The Fat Lady Sings

Placing Blame

 

I’ve never been one to subscribe to the notion that bad shit happens for a reason.  There’s no moral, no silver lining, no lesson to be learned from the death of a child – especially when that death is at some monsters hands.  I’ve noticed pundits and newscasters no longer even try to classify something like this.  They just report that it happened – then go for the money shots photographing and profiling the child’s devastated family.  Some, like carrion crawler Nancy Grace, cast themselves as crusading angels – making sure to report every sad and salacious detail; a kind of verbal autopsy: how many cuts, how many broken bones (with emphasis and breathless discussion of any perceived sexual deviance).  No rules, no license - the more horrific and graphic the material the better.  CSI on a stick.

 

What no one ever does is look into the happenstance of it all – the under the skin, emotional assassination of the left-behinds.  Much more has been slaughtered than a single child.  Every member of that family has, in some indefinable way, died.  These are the true zombies; parts inside rotted away; some through neglect, others the result of further and continuing abuse.  It’s the blaming, you see – the assigning of ‘responsibility’.  Somebody (or a whole passel of ‘somebody’s’) has to shoulder responsibility for the child’s death.  The killer alone is no longer enough – not for today’s constantly on the lookout for the next shocking thing punditocracy.  Modern media demands a full-on Roman orgy; gladiators, tigers, vomitorium (and you’d better not forget the popcorn).  That usually masticates and digests the entire family – no matter if their involvement was merely peripheral.  And god help those caught in the blast zone.  Demon press excoriates and filets to the bone.

 

Which brings me ‘round to my point.  Something struck me the other day....a throw-away report of a little girl lost and found dead.  Lost in Florida, thrown away in a Georgia landfill.  Her name isn’t as important as the ‘before’s’ – those ‘Seconds from Disaster’ moments.  Perhaps I should say the incidents long term effects.  It’s all in the ‘how’ she disappeared, you see; the ticks and tocks of what led up to the taking.  Evidently she’d been walking home from school with her brother, her older sister and some other school friends.  There was an argument – one news outlet reported she was being teased by her brother, another said she was arguing with a school friend prompting her sister to yell at her.  I’m not exactly sure of the details (nor were they – but hey, who cares?).  Still – such speculation was reported as verified fact all the same.  Whatever really happened – the situation ended with the little girl in tears, running ahead of the other children, never to be seen alive again. 

 

Do you see?  Do you get what I mean....what’s happened here? 

 

It’s the other children - her siblings in particular.  I’m concerned about their mental and emotional state.  They will blame themselves for her death.  It’s inevitable.  Especially if their parents blame them as well.  I know a little something about how that kind of thing works, unfortunately.  My sister committed suicide when I was 7.  She was 27 – old enough to be my mother.  Of course – I never knew about it, was never told the truth.  I only knew she’d suddenly, inexplicably, disappeared.  It was my mother who filled in the blanks – and used the lies she concocted to control me.  You see – just before my sister died, she’d stopped by to visit and brought along her dog, a Chihuahua.  Now – I was afraid of Chihuahuas as a child.  A neighbor had one she’d turn loose on all the local kids – especially while walking home from school.  I’d been bitten numerous times by the nasty beast – so I was terrified.    

 

Thankfully he never chased past his own territory.  Oh – he’d chase you down in the street (seriously – the little monster knocked me off my bike once) – but never past his own house.  You had to run awfully fast, though.  I was a tad clumsy – so more often than not I got nipped by those needle teeth – and yes, my mother knew all about it.  As far I know, she never once approached the woman to call off her dog.  But that was the nature of my family’s dysfunction.  It’s why I was considering (and attempting) suicide by age 10.  Anyway – despite my saying I was afraid – into my arms goes the dog.  The creature was keyed up from the drive (squirming like mad), my mother and my sister were fighting - my brother (sensing my unease), used it to torment me (he was 22 at the time and a real piece of work).  End result?  I got bitten and accidently dropped the dog.  The poor thing broke its leg - had to be rushed to the vet.  Needless to say I was horrified, I felt terrible – and I was blamed.  Not by my sister (she understood) – but by my mother (who said I did it on purpose), and by my asshole brother who used the incident to taunt me.  The whole thing was so traumatizing, I used to hear the awful sounds of that little dogs pain in my nightmares.

 

Then poof - my sister up and disappears; and when I asked why she didn’t come visit me any more – my mother had her answer ready: My sister didn’t come around any more because she blamed me for injuring her dog.  Sobbing, I begged my mother to just let me speak to my sister – to apologize again, make reparations – anything.  I was only 7.  Loss is especially hard at that age - and I loved my sister dearly.  She was my only anchor in a terrible and terrifying world.  No, my mother said.  She hates you.  She never wants to see you again.  She wishes you were dead.  Then she added the coup de gras:  she told me the little dog had died – that I’d killed it - that I was a horrible killer of dogs – and my sister could no longer stand the sight of me.

 

Well.  I believed her.  I believed her for years.  No one gainsaid the bitch, by the way – not my father, not my asshole brother, not my next oldest, stick up her ass sister (18 years my senior – I was the youngest by an entire generation).  Everyone just let the lies stand.  And they shattered me – absolutely shattered me.  I was 12 before I sussed out the truth; and when I did – the overweening hatred I felt for my family knew no bounds.  To make a child feel responsible for a sibling’s death....  I’ve never forgiven them – even after all these years.  Oh – there are worse things I suffered at my family’s hands…but this stands out in my mind as especially heinous.  The mental images of dropping that dog remain as fresh and clear as if they had all happened yesterday. 

 

How does this relate to the murder of that poor child?  In how her siblings feel.  See – I know.  I know how they blame themselves right now.  How they believe they were responsible.  If only they hadn’t teased her, if only there wasn’t an argument....  The ‘if only’s’ can be killer.  Add in news agency after news agency repeating and re-treading constructed versions of the abduction narrative (child runs from disagreement with siblings and is slaughtered)....and how on earth are they to feel any different?  I only hope the adults in their lives aren’t reinforcing all this.  Oh - I can understand how there might be anger.  That’s natural.  Anger/fear after something as traumatic as this is an instinctual trigger.  What parent wouldn’t lash out, perhaps scold without thinking?  It’s what happens after that counts.  The dysfunctional response is a need to place blame.  Those surviving kids will eat themselves alive if they’re allowed to go through life blaming themselves for their little sister’s death.  It isn’t their fault.  I don’t know how many ways or times I can say it: It Wasn’t Their Fault. 

 

But this kind of in depth analysis isn’t what you’re likely to hear on what passes for the news.  No one’s even going to think about the survivors; well, not beyond the tears and the screaming; unless, of course, it’s about blood or sex or hysterical crying.  That will be graded on whether or not it’s believable, by the way.  Nancy Grace thinks she’s an expert on discerning capital ‘T’ Truth.  But the left behinds?  The kids?  Their friends?  Nada.  Oh – some enterprising young ‘reporter’ might sidle up and ask how it feels to be responsible, blah, blah, blah....but to follow the healing process through to its conclusion?  Why bother?  It only leads if it bleeds.

 

ET Phone Home

Let's not move to Moscow any time soon.  Looks like the aliens from Independence Day are considering stopping by for a visit.

Dog Fights Foot Monster

 

From the land beyond beyond (courtesy Weird Universe):  Offered as is, and without editorial comment. 

 

Tell me this doesn’t feel like a Twilight Zone episode?

Homecrafters To Turn Criminal Under New Law

(Reprinted from Blondsense with permission)

 

Microbusinesses that lovingly create handmade items for children will become illegal manufacturers of "hazardous substances" overnight thanks to a new Consumer Product Safety Improvement Act.

 

This law includes hand-knitted, quilted and hand-sewn clothes, wooden toys and the myriad of other products for children which traditionally have been sold by arts-and-crafts shops countrywide for decades. These are usually produced by cash-strapped people at home.

She says that even granny's home-made quilts sold in the local arts-and-crafts shop won't be exempt from this new law. Also disastrous is the fact that thousands of tons of these often exquisitely-handcrafted products in the pre-existing stock of shops also will have to be dumped as contraband which under this law will be deemed to contain 'banned, hazardous substances' after February 10 -- because the Act is retroactive. Each product will have be tested at huge cost and produce a certificate of compliance before it can be sold. Handcrafters say they can't afford this huge price-tag of $4,000 for each test.

Manufacturers -- all these microbusinesses included -- will have to obtain a certificate of compliance: anyone who makes clothing, toys etc regardless of volume, needs to have each and every component tested by a CPSC-accredited laboratory at huge cost for each individual product.

"This includes not just toys, but clothing, jewelry, blankets, sheets, books, bibs, strollers, carriers, and anything else that a child younger than 12 might come in contact with," she said.

"These tests have to be done at a CSPC accredited lab, and cost as much as $4,000 with an average of around $500. So for me, I offer three different types of dresses. Each dress contains two different fabrics, as well as buttons, and thread (each of which needs to be tested), so that’s potentially $2,000 to test one dress. But I have three styles, so that’s $6,000.

And when I get a new bolt of fabric, I need to start all over again. I can only make 15 dresses from one bolt, so there is no way I could make the testing financially feasible".

She agrees wholeheartedly that the children must be protected from harmful chemicals. "However this law, as it is currently written, will affect handmade toy and apparel makers - the very people many of us turn to for safe toys, clothing and decor for our children."

 

Wonderful. And it won't be long before all handmade items for sale by artisans and crafters will go under such scrutiny perhaps because a child might come in contact with it. As a designer of handmade specialty items for the past 20 odd years, most of us take special care to use only the finest supplies and ingredients and I only buy products that are certified lead free before I use them in my projects. It's not like I want to work with dangerous products in the first place, so why would I want to sell them? That is why so many people buy handmade items. duh.

Now they want us to even have bolts of fabric that we use tested? Why is it not tested before it goes to market in the first place? Shouldn't I be able to trust companies that sell me jewelry components and say that they are lead free be enough without my having to spend thousands to have them tested?

I wonder, who pray tell is going to regulate the absolute crap that comes to us from China and other crappy countries? Why should it be the responsibility of home business crafters to be sure that the supplies we use which are manufactured by big businesses be safe? Will these regulations even force manufacturers to go out of business?

Even if I were to grow cotton or raise sheep and silkworms to make my own fabric from scratch for my microbusiness, it would cost me thousands before I could even sell it. This act will hurt many people in America whose businesses are what makes the mortgage payment or rent each month. It's not good to kill the entrepreneurial spirit which made this country great in the first place.

How to object to this Act

Lodge objections no later than January 30 2009 to the Consumer Product Safety Commission's Office of the Secretary, email:  [email protected] . They can also be faxed to (USA) 301 504-0127

Snailmail:

The Office of the Secretary,
Consumer Product Safety Commission,
Room 502, 4330 East-West Highway

Bethesda Maryland, 20814 US.
Comments should be captioned: Section 102 Mandatory Third-Party Testing of Component Parts

Hmmmm........

Remind you of anything?

McCain/Palin - the Boris and Natasha of Republican politics.

 

I'm thinking Bullwinkle had better hire a few bodyguards.

Friday Night Whimsy

Because sometime we all need a reason to smile

The Amazing Christopher

The Evolution of Dance

Chris Bliss

Hell

Sorry to have been absent for so long.  My health has taken a downward turn, I'm afraid.  The chronic pain I deal with has inexplicably become much, much worse.  Tightening up the diagnoses has been a bitch.  I refuse to go in for more invasive procedures.  I wake up during surgery, you see - right the fuck up.  Imagine being trapped in your body while some surgeon digs away inside you.  The pain.  The terror.  Well it's happened to me a number of times.  I tell the anesthetist - they don't believe me - and wham!  There I am staring up at them, praying like hell they'll put me under again.  Not everyone has.  One surgeon actually said. "I don't believe it.  She can't have any more anesthesia.  Just keep her still till I'm finished."  I suffered for 45 minutes.  It’s a wonder I didn’t lose my mind.  I came out of recovery screaming.

So you see - I don't want to ever go under the knife again.  I've asked for MRI's and CT scans injstead - but my primary doctor is having trouble lining it all up.  Seems my insurance wants to pay for the surgical diagnoses rather than the high tech kind.  So I wait - I have pain – and I worry something is very wrong.  It's been so bad I cannot really write - so thank you, Jude for permission to post this.  You are a jewel!

(Courtesy of Jude from Showers and Sunflowers)

HELL EXPLAINED BY CHEMISTRY STUDENT

The following is an actual question given on a University of Washington chemistry mid-term.

The answer by one student was so "profound" that the professor shared it with colleagues, via the Internet, which is, of course, why we now have the pleasure of enjoying it as well :

Bonus Question: Is Hell exothermic (gives off heat) or endothermic (absorbs heat)?

Most of the students wrote proofs of their beliefs using Boyle's Law (gas cools when it expands and heats when it is compressed) or some variant.

One student, however, wrote the following:

First, we need to know how the mass of Hell is changing in time. So we need to know the rate at which souls are moving into Hell and the rate at which they are leaving. I think that we can safely assume that once a soul gets to Hell, it will not leave. Therefore, no souls are leaving. As for how many souls are entering Hell, let's look at the different religions that exist in the world today. Most of these religions state that if you are not a member of their religion, you will go to Hell. Since there is more than one of these religions and since people do not belong to more than one religion, we can project that all souls go to Hell. With birth and death rates as they are, we can expect the number of souls in Hell to increase exponentially. Now, we look at the rate of change of the volume in Hell because Boyle's Law states that in order for the temperature and pressure in Hell to stay the same, the volume of Hell has to expand proportionately as souls are added.

This gives two possibilities:

1. If Hell is expanding at a slower rate than the rate at which souls enter Hell, then the temperature and pressure in Hell will increase until all Hell breaks loose.

2. If Hell is expanding at a rate faster than the increase of souls in Hell, then the temperature and pressure will drop until Hell freezes over.

So which is it?

If we accept the postulate given to me by Teresa during my Freshman year that, "It will be a cold day in Hell before I sleep with you," and take into account the fact that I slept with her last night, then number two must be true, and thus I am sure that Hell is exothermic and has already frozen over. The corollary of this theory is that since Hell has frozen over, it follows that it is not accepting any more souls and is therefore, extinct.... leaving only Heaven, thereby proving the existence of a divine being which explains why, last night, Teresa kept shouting "Oh my God."

THIS STUDENT RECEIVED THE ONLY "A"

The Marriage-Go-Round

I wrote this last year as part of The Blog Exchange.  The topic was change - something we all pay lip service to (especially on New Years) - but rarely consider past all the champagne and confetti.  2008 will be a year of massive change, I’m thinking – on many levels.  Life can be quite a roller-coaster – both the public and the private.  Thoughtful consideration needs to go into both aspects if our society is to move forward.  Though this post focuses on the private; the process remains constant no matter what subject comes under the microscope.

I wish people would give some thought about what it really means to stand by someone for 40 or 50 years.  You know - after all the romance and ‘aren’t you cute’s’ have gone the way of the Dodo.  ‘For better or worse’ isn’t just an outdated bromide like that ‘obey’ bullshit; and it means much more than not bailing during catastrophic injury or illness.  It means being there to help and support.  It means not blaming them for whatever accident or illness has crippled their body – and offering comfort when that body is wracked by pain or disease.  Perhaps most importantly – it means not adding to that pain through repetitive emotional abuse.  You do not look at your spouse and say “You’re no fun anymore” or flinch away - repulsed because they need a hug or some other physical reminder that they yet retain their humanity.  When they already feel bad because they cannot attend that concert or go on that wished for vacation because of surgery or pain, you do not compound their misery with selfish displays of disgust and regret.  Marriage isn’t a euphemism – it’s a reality - and that reality can sometimes chafe and burn.  Love is supposed to circumvent all that.  Don’t they say it conquers all?

Allow me to get personal for a moment.  Before I married my husband, yet while we were living with one another, he was diagnosed with a brain tumor.  The thing was exceptionally large (about the size of a soda can) and if not removed would definitely kill him within six months.  Time became compressed.  Important decisions had to be made lightening quick – where to have the surgery (as surgery was our only option), how to pay for it all (insurance left us liable for 20%) – and most importantly (from my point of view) whether or not to hang around for what could be a challenging aftermath.  Yes – I really thought about it.  His doctors were crystal clear in their assessment.  Should he survive the surgery (which lasted 12 of the longest hours of my life) he might be left blind, deaf or paralyzed.  That’s one hell of a lot to handle when you’re barely 30 years of age.  So I thought – can I manage this?  More importantly – do I want to?  Have I the strength to make such a decision?  Because once made there would be no going back.  It was all or nothing – I stay, or I go; no third road option.  Obviously I stayed – but that’s not my point.  My point is I seriously considered every angle.  It was more than ‘do I love this man’; it was ‘do I have the physical and emotional strength to cope with what could be a lifetime of struggle’?  My answer was yes.  Now – the surgery was a success (thank god) – and outside of some facial paralysis and his being deaf in one ear there were no lasting physical effects.  Personality wise – now that’s something different altogether.  No one said he’d become a different person.  I was totally unprepared for that.  But I made my decision.  I married him, I loved him, I cared for him – 20 years now and counting.  But not everybody really thinks of these things – of the changes that can happen at a moments notice. 

Side-stepping the realities of life are not the sole province of the young, either.  Grown-ups do it too.  Even for those certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that they had duly considered all vicissitudes – life can suddenly rear up and bite them squarely in the ass.  And there they are – relying on that ‘for better or worse’ clause in the marriage certificate.  Abruptly they discover that clause to be non-binding; that their spouse may have considered ‘for better or worse’ as only relating specifically to them.  You’d think the opposite would be true – but it’s not.  Whatever the reason – one spouse suddenly finds themselves in a place they don’t particularly want to be.  But leaving someone because of accident or illness is really frowned upon societally speaking.  The person doing the leaving is looked down on as morally bankrupt.  So people stay.  They stay somewhere they do not want to be.  And it makes them angry – they are stuck, now, you see – no exit.  And whether they intend to or not – that anger and frustration gets taken out on their spouse.  Why get married in the first place, you ask?  Well (and this rings especially true for men) - because it was fun.  They had met someone with whom they always had a good time - and they anticipated that good time lasting forever – uncluttered and unsullied by either age or infirmity.  Suddenly bam!  Paralysis or cancer.  Pain and doctors bills.  That carefree, ‘you and me against the world’ relationship has changed – irrevocably.  The same thing often happens with the birth or death of a child.  Whatever the reason – one spouse withdraws – leaving the other to handle the situation in virtual isolation.

I’m not really assigning blame here.  Some people are just wholly unsuited to heavy physical or emotional responsibility; something they cannot admit, even to themselves.  Perhaps they looked upon marriage as being taken care of - spouse as substitute parent.  It may never have occurred to them that they might be the ones having to administer that care – and it leaves them as angry as a child being denied a wished-for toy.  Though they might not give breath to the words, “I resent you!” – the sentiment nevertheless runs underneath everything they say and do.  Now imagine how all this feels when you are on the receiving end.  It hurts.  It hurts, it de-humanizes, it crush’s the very soul.  Rejection by a spouse is bad enough in the best of circumstances - when you’re fighting trench war on a physical level it can be devastating. 

Many people would consider divorce at this point.  In my opinion - divorce effectually leaves the unaffected spouse off the hook.  Not that that spouse can really be the one to suggest it without seeming to desert their marriage at a critical point.  Now here’s where it all gets a bit sticky.  If they can push the other into suggesting it – say, nag or belittle them into fleeing for sanity’s sake…..well; best of both worlds.  Social taboos regarding abandonment have not been violated - and most importantly - they become separated from that which they wished to avoid in the first place: a sick or deteriorating spouse.  Poof!  Responsibility all gone.  Any imperative to stay till the bitter end has been resolved.  It now becomes the sick spouse’s sole responsibility to provide for their own care and comfort.  The additional pain and suffering this causes the affected partner is dismissed under a cloud of denial.  “It wasn’t my fault” or “I’m not the one who asked for a divorce”.  Whatever the excuse – the reality is: someone desperately trying to process massive physical, mental and emotional changes is now expected to handle all that, along with the logistical and practical end, without a net.

So think very, very carefully before saying ‘I do’.  Look long and hard at the person standing beside you.  Will they still be standing there were you in a wheelchair?  Would you do the same for them?  I think Paul McCartney said it best – which is sad, in a way, considering his own current failure on this account: “Will you still need me, will you still feed me when I’m 64?”  Though I must say - he never left his first wife’s side while she was dying.  He really did mean ‘for better or for worse’ when he took those vows, his lovely wife Linda holding a white kitten for her bouquet.  Theirs was an enduring marriage between two people who truly loved and respected one another.  His current wife bailed at the first sign of trouble.  Seems she didn’t want to be married to an ‘old man’; just to his money.  That says a great deal about her character – don’t you think?  And character is the key, here.  So if you’re only pulling a Brittany Spears – don’t bother.  Trust me when I say your prospective spouse would be much better off without you in the long run. 

More Sad News

Patrick Swayze has been diagnosed with terminal pancreatic cancer.  "Dirty Dancing" was filmed in North Carolina.  I knew some of the actors who worked with him on that film.  They said he was a delight.  That's not always the case, you know.  I could tell you tales that make what TMZ reports sound like cotton candy.  But not Swayze.  He was kind, generous and a very hard worker - in that film at least.

He and his family are in my prayers.

Three Week Wait

Just because I don’t believe in keeping a gun in the house doesn’t mean I don’t know how to use one.  Matter of fact – I used to be a pretty fair shot…….but then I should be - I was taught by the best.  Years ago (back in my femme fatale days) an old boyfriend thought to show off somewhat and took me to his gun club (back then, membership in a gun club was considered ‘cool’).  He brought his father with him - a mercurial man, steeped in Latin machismo, and permanently mired in his vainglorious past as a semi-famous architect.  Both men treated me as if I was their personal toy – teasing, petting - tossing suggestive commentary around like confetti.  I was not amused – but that’s another story for another day.  Let’s stick to the guns.  The moment we arrived, my boyfriend and his father shifted their competition from me to seeing which of them was too cool for the room.  You’d think they were handling penises instead of cold metal.  This was obviously an old rivalry, and one I didn’t much relish getting caught up in.  But there I was, surrounded by explosions, watching two men Bantam strutting whilst brandishing various implements of destruction (all handguns by the way – from a palm-sized .22 to a long barreled Dirty Harry special I needed two hands to lift and point).