This was the first time he said he was going to block me. The second was for my "questionable morals." Lol.

M and me are blocked by Adam Baldwin on Twitter. I shit you not. It happened awhile ago, and he deleted all his tweets to us before the end of the day. I’ve got all sorts of screenshots, but when it comes right down to it, it’s just not worth all the trouble. So, you get that one up there, and that’s it.

It was over that situation with the Marines, said to be members of an elite squad of the “best of the best”, who pissed on dead Taliban members, videotaped it, and then put the video into circulation.

Before I get into my opinion, let me remind you that my dad has worked for the government in some way, shape or form since before I was born. Two of the jokes-that-weren’t-completely-jokes most heard around our house, growing up? “I work for the government. I’m here to help you.” and “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.” But his longest job – and probably what I’d consider his only actual career – was as a member of the U.S. Military.

I am a patriot in my own way. I love our country. I support our military wholeheartedly. I don’t hold against them the assignments they’re made to carry out, because I know what can happen to them – and in some cases, should happen, if we were to follow the full letter of the law as it was intended – if they’re insubordinate.

It’s not like when you ignore your boss at the office, or blow off your manager at the box store, or curse your foreman out at the mill. Soldiers can be issued a court martial for insubordination. At best, they’re dishonorably discharged if they’re found guilty, which can sometimes make it difficult to find a civilian job. Some insubordination warrants a stint in military prison, which I hear is even worse than a civilian maximum security prison. And other instances of insubordination are considered treason. You can be shot for treason.

I also support our military’s code of honor. Each branch says it a little differently, but when it comes down to it, they’re pretty much the same. Respect, protect and serve your country with honor and courage.

The U.S. Marine Corps claims to have three core values. They are honor, courage and commitment. These values are defined further in many places and many ways. About.com’s article on the Marines’ Core Values defines “honor” in great detail.

Honor guides Marines to exemplify the ultimate in ethical and moral behavior; to never lie cheat or steal; to abide by an uncompromising code of integrity; respect human dignity; and respect others. The quality of maturity, dedication, trust and dependability commit Marines to act responsibly; to be accountable for their actions; to fulfill their obligations; and to hold others accountable for their actions.

Respect human dignity. I’d say an honorable person would respect human dignity. And peeing on dead bodies, regardless of who they were when they were alive, is not, at all, respectful of human dignity.

The excuse I’ve heard most for those Marines is that we’re at war. Worse things have happened during war in the past (and still occasionally do) than a few dead bodies getting peed on. The opposing sides do everything in their power to debase and demean their enemies. It’s the nature of the beast.

Adam Baldwin says to protest the treatment of “barbarians” (he later started calling the Taliban “savages” because Roland Hulme explained that barbarian originally meant “anyone who is not Greek”) is to prove yourself an enemy of your country. M told Mr. Baldwin he objects to the Marines’ behavior because it goes against their code of honor and is disrespectful not only to the dead people whose bodies they desecrated, but also the country to which they pledged their service. So Adam Baldwin blocked M for “defending barbarians.”

When I pointed out that M wasn’t defending barbarians, but was, in fact, defending The honor code the Marines say they hold dear, he said he was blocking me for defending barbarians. He didn’t, though.

Oh, and by the way? Only people who are pro-choice would have a problem with what the Marines did. Yeah, I haven’t figured the connection out, either. That’s when Adam Baldwin told me he was blocking me for the second time. When I told him I was pro-choice. I think I’m misunderstanding how this whole blocking someone on Twitter thing works, cause I can still see his profile and tweets.

Thing is, Americans are supposed to be more civilized than that. Or, at least, that’s what we like to think about ourselves. Until it’s our boys out there peeing on dead bodies. Then some of us get all caught up in the, “Yeah! Piss on the Taliban!” aspect, and completely ignore the fact that we’d turn an entire country into a really big lake if they ever did the same thing to even one of our soldiers. Hell, if a lot of us had our way, our government would openly assassinate every adult member of Westboro Baptist Church, and all they’ve done is protest at soldiers’ funerals. If one of them peed on one of those soldiers, instead of just screaming propaganda and hatred, we’d probably take matters into our own hands.

Well, they probably do that and worse to our dead soldiers. It just hasn’t been publicized.

Doesn’t make it right.

We’re motherfucking Americans, god damn it. We always take the moral high road, building it as we go when we get into situations about which we’re unsure. But we can’t have our cake and eat it, too. Either we’re civilized and enlightened, or we’re not. Either we live by a “more righteous” moral code than our enemies, or we don’t. Either it’s okay to pee on dead bodies, or it’s not.

But besides that, a man in the military raised me to hold our men and women in service (and especially those who’ve earned the right to be considered “elite”) to a higher standard than I would the average Joe. He told me that anyone who joined the military could be trusted implicitly to look out for me and my countrymen. He told me military personnel worth their salt would never do anything to embarrass our people or our country. They are trained to be respectful of all people, including their enemies, and to maintain professionalism even in times of war. Maybe especially in times of war.

I wouldn’t exactly call peeing on dead bodies “maintaining professionalism.” Matter of fact, I’d venture to say peeing on dead bodies is decidedly unprofessional. And dishonorable. Not to mention inflammatory and embarrassing. I am humiliated by the actions of those Marines.

Don’t get me wrong. I have no respect for the Taliban. I don’t feel they deserve anyone’s respect. Their tactics (and many of their beliefs) are disgusting. I understand that they think we’re the terrorists, and I get that many of them are doing what they think is right. (That’s one of the biggest problems with fanatics. Their logic is fucked, and there’s no way you’re gonna change their mind.) But even if they’re right, that whole “Anyone not like me is evil!” mentality is something I’ve never been able to get behind.

However…

Whether or not the Taliban deserves respect is not in question. There are very few Americans who think the Taliban deserves respect.

What is in question is the behavior of our Marines. Was their conduct unbecoming a U.S. Marine?

Personally, I feel it was. I don’t care that we’re at war. I don’t care that I can’t fathom what it’s like to be in the thick of it. I don’t care that the culture on a Marine base is different than anything I’ve encountered. And don’t give me that shit about gang mentality. Those Marines knew what they were doing, and they thought we’d be proud of them.

I was proud of them. Veryproud. Right up until the moment they filmed themselves peeing on dead bodies and posted the footage online. And if that makes me a barbarian defender, then so be it. At least I can now say my convictions got me blocked by a celebrity on Twitter.

The craziest shit happens to me.

The best stories usually start out that way, huh? This time, it’s just a little funny.

So we’ve got this friend! He’s a year younger than me. He got married a year or two ago. Naturally, being the typical American couple, that means they’ve just bought a house and had a baby.

Our friend went to <unnamed box store> and had the baby seat sitting on the child seat in the cart. He made the common new dad mistake of putting items in the child seat next to the baby seat.

You know where this is going, don’t you?

So New Dad goes through the line, gets all his stuff on the conveyor belt, rings out and pays. He heads back out to the car, unloads the cart and picks Baby up to put him in the car, and there, staring at him from the place Baby’s seat just was is a bottle of mouthwash.

“I had to take it back and pay for it,” he said. “I couldn’t wash my mouth out with those lies.”

Okay, maybe you had to be there. I’m still laughing.

I am not now, nor have I ever been, politically correct.

I don’t get the need to be. I’m not interested in getting it. And I’m not going to pretend to be PC because that’s the way we’re “supposed to” be here or anywhere else. 

I know the reasons people give. They claim to be anything less is to be discriminatory. They feel being PC avoids hurt feelings and unfair situations. Or something. But I’m of the mind that if we stop attaching “good” and “bad” to things that are neither, we’ll see the human need to classify things isn’t as disparaging as we originally thought.

Occasionally, people take my obstinate refusal to conform to a mold I neither fit nor understand as bigotry. More often than not, though, the problems my lack of PC-ness cause are with people who simply cannot fathom a world that not only allows labels, but embraces them as just a way to classify something and not something to be seen as good or bad. Usually a straight white cisgender person who’s full of so much guilt over their privilege that they see discrimination all around them.

I live in what’s considered by most to be the ghetto. There are definitely worse places, but my neighborhood is impoverished, crime-ridden and dismal. The people are predominately black, followed by people of Spanish descent, then white people. I couldn’t tell you in which order, but after white people are the Guyanese, Indian (dots not feathers) and Arab folks. And we all classify each other by race and nationality. In some cases, it’s racism or mistrust. In others, it’s just how we tell each other apart. “The black girl who lives in the blue house” or “the Puerto Ricans on the corner” or “the white lady at the corner store”.

So often, growing up, I heard that it’s wrong to see color. That classifying people is dangerous. That it not only hurts our country’s ability to be a community, but it hurt’s the feelings of the people who are being classified. And I always thought, “Why does it hurt someone’s feelings to be who they are?”

And here’s where I delve into dangerous ground. For all intents and purposes, my minority status stops at being female. You can’t see bisexual. I don’t dress or act the way most people expect tree-hugging pagans to dress or act. My Native American heritage is not visible in my appearance. And since I wear my hair long, and occasionally don makeup and “girly” clothing, the most anyone ever thinks of me is that I’m a “tomboy” which is acceptable in most corners of U.S. society.

They’d be correct. I’m not transgender. I know I’m a woman. I’m comfortable with being a woman. I don’t want to be a man. I won’t say I “feel like” a woman or I “don’t feel like” a man because I really have no idea what that means. Whether because of how I was raised, or by sheer luck, my mind and body are in agreement about what gender I am. I just happen to enjoy aspects of life that have been, for much of history, considered to be interests of the males of our species like sports and beer and things with motors and jeans and t-shirts. I also enjoy female aspects of life like needlepoint and skirts and strappy sandals and cooking.

Some say that being a white cisgender woman in a heterosexual marriage takes me out of a position to be able to say what I’m going to say. I say my being a white cisgender woman in a heterosexual marriage doesn’t change the reality of the situation.

There’s nothing wrong with being black. There’s nothing wrong with being gay. There’s nothing wrong with being transgender or Vietnamese or white or bisexual or obsessed with Pokemon. Okay, if you’re over 14 there might be something wrong with being obsessed with Pokemon depending on what level you take it to.

I refuse to be afraid to say someone is black or gay or obsessed with Pokemon because it might hurt their feelings. I’m sorry that it hurts your feelings to be those things. I empathize with you. I have tons of things I’d rather not be. Like fat and loud (mostly due to issues with background noise and not being able to hear myself speak) and (technically) mentally ill. But the sooner you accept you, the sooner everyone else will, too.

I’ve stopped trying to keep up with the newest LGBT lingo. If you tell me you want to be called something specific, I’ll go with it if I can remember (and apologize profusely when I forget) but I’m not gonna go into a long list of letters that I can’t even remember every time I talk about LGBT issues. You’re lucky I remember LGBT.

I’m not gonna refrain from asking you about it, either. I ask the people around me from New York City projects what their lives were like growing up. I ask the Indian couple who runs the store nearby about their religion. I ask Mel about his cock. If I’m curious about your sexual persuasion, and the conversation turns to it, I’m gonna ask. Simple as that.

I’ve known people from all sorts of walks of life. I have a genuine curiosity that burns deep within me when I meet someone “different”. I like to get to know “different” people. To understand what makes them tick. Not always out of a desire to befriend them so much as to study them. Learn about them. Sometimes friendship happens, sometimes it doesn’t. Either is fine with me. I like being liked. Who doesn’t? But if I don’t click with someone, I don’t often take it to heart anymore. That’s just the way things are.

I can honestly say there are scant few people I dislike who haven’t wronged me or someone I care about in some way. And even then, I am the queen of second chances. I know I’ve fucked up a lot in my life and I’d be nowhere if it weren’t for second chances. So I try to give people the opportunity to redeem themselves.

I’ve never in my life judged a person by their nationality, sexual persuasion, religion, gender. I’ve never understood why people do. Explaining racism to me when I was a kid was like trying to describe a Monet to a blind person. “But Mom, it’s just their skin! Your skin’s got nothing to do with your personality!”

I do, occasionally, make wisecracks about people of a particular nationality, sexual persuasion, religion or gender. Usually with someone who falls under one of those labels and people who know me well enough to know I’m busting on them. Never with malicious intent. Because they make them, too, and we all think they’re hilarious, and I’ve never been one for the whole “You can’t tell a black joke unless you’re black.” thing. Everyone tells blonde jokes! I know on account of I was blonde till I got pregnant the first time and people were constantly telling me blonde jokes.

How do you know a blonde’s having a bad day? She can’t find her pencil and her tampon’s behind her ear.

How do you kill a blonde? Put a scratch-n-sniff sticker/mirror at the bottom of the pool. Or spikes on her shoulder pads.

How do you know a blonde was the last one to use the computer? There’s White-Out all over the screen.

A smart blonde, Santa Claus and a redhead are in an automobile accident. Only one person survives. Who is it? The redhead. The other two don’t exist.

I’ve been accused of being racist on occasion. I think my inherent need to classify everything around me is often perceived as something it is not. People assume there’s an ultimate “good” and “bad” bin at the end of every classification I make because either that’s how they are, or that’s what they’re used to. But that is not the case for me. I don’t even classify people I do and don’t like as “good” or “bad” people. They’re just my kind of people or they aren’t. And not being “my kind of people” just means we’re too different to get along. “Different” is not synonymous with “bad”.

I do classify people according to physical and personal characteristics depending on why I’m talking about them. Having lived so many places growing up and throughout my early adulthood, and having dealt with so many different kinds of people, I learned early on that who a person becomes has much to do with the culture in which they were raised and the people who raised them. However, there comes a point when people decide for themselves which path they’re going to follow. Beyond that point, who they are is on them.

I’m rather firm in my belief that we, as human beings, can’t fully know what’s right or wrong. We just sort of have to go with our gut. What we’re comfortable with. What feels right to us. And that’s obviously subjective.

But I live in the ghetto. And labels here, in our neighborhood, are just labels. They’re not who you are. Unless they are. And then that’s your problem, not ours. And really, I think that’s as PC as anyone needs to be.

A few weeks ago we decided to get a pet. We were at our local Pet Smart to pick up food for the gerbils and birds, and one of the local shelters had a number of cats on site. We didn’t have much money left, so we bought what we needed and headed off to grab something to eat. While we were eating I was thinking about it. I’m definitely an “impulse buyer”, although I’d prefer to look at it more like an adoption in this case. It’s sort of crazy, this concept that you can buy and own another animal.

We hadn’t checked on how much taking a cat home would cost, so on a whim I decided we’d head back and check on how much it would be, with the thought that we’d come back in a couple of weeks and choose a new pet. When we got back to Pet Smart we found out that the adoption fee was 50% off, which dropped it to only $35. All the cats had all their shots and checkups, and were all healthy. In addition to that, they were giving coupons that covered the first big container of litter, and food for a week or more was included. We also found out there were a couple good plastic carriers people had donated. So all we really needed was a litter box.  We still put it off, thinking we’d get a cat at the first of the year, when we could afford the pet deposit.  Until a friend of ours ended up in the hospital, and none of her family members wanted to take in the cat she’d just rescued from the same shelter Pet Smart works with.

We only had $60 left, to last over a week, but after spending some time with Cara, it was obvious we were taking her home. Long story short, we ended up bringing a new pet home, and we named her Cara, since she hadn’t started answering to the name our friend gave her yet. We named her after the Mord-Sith in the Sword of Truth novels by Terry Goodkind. It seemed to fit (we also named our cockatiel Zedd).

I can’t begin to describe how much of a difference having a new family member has made. I think we’re both much calmer, and we both enjoy spending time playing with the cat. She’s now part of the family, and while we miss our friend (she finally passed away), I’m really glad we decided to take in her rescue. We got the perfect new addition to our family, and already we can’t even picture her not being with us.

My personal tradition is to try and think of something new each year to be thankful for. Regrettably, it’s taken me getting older to put some things together. I always hated, as a child, when someone told me I couldn’t understand because I was still a child. For some things, it does take many years of experience to get it.

My childhood was, well, boring would be the best word to describe it. For much of my childhood my mother and I lived with my grandparents. Those were mostly good years; I was very happy living with my grandparents. It was a small town, however, and occasionally I would get so incredibly bored. There were 2 people in my life that occasionally rescued me, and tried to impart life lessons. One of those people was my older brother Fred. This isn’t about him right now, however. The other was a guy we all called “Big Alan”.

The name, Big Alan, was for two reasons. He was hella tall, and my younger brother was named after him. To avoid confusion, we had “big” Alan, and “little” Alan.

Alan was sort of an odd guy. He sold fish, both that he caught himself off the coast of Massachusetts and bought at the various fish markets in Boston. His cars always had the worst fish smell. These were the years that my mother was trying to be a good Christian, and Alan was part of that. He was, at times, preachy, but never overbearing. His approach was to try and get me to understand things on my own, rather than being told what to believe.

This was in the 80′s where many of the Christian denominations were in an uproar about back masking in rock music. My mother had us in a Pentecostal church at the time, and the things we were being told were nuts (especially looking back on it). For example, we were told any instrument that worked off electricity was of the devil (this was an extension of “electric guitars are evil”). I wouldn’t be able to contain my laughter if someone said this to me now.

Alan didn’t buy any of that (rightly so). Even tho he was a devout Christian, he had no trouble blasting some Led Zepplin in his fishy smelling car. Granted, he usually made up Christian lyrics to go along with it, but this was my first exposure to good music. He’s the one that taught me, maybe without even meaning to, to really get into the music, to appreciate the sound and layers even if the lyrics didn’t work for me. It’s more of a religious experience than simply just listening, and by that I don’t mean a Christian experience. It’s more spiritual than human religious institutions.

I just experienced my first live orchestra just a couple of weeks ago. It was amazing, it blew me away. It gave me goosebumps, and made me think. My ability to experience music in this way is directly because of Alan.

He also introduced me to one of my favorite places on earth. That would be Rockport, Massachusetts. He took my mother, my younger brother, and I there quite a few times when I was young. It’s a little tourist village not far from Gloucester, and has the best chowder house anywhere. It’s a place that calms me, it really puts my mind at ease. It’s very hard to explain. I’m glad I’ve been able to go with rayne. We had an awesome time, and I hope to get back there again next year.

As the fishy smell in the car implies, Alan was big on fishing. He would pick me up and find obscure fishing spots we would hike to, or just drive to Mass. and head out in Boston harbor. You haven’t fished until you’ve been in a tiny aluminum boat just outside the harbor on a windy day. This really taught me an appreciation of nature, and this is still strong today. This directly influenced my photography. I love to hike, and maybe throw in a little Geocaching for some added fun. This is something I miss most, not having a car right now. We can’t go to nature preserves and spend the day in the woods like we used to.

I was sort of taken aback while I was thinking about all this. So many things were shaped by this one person in my life, even down to something as simple as my appreciation for a nice prime rib. Unfortunately, I haven’t spoken to him in many, many years. I think he was very disappointed in me when I married at a young age (16). At the time, I was young, with a new wife, a new daughter, and that took up all of my time. I didn’t have time to walk in the woods, or go fishing, and I think that ultimately drove us apart. I hope wherever he is that good things have happened for him. So many things that I can appreciate are directly because of him, and I’m very thankful for that.

As always, I’m thankful for my wife. We’re coming up on our 8 year (8 or 9? Just kidding!) anniversary. There’s been some rough spots, but what relationship doesn’t have those? We’ve survived those rough spots, and in the end it’s only made our relationship stronger. I’m still not even remotely bored, and I don’t think I ever will be. Sometimes people are just meant for each other, and besides, I love her more.

So, those are my thoughts today. Have a Happy Thanksgiving!

M and I are technically on vacation, but I figured I’d put this call out and hope we’d hear back from someone.

We’re looking for a New York State attorney to help us with questions on the following matters:

• Child Support Withholding and Mistakes – We’re currently fighting with child support because they’ve lost $3500 of M’s paid support, are refusing to do an audit, and are forcing him to repay the money instead of finding the payments. They’re also trying to force through medical support even though M is over the federal and NYS withholding limits. We’re trying to find out what legal recourse we have in this.
  
• Consensual Kink-Related Relationships/Photos on the Web/Websites v. Porn/DV Laws – With how many people are finding themselves slapped with DV charges because of kink-related injuries, and the new DV laws NYS is trying to push through, M and I are a little worried about the possibility of Him being arrested because of our relationship. We’d like to speak with an attorney about the laws surrounding these issues, and figure out what we need to be doing differently, if anything, to prevent this.

Right now, we’re just looking for someone to ask questions, but we may eventually be looking for a family court attorney to represent us if we find we have a course of action. If you can help, please contact us at Melen (at) mindcryme (dot) com.

Thanks so much, in advance.

If you know anything about me, you know that I have a stalker-esque obsession with Greg Grunberg.  Okay, so maybe it’s not that bad.  I don’t collect memorabilia or fly to locations he’ll be on or anything like that.  Hell, I’m not even completely sure where the man calls home.  But he’s one of only a few celebrities I still follow on Twitter.  And if I’m to be honest, I’d have to say it’s because he’s the only one who’s ever responded to me.

I mean, sure I talked to Christian Bale.  But, alas, it wasn’t the real Christian Bale.  Lamesauce, right?

Okay, okay! I hear you! What’s Yowza!! got to do with all this?

I learned about Yowza! by following Greg Grunberg on Twitter.  Yowza!! is an iPhone app that Greg Grunberg co-created.  But what does it do?

It saves you a shitload of money.

According Yowza!!’s bio, from the second you load Yowza!! onto your phone, it starts searching for coupons as close as a mile away from you and as far away as fifty miles.  You can use it at over 10,000 locations (hotels, restaurants, department stores, etc.) nationwide.  And it has saved Yowza!! users $209,000 since its creation.

I hear ya.  I don’t have an iPhone either.  Not really interested in one, as I said in a previous post.  So while I loved the concept of Yowza!!, I couldn’t benefit because it was only available to iPhone users.

Not anymore!

A little while ago, Grunny tweeted that Yowza!! is going to be available for all smart phones! You best believe I’m jumping on that bandwagon.  M’s stupid smart phone will be useful after all!

So keep your eyes peeled for the Yowza!! app for your smart phone.  And thank Grunny when you see how much you can save.