forgot for a minute if I was describing Transformers or Batman Begins.

And there's my point, after all this rambling. I will defend a filmmaker who makes crap blockbusters, as long as there's transparency. I may still call it shit, and it may still be shit, but because I am not entitled to good movies, I'll support someone who has the self-awareness to deliver exactly what he was expected to deliver. Have you ever once had any question about what you're about to see when you walk into a Michael Bay film? No? Good on him, then. All that man wants is to blow shit up and make the US military look awesome. He does that every single time.

Transformers did not disappoint me. Begins and Rises absolutely did. I may not be entitled to good movies, but I was told the latter films were meant to be so. Nolan made them out to be outstanding cinema, and they are still the only two films I have ever wanted to walk out of. And I saw Warriors of Virtue in the theater, folks. So, I will defend Michael Bay because he makes shitty films that at least are totally benign and transparent. Begins and Rises are just shitty. So, SO shitty.

Nice Guys In Daily Life

(Kyle sent this to me. Spot on.)

*Man walks into a store and finds employee*
Man: Alright, I’ve had enough. Why haven’t you guys hired me?!
Employee: Uh…well sir, when did you put in your application?
Man: I never filled out an application.
Employee: Well sir, we can’t consider you for employment if you’ve never filled out an application.
Man: No, that’s bullshit, because I’ve been coming here for years now, and every single time I tell you all how much I love this store and how much I appreciate your customer service, unlike some of your other customers might I add!
Employee: Well, but that doesn’t-
Man: AND I even told you that I didn’t have a job!
Employee: But sir, that doesn’t indicate to us that you would like a job at our store. And again, if you’ve never filled out an application, we can’t consider you. Besides, we’re not hiring.
Man: OH! Not hiring, HA! What a laugh. I see your store go through seasonal workers all the time. They come and go like nothing, but you won’t consider me as a part-time employee even though I KNOW you’ve been looking for workers to fill positions? That’s insane!
Employee: Sir, we’ve been looking to hire a few people for management positions. Do you have any management experience?
Man: Well no, but what does that matter?
Employee: …Well sir, that’s what we’re looking for. You won’t be suitable for the position without management experience.
Man: Oh that’s such a load of crap. You know, you’ll be waiting around a long time for a manager if you don’t lower your standards a little. Who cares if someone knows how to manage a store? I LOVE this store and I’m willing to work here, that’s all that should matter to you.
Employee: That…doesn’t make any sense.
Man: NO! I’m done. This is over. From now on, no more Mr. Nice Guy.
Employee:
Man:
Employee:
Man: Fuck you, slut.

He Still Can't Ruin It

Crash Davis: "I believe in the soul, the cock, the pussy, the small of a woman's back, the hanging curve ball, high fiber, good scotch, that the novels of Susan Sontag are self-indulgent, overrated crap. I believe Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone. I believe there ought to be a constitutional amendment outlawing Astroturf and the designated hitter. I believe in the sweet spot, soft-core pornography, opening your presents Christmas morning rather than Christmas Eve and I believe in long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days."

Ebby Calvin LaLoosh: "It feels out there. I mean, it's a major rush. I mean, it feels radical in kind of a tubular sort of way, but most of all, it feels out there."

Some days, I am Crash. Most the time, I'm Ebby. 

I Am Not A Liberal

My sister mentioned one time that I should totally move to Portland because I'd fit in so well, and she sees so many women like me wandering around. After I was done vomiting a little in my mouth, I reflected. I can see where she's coming from - it's got a heavy art scene, the community's very Whimsicle, and the women are probably very big on motherhood and junk. But there, the similarities end.

I am not a liberal. Let me show you just how NOT a liberal I am:

1. While I am totally down with equality for the People It's Cool To Be Rooting For (homosexuals, women, blacks, those being persecuted religiously), I am also very much of the mind that, no matter who you are, if you're a moron or evil, you deserve nothing, and fuck off.

2. I hate sedentary activism. If you talk about/post about/whine about religion, abortion, breastfeeding, gays, politics, the judicial system, gender roles and/or sexuality more than once a week with any opinion attached, fuck off. We knew you hated/loved/ whatever the fuck you're babbling on about already. We get it. Shut up. The exceptions to this are people like Kyle, who get outraged at things that are so stupid it's hilarious and entertaining. Those people may continue.

3. I hate extremism. It's not passion, you twats, it's insufferable. Atheist, religious, right-wing, left-wing, you're all jackasses. And if you start in, I will go defend the other side -even if I personally don't agree with them - just because I hate your proselytizing more than I do the opposing opinion.

4. The government should control us, because we're fucktards. Mandatory birth control from ages 14-18 at the minimum. Shove those pills down those 14-year-olds' throats. Knot those vas deferentia. I don't care if it strips away a woman's right to be an Unmarried Teenage Mother. Strip away! Also, stop bitching about TSA. I've been through customs in Europe and they scream at you. Agents don't wanna feel up your obese, sweaty thighs, I'm sure. Just suck it up. Make cigarettes illegal. If secondhand smoke wasn't a factor, I'd let the idiots kill themselves, but it is. So, yoink. No more for you.

And mandatory circumcisions just because I hate Intactivists. A little bloody, painful trauma at the start of one's existence is good for the soul. Toughens you up. And men don't know how to clean themselves very well, so make it easier on them. Plus, it's easier to give a guy head if he's cut. Just being real.

5. I hate SlutWalk feminists. You are not helping. You are the reason we do not have a female President yet. You are encouraging the world to look at us and treat us like depersonalized, sexual objects. And I know sometimes a gal's gotta feel like a hot object, and I'm down. But when you want to carry the Womynhood Banner, put some fucking clothes on. 'I will not be ashamed of my body' means treat it with some respect and don't put it on display in the guise of empowerment. You will NEVER EVER...let me repeat....NEVER EVER get men to look at a girl in a bikini and instantly think 'My, what a strong, empowered female who obviously takes pride in her natural form and who, it is clear, is intelligent, capable and wise'. IT WILL NEVER HAPPEN. You look like a whore. And if you WANT to look like a whore, fine. But stop pretending it's some great feminist statement.

Exception - women who are savvy enough to use their tits and pussy to control men, know that's what they're doing, and don't care about equality between the genders. At least y'all are honest with yourselves.

6. I believe in capital punishment. We are able to send a man to the moon. We have created astounding works of art, amazing technology, and we've wiped out pandemic diseases. WE CAN TELL IF SOMEONE'S EVIL OR NOT. Yes, we can judge. We can. We have that level of reason (well, some of us, anyhow) and there are human beings on this planet wise enough and intelligent enough to make the call about someone being evil. And, if they're evil, sayonara.

I am not a liberal.

Meet Sylvia

She was not, by nature, a funny woman. She would say things to set her friends laughing and be shocked, having uttered them with total, morose sincerity. Her agent, Barry Wheeler, perpetuated this unwitting humor by cackling every time she opened her mouth.

Stuffed permanently into a red ski jacket, Barry now glanced at her as she sat in the passenger seat of his Buick LaCrosse. The rain was mild, but he had the wipers on at about twice the speed required to clear the windshield of droplets. She wanted to ask him to turn them down, but felt he might think her neurotic. She needed a cigarette badly, but couldn’t roll down the window in the rain. So, instead, she pressed her knees together a bit grindingly, and tried to hold onto her buzz from lunchtime cocktails.

“I’ve never been to the Steamtown Mall,” Barry informed her jauntily. “Good place for a book signing, though. Sue Grafton was there doing it, once.”

“This isn’t a book singing,” she told him. “It’s a gallows march.”

He cackled, like someone had given him a fanfare cue. She thought about the wipers wiping away infinitesimal layers of glass, almost on a molecular level, until years had passed and they’d worn the windshield down to paper thinness, and then the glass would shatter with a final pass of the blades. That would be interesting. “How long have you owned this car?” she asked him.

“Uhm, maybe nine months?” was his offhanded answer. She cursed mutely. Not nearly enough time. For a while, they rode in silence. Barry had always assumed she was one-eighth insane; not because of her eccentricities, but because he (like many non-artists working in the arts) believed it to be the case with every writer. She let him have that supposition. It made him more malleable when she made odd requests.

Outside the mall, in the very breathy drizzle of rain, she smoked while Barry went scouting inside to find the Waldenbooks. She did not want to go in. This new book was as awful as the one before it. Her advance from Doubleday was decent, enough to keep her fed, housed and blotto, and the projected sales suggested they’d not cut her out just yet. But she was not getting on any list anytime soon. Newsweek had given her three sentences and words like ‘solid’ and ‘engaging’. The Times had called it ‘an ambitious foray into the world of What If’, whatever that meant.

It would be bought by people in airports, or people who wanted something to read by the pool. It would be perched on the top of toilet tanks in peoples’ bathrooms, taken out at the local library. No one would carry it with them. Nothing in it would be highlighted. No pages would be dog-eared, and no one would discuss it with their spouse/friend/co-worker. If someone walked by and saw them reading it and asked ‘Hey – I saw that on Amazon; how is it?’ the reaction would be the same every time: a shrug, an exhale, and an ‘It’s not bad. Something to read, I guess’.

She finished the cigarette, flicked away the butt, and went inside the mall to find Barry and to sign, she estimated, sixteen copies of her latest book.

Helpless

From a few days ago:

In a drunken stupor as I sunk into sleep, I kept telling myself a word over and over last night, so I’d remember to write about it today.

Helpless.

I don’t really remember the context, but I’m gonna just think about it a while and write what comes to mind now. Probably be off the mark, but ah well. Drunk Haley shoulda written down notes.

Today:

I think I am a fan of deliberate helplessness. Cognizant, willing helplessness. The moment when your feet leave the precipice and right before you begin the plummet - that moment when there's no rescinding. 

Maybe, also, the sort where you know you can stop or take hold, and deliberately choose not to. Walking into that moment where you know you're doomed, and consigning yourself even though you can turn and walk the other way at any moment. 

I think this may be mostly about sex/kink for me. I long ago realized I didn't want kink to be spiritual for me; elevating it was ruining it, was polishing away the dirty and the taboo and baseness, things I loved. But I did enjoy the philosophy. In other words, making it something for the mind, not the soul. So I don't wanna make this seem as though it's some deeply meaningful, sacred bullshit for me. It's not. I just like understanding why I do/feel the things I do, even if the answer is just - 'because I'm a filthy little slut'. 

So, this helplessness biz is, yes, yes, all about submission and surrender and blah blah blah. That's obvious. But I love the despair that comes with it, too. Either conquered or martyred, it's very fulfilling. I do not, however, enjoy the resentment I feel at whatever or whoever holds the power over me in those moments (and there has been resentment, most definitely). Which is interesting, because that's exactly what I want to induce in someone when I have my toppy moods. 

One of my earliest dominant fantasies was, like most of my fantasies, a flashpoint moment. It was of someone climaxing, sobbing and furious. And they were cursing me as they came, because they hated me for making them feel like that, for making them love me and surrender to me and be vulnerable and broken. I really got off on that notion. Maybe because of the idea that I could make someone love me or desire me or obey me against their will, not by force, but by their own helplessness. 

There're a lot more thoughts ricocheting around, but I need to sort them 'fore I post.

Fuck You

I will be over it by tonight, I know.

But that was a SHITTY thing to do, guy. It wasn't funny or daring or hot to me. When you behave in an explicitly sexual manner without a woman's consent, verbally or physically, it can feel like a violation to them. I say 'can', because I don't believe all women dislike or discourage that kind of conduct and I'm not gonna even pretend I know what every single woman thinks or feels.

But I think you're a little shitpot.

Munitia

There is no limitation on droplets of shame.

They are purchased, bagful, in lambkin, lambskin pouches

Traded for weeping, or a veneer of adore-polish

Buffed until gleaming. My own palms.

The forge delivers them into the fire and they return

Bullets.

OMG Book

Well, it's not the Great American Novel, but I think I'll soon have enough erotica to make a little collection. Thinking of doing it up on Blurb, though there's no way I can tell my family about it.

It'll be my second Blurb book. The first was a collection of sonnets I wrote. Here it is.

I wish I could convince folks to do a collection with me.

Sea

The inception of a new game is always interesting. Most of the time, it's as simple as just a neat idea. It's a running joke that the curse of death are the words 'Wouldn't it be cool if....'. Usually, that's all it takes and I'm off to the races again. This time, I was completely deluged. I didn't even have to think. It just started happening.

Both iterations of Space were ambitious at the time. The first was just the notion of turning the house into a spaceship; the second was trying to really make a decent story in a restrictive setting. I told people I was burned out, and that was absolutely true. I'm also not challenged any more with it. Add to that the sense that it's not been a collaborative effort in at least a year, and the end was no surprise coming.

So, then, we had to make Sea remedy those problems. Needed folks who would be into it, willing to work hard on it. And I (and Gogas too, I suspect) needed a new level of challenge. For Gogas, I think it's going to be not only coming up with new tech, but a second level of disguising that tech to fit into the legitimate Steampunk genre. Not just gluing cogs on shit, but creating the illusion that all the tech runs on steam. Pipes instead of wires.

For me, I realize there won't be a novelty factor. I can't use that as a crutch, the way I could with Space. I have to make absolutely certain the characters are solid, the world is solid, the plot is solid. While the set is going to be impressive (seriously - the shit Gogas has shown us so far and the ideas already tossed into the hat are so fucking neat), it's not going to serve as a distraction. Blinky lights aren't going to be there to keep people distracted. Which means they're going to have to really be able to get into character and just be in character. Which means I gotta make sure the characters are good enough to allow that to happen.

Bailey's a good example; she's going to be the ship's cook. Now, in Space, we just had folks make meals. Didn't really matter what, so long as it could feed all of us. This time, she's been poring over cook books, and choosing dishes that would fit not only in the time setting (Victorian), but would make sense as far as the game is concerned - lots of seafood, that sort of thing. That's the sort of detail necessary for this game to be able to work.

It also means Gogas' tech has to be very, very functional. It has to work, and be usable, so people can live on the Nautilus and be able to touch it and use the tangible aspects of it, so they can stay in-character and believe they're on the ship easier. I think it's imminently do-able but, again, a challenge.

All that said...I think we're about to one-up ourselves in a frighteningly incredible way.

STFU

I need to stop...reading shit. I do. It just pisses me off.

I am a pitiless being in so many ways, and it's totally subjective. I base everyone's experiences on my own and I judge people based on my own shit. It's graceless and tacky and nasty, but...for fuck's sake, if THEY can get petted and soothed and placated for the 'wrong' feelings they have from their personal traumas, why the fuck can't I?

I've been raped and molested. I've been a stripper. I've had an abortion and more than one miscarriage. I've battled depression my whole life. I've got Daddy issues. I was bullied. I've got enough baggage to fill a 747 luggage compartment, and plenty of bad shit in my past.

And it pisses me the FUCK off when people can't get over their crap.

I mean, legitimate fury. And I think I just figured out why:

The squeaky wheel gets the oil.

It's the people who won't get over their shit that get the attention, the support, the encouragement, the validation. Those of us who fought tooth and nail to rise above whatever fuckery slammed into us don't. We just don't. Sure, that's logical - once you're out of the pit, you don't need a hand up, right? You made it. Help is for those who are still down there, drowning. And yes, yes that's reasonable.

But they have all sorts of unreasonable feelings, and so do I. I'm ashamed of women who have trigger words. I'm ashamed of chicks who take a year to recover from a miscarriage. I'm embarrassed for people who won't get on the meds they need or get therapy when they say themselves that they need it but  are 'stuck in a downward spiral'. I kind of want to punch them all in the face. Hard.

All that shit is real, and super serious, and I absolutely believe people go through legitimate misery when they occur. I know I sure did. And most if it is shit that stays with you forever in some way. I am not saying a woman who gets raped in an alley should stand up, brush off her skirt, and keep strolling along. I am just pissed and ashamed people continue to allow those things to fuck with them after a while. Knock that crap off. Make that kind of bullshit UN.AC.CEPT.ABLE.

Here's the thing - I am not a special case. I'm not. If anything, the chips are stacked against me because I'm a very sensitive (not in the cool artist way, but in the annoying tread-on-eggshells way) person. I'm not particularly strong emotionally. And I say this because everything I got through and over, took ridiculous amounts of work. And it sucked. But if I can do it, anyone can. I am not special. I'm a melodramatic attention whore and I STILL don't fly to pieces when someone says the word 'banana' because it reminds me of a penis.

It's unreasonable. I know. But doesn't anyone ever check themselves and say 'I am no longer willing for this to be a daily issue' and then DO something about it?? Or are there plenty of people who do, and I just don't know about it because they, like me, aren't squeaking? Are we all just crawling silently up out of our pits? I hope so.

Test of Mettle

We lost our Eleanor; not sure if she bailed for the reason she told us (mom is sick) or if it's something else. I've been fighting for months to find someone. We had rehearsal slated, were going to have almost all the cast here to do read-throughs, we started blocking and now...pfft. Back on hold. And by the time we're greenlit again, we may have lost our make-up artist. Very, very discouraging.

Started the new script today. I'm struggling. I can't do comedy. I've never tried, I have no clue how it works and I'm really self-conscious about it. I had to make the characters at least semi-intelligent because I don't think I can  manage it any other way. Right now, my goal is to make them charming. Making them funny may have to come later in re-writes, and with help. Maybe they'll start talking to me now that I've given then names.

The Boys still isn't uploaded - we've had problem after problem. I'm frustrated. Making movies, I've come to realize, is like having constant iCurses. Things never go smoothly and only get completed because you slog through stuff and force it to work. All the elation from the premiere, all the people calling to say 'I had no idea it'd be that good' seems to've fizzled out. We're losing what enthusiasm we had from people because nothing's going up. The Boys should have been on YouTube last Saturday. It's costing more than I think people realize to keep delaying. I look at the NIZ site and realize I've nothing to say. That's not good.

Sometimes Muses need a Muse. That ain't happening, though. So, off I go to try and crank out one more page of a script.

State Of The Doo-nion.

N1Z continues on apace, with great success. I said the first real milestone would be to receive a submission from a total stranger - that happened yesterday. It may seem insignificant, but it means we've stepped outside our circle and the project is speaking to people we don't even know. To me, that's amazing.

I'm jumping the gun, but I found perfect e-vites for the premiere of The Boys. Whatever, I was bored and Smilebox is fun to pooter around in.

This Friday is Changeling, Sat is Vamp character creation night.

I have a full docket of writing to do - Space, 'ludes, tweaking Lots Caste. I have a new script idea, but I'm daunted by how hard it'd be to produce. It's a shame, because the images in my head get me really excited.

One thing I want to explore in N1Z is the other side of humanity - the people who find out they have less than a day to live, and decide to do some terrible stuff on their way out. I also want to write a buddy black comedy about two schmoes who work at a fire-lot, a giant space used for cremating huge quantities of Mercy Center dead and reanimated.

Who would've guessed my muse would be undead?

Verges and Converges

I'm homeless, 'Net-wise. Or transient. I'm trying to put down roots, but am unsure where they should go. What I really need to do is set something up for the N1Z people - talent, crew, viewers - to talk, but I'm not sure how to go about that. Maybe a sub-section on the 'cast forums, I guess. Ideally it'd be on the blog itself, but I'm not sure how to make that work.

Driftin'

I'm getting ready to get off of G+. I may move over to Twitter if I find I absolutely must write bites of text, but mostly I'll be here.

I like G+. It has the convenience of Twitter without the word limitation. It's just become weird to sit and read posts from people I used to be really involved with and who I now see maybe once a month for a couple of hours where we do an activity that, while I like it, is the lowest wrung of my hobby/interest ladder these days - as in, if I had to cut one thing out of my life, it'd be LARP well before 'casting or NIZ.

I just don't relate any more to that old crowd. I don't get SCA at all (my original idea of what it was excited me, then I found out what it actually was and immediately lost interest), I'm in different games than they are, and common interests beyond that are thin on the ground. Which is appropriate, as gaming is what introduced me to folks in the first place. So, reading the G+ posts constantly drives home the point that I am really different than the people in my Circles. I guess I always was, but matched-up hobbies glossed it over.

There 'tis.

As Requested

Larger image of my icon. Click for full size. I love that dress.

Confidence In Confidence Alone

I took Bailey to get her hair cut yesterday and she got at least seven or eight inches taken off. When it was done and styled, she pranced out of the chair, flipped her hair and said - 'I look AMAZING'. She spent the next two hours talking about how wonderful she looked and felt; it wasn't conceit or ego, just effusive delight. I got her a new outfit to go with the new look. She was in heaven.

Beyond the basic food, shelter and love needs, I've had one thing I wanted to make sure she always possessed, and that's self-confidence. I fought her whole life to ensure she always felt like a worthwhile human being; that she felt beautiful, smart, capable and kind. It does my heart good to know she looks in the mirror and, while not seeing perfection, sees an image of which she is proud and pleased. I am gratified that the bombardment of media and peers and everything else did not shake her foundation of self-worth. There were times when it was an uphill battle, but to hear her say 'I'm not perfect, but I'm pretty darn happy about my looks' makes it all worth it.

Crazy Ass Moms

http://www.dailykos.com/story/2012/03/04/1070800/-I-ve-spent-the-past-2-days-trying-to-convince-my-16-y-o-she-is-not-a-slut

Fuck's sake, woman. How about you DON'T have a hysterical breakdown in front of your poor, traumatized kid? Just a suggestion. Then, maybe she could deal with this kind of thing with some tiny snip of calm sensibility, and have some faith her mother is strong enough not to fall to pieces and take care of her.

Haters Gonna Hate

The idea of not letting naysayers get you down is an old one, and I think it's a valid one in a lot of ways. But, the Internet has spawned this bizarre aura of imperviousness with the above phrase that seems to do some damage, too. I think haters serve a very useful purpose - they put things in perspective.

I dunno where all the fucking humility has gone these days, and I wish it'd come back. It seems that everyone is either an egocentric douche or a  low-self-esteem mess. In both these instances, any whiff of criticism sparks drama: the douches point and declare you a 'hater', and the fragile sensitives see it as a personal affront and guilt you into feeling like Satan for mentioning it.

Haters remind us not to take ourselves too seriously, for good or ill. While their comments should not be considered the defining opinion of you or what you're doing, it's not bad to see that you're not fabulous to every single person on the planet and that the opinions you have, the things you do, and the way you are aren't all perfect. And, rather than let that send you into a spiral of self-castigation or make you put up blinders, it should temper your self-awareness into something a little more humble. Ideally, it should also give you a sense of humor about yourself and your life, but that's a little harder to achieve.

I'm a big fan of recognizing absurdity in people and myself. I really enjoy stepping back a moment and seeing the big picture and looking at myself from different angles. I have various social groups, and it's interesting how they each (if they're aware of the other) sees the other ones as weird, lame or ridiculous. It shows me that it's the insular nature of those groups that keep perspective at bay. And I have friends who take steps back, too, to look at it and laugh ("THIS is what I'm spending my Friday night doing" comes out from all sides on occasion).

As for BEING a Hater (and I am, believe me), I wouldn't do it if I wasn't able to rotate that ol' mirror 'round at myself, too. In fact, I tend to hate hardest on the things of which I am a part (by 'hate', I mean mock or criticize). That doesn't mean I don't enjoy being a part of them, but I am someone who NEEDS that grain of salt, so I don't start getting too big a head.

With all this comes perspective on top of perspective - this post sounds all official and full of surety, but I know I still have occasions where a troll will make me rage or cry, or I'll dismiss someone's criticism with that catch-all word 'Hater'. I'm not as wise or cool as I want to be, but I'm working on it.