The Country of the Blind

Seriously, I was going to have something here for you to read–well, technically, I do have something for you to read and you’re reading it now.  But no, I was gonna work on the novel, and even got eighty words into it, before I was massively side tracked–

Last night I was finally attacked online for being trans.

It was really kinda of strange and stupid how it came up, because the troll–and I have no other word for her–rose up from out of nowhere and just started lobbing non sequiturs at me in a thread on Facebook that had nothing to do with anything even remotely LGBTA.  She was just like, “You’re not a woman.  You don’t know what sex you are,” and then threw in a Caitlyn Jenner jab because of course you have to do that if you wanna keep your Transphobic Card current these days.

I commented back to this person, but in a rather snarky and comical way–at one point she said I didn’t know what my type was, because of dating or some shit, and I told her it was Times New Roman.  She’s never tried to engage me directly, because that would require digging into her bag of tricks and actually coming up with something intelligent to say, and we all know that wasn’t gonna happen.

And then, come to discover, someone else in the same group, in another completely unrelated thread, decided to make an ultra snarky comment about me being the only person in the group who tucks “her” penis.  First off, how would she know?  Does she work for the NSA and she’s Secret Squirreling my ass when I dress in the morning?  And second:  for the record I don’t bother tucking ’cause there ain’t enough there to make tucking worth my while.  The strangest damn things people come up with, I’m tellin’ ya.

A lot of people came to my defense, which was heartening, and I did ask them on a few occasions to keep it classy and not get pulled into the growing whirlpool of ignorant suck.  Remember:  Never argue with an idiot. They drag you down to their level and beat you with experience.  It’s good advice that’s true in any situation where you’re dealing with slack-jawed mouth breathers.

I’ve expected that sort of thing to happen for a while, and given I’ve been really public on social media of late, I expected the bigots and haters to get their spine up and say something.  And it will happen again, of that I’m certain.  But so what?  As I told this person last night, she sounded a lot like my grandparent telling me “the truth” about minorities, and when they died their took their ignorance with them, and she could expect the same treatment.  Not to mention I have friends from various ethnic and religious backgrounds who probably hear far worse shit like that on a daily basis.  If that’s the case I’m in good company.

I won’t ever let these people get the best of me because they are wrong:  that’s all there is to that deal.  Flap those jaws, fool, but don’t expect me to get bent out of shape and start yelling back at you.  It won’t ever happen.  If there is one thing I’m pleased with it’s who I am as a person–and you, loser, had nothing to do with me getting to this point.  By attacking me you’re going straight to the ad hominem, and that means you instantly lose any moral high ground you believed you possessed.  As I told this person last night after she accused me of attacking her when I said she was a bigot, “You pushed that button and opened the door:  I only kicked it wide open.”  Ah, yup.

Tonight I’ll get back to my kids and their instructors, one whom, as an A Level, dragged a girl by her hair from the Dining Hall to the Rotunda to “have a talk” because the dragged girl made the mistake of calling the instructor a racial slur.  I would truly love to do that same thing to the haters, but hey, we can’t have everything, right?  But I’ll be back to Salem this evening–I promise.

In the meantime I'm sorry I haven't the time for your shit:  I'm too busy being me.

In the meantime I’m sorry I haven’t the time for your shit: I’m too busy being me.

Roundabout Gibberish

Nothing starts off your day like waking up to the memories of dealing with idiots from the night before.

Let me tell you, I have this idea for a movie:  Thirty Going on 13!  The story of a woman who doesn’t work and still lives with her mother, and apparently hasn’t had an original idea in her head for most of her life, who likes to take to social media to throw out random shit with this hope it will stick among the few friends she has, and who–upon the moment someone dare question her incredible assertions–begins screaming that she’s being ATTACKED, and that you’re MEAN, and finally, she tells you she doesn’t have to tell you ANYTHING about why she believes what she says she does, I don’t want to talk to you any more, you’re always mean–

And then deletes her entire, foaming at the mouth, oh-I’m-sorry-I-called-you-a-lazy-government-soaking-bum-which-isn’t-the-same-as-me-’cause-I-still-live-at-home-with-mommy-forgive-me-I-say-bad-things-when-I-get-angry, batshit insane tirade of a post, because once it’s down The Memory Hole, it never existed, right?

Good thing they’re a writer (I should put that in quotes, but that’s being mean), ’cause that just means they’ll have time to work on getting that drinking at 8 AM routine, so they can damn everyone else who has done something worthwhile and pass out at three in the afternoon, secure in their knowledge that once they scamper back to the computer at 10 PM, they can get on and Post While Shitfaced, and find the few friends that remain who do enjoy listing to her Crazy Cat Lady polemic.

Seriously, there are enough negative vibrations floating about my life that I should know better than to get suckered into hair-pulling scree that are the 21st Century equivalent of standing upon a soap box in the local park, and going on about the mind control chemicals hidden in fluidized water, and if you continue allowing your children to drink said water, eventually they’ll turn into teenagers and–Gasp!–start talking back to you!  Facebook should have a button that says, “I’m Now Writing On Toilet Paper With Crayons!”, which would warn some of us that we aren’t going to engage with people who are interested in honest debate–we are dealing with fools who piss themselves at the slightest disturbance of their sheltered lives.

Enough.  Time to move on.

Well, almost . . . the problem here is one that Isaac Asimov pointed out some time ago.  Let him speak his case in his own words:

There is a cult of ignorance in the United States, and there has always been. The strain of anti-intellectualism has been a constant thread winding its way through our political and cultural life, nurtured by the false notion that democracy means that “my ignorance is just as good as your knowledge”.

I am nowhere near The Good Doctor’s intellectual equal.  I do my best to stay informed, find out what’s being said on both side of the issue, and make up my mind using the available facts.  I may not always be on the correct side of opinion, but I’ll do my damnedest to support my side of an argument.

But for many people, like The Lead Paint Eater from last night, they seem to believe that the Sagan Standard doesn’t apply to them, that they are able to voice the most extraordinary claims without having a shred of evidence to back them up.  To paraphrase Harlan Ellison, this is the Clarion Cry of the Yahoo, the person who doesn’t care if you don’t like what they have to say, they going to damn well say it, because it’s what they believe to be the truth–and if you try to bring facts to the discussion, they’ll cry foul and accuse you of everything from genocide to forced sex with their goldfish.

Really, the train wreck aspects of watching an ass like this crash and burn in spectacular fashion is far outweighed by their ignorant, petulant, and at times borderline-racist screaming on any shiny thing that happens to catch their attention for the moment.  It’s not worth the hassle; it’s not worth allowing one’s brain cells to witness such a calamity, and to anguish over whether the choices available are fight, flight, or shotgunning Drano in order to end this exposure to terminal stupidity and bring about the peace of sweet, sweet death.

One should learn from their mistakes.  I have from mine.

At least until next time.

Damn.  I should stick to writing novels, you know?