Rant: Violence against women

A rant, of sorts, because I need to.

It isn't fair. It isn't fair that a culture of violence against women exists. It isn't fair that women everywhere are afraid to go out alone at night, even if nothing has happened to them before, because something could happen. And it's not right that people aren't bothered by this, that the solution that is first mentioned when women feel that their personal safety is threatened is for them to buy a gun, or Mace, or learn self-defense. It's not right that boys and young men grow up in a culture where it's acceptable to refer to women as "bitches" and "hos," where objectifying women in speech, in thought, and in media is de rigeour.

It's not right that women are the ones who are bringing this up, and when we do, it's looked at as "our problem," a "women's issue," and that we're just causing trouble. It's not right that one in six women are raped, that nearly one in three women are assaulted by a "loved one" during her lifetime, or that women should ever be afraid in their own homes. It's not right that women who've been fortunate enough to not experience this soul violation undoubtedly know someone who has, and must always wonder, might it happen to me? In his book A Widow for One Year, John Irving writes, "Hannah would say that [Ruth] had never been beaten because she just hadn't met the right man yet, as it were. Or the wrong one."

I am tired of it. I am remarkably depressed. I know that the men I know and love are good, kind people, and I am equally angry for them, having to grow up, exist, and survive a culture that has the potential to so deeply damage men. And, truth be told, there has been a moment with every man I love where I look at him and think, "When is it going to happen? When is he going to turn in anger and hurt someone? Will it be me?" And that's not fair. It has nothing to do with the men in question (let me re-iterate that--this is entirely independent of the men I know), which is not fair to them. It's also not fair to me, and women like me, to be aware of the potential that this culture of violence has to exhibit itself through our men and their relationships.

What's most depressing is that I see no solution. I can state that objectifying women is bad, but then we grapple with how, exactly, it is that women are objectified. Catherine MacKinnon and the late Andrea Dworkin would say that it is pornography that objectifies women, but I think that's too narrow of a focus. Thinking of women as only mothers, or only whores, or only anything is what objectifies women. People without agency are always going to be objects, and, in most parts of the world, women have no choice as to what happens to them and their bodies.

But how do we un-objectify women, or create a space where all women have agency?

I wish I knew.

Rant: Emergency Contraception

Go, New York!* Gov. Pataki signed a bill that will allow pharmacists to dispense emergency contraception without a prescription.

I've got mixed feelings about this, actually. While I believe that E.C., like Plan B, should be readily available, there are still dangers involved in unprescribed hormonal contraception. (And, in case anyone is unclear on this matter, oral contraceptives do nothing to prevent STDs and STIs. A barrier method must be used for that.) For one, it's the only thing that brings some women to the gynecologist, which is important. There are still some people (both male and female) who are completely uninformed about sex, sexuality, and contraception, which is a shame. Going to a positive, caring OB/GYN is important in helping young women become informed.

(As a side note, the sex ed. that is being funded by the federal government now is abstinence-only education. This is the only educational program that has been proven to be ineffective, yet is still being used. The moral of the story is: Don't rely on the schools to teach your children about sex, sexuality, and reproductive health. Comprehensive sex education should be taught at home, and re-emphasized at school.)

Also, the potential for use by women and girls who are being exploited or who have been assaulted in some way must also be addressed. In order to do this, though, we'd have to change the entire system of dealing with sexual assault and rape (both statutory and otherwise), and although I'd love to see that happen, it's a long road. However, we have come a long way.

If you're curious, here is Indiana's rape law statute. If you'd like more information, please let me know. This is a topic I've researched pretty extensively, though I don't contend to know everything about it. Indiana is relatively typical in its statute wording, though there are a handful of states (Kentucky, Connecticut, and California being some of them) that make provisions for withdrawl of consent. A relatively new development in the statutes is provisions for marital rape. My biggest complaint with these addendum is that they do not acknowledge gay or lesbian couples.

As a sidebar, it was only recently that rape statutes acknowledged that men could be raped and/or sexually assaulted. While this frequently happens in the prison system, it happens in the outside world as well. (Admittedly, less frequently than it does to women.)

Consent is a slippery thing. Legally, consent is defined by affirmation ("yes") or negation ("no"). And we all know that "no" always means "no." But it's not really that easy, is it? In her book, Catherine MacKinnon writes about the sex you want versus the sex you have. In other words, the sex you participate in, and the sex that happens to you. In Meritor Savings Bank v. Vinson, 477 U.S. 57 (1986), her client said "I let him do what he wanted." The question CMacK asked was, "Does acquiesence indicate affirmation?" Is there a difference between the sex we want and the sex that "happens" to us?


I wrote about consent back in May. Let's re-visit that post:

I finished reading Tim Dean's Beyond Sexuality yesterday morning. Let's see if I can outline the arguement. For a long time, I've been trying to wrap my mind around the idea that we, as a culture (and I'm speaking of any culture here, not specifically American or even generic "white culture") define sexuality as what the biological sex of your object choice is, with complete bearing on what your own biological sex is. Think about that for a second. We're more concerned with who does to whom that we're not even concerned with the what that they're doing, where they're doing it, and, I think the most important part, the why. This is how we define sexuality.

But when it comes to regulating sexuality (thesis material reference coming up), we don't just focus on the actors. By regulating procreation in limiting the number of children people can have and still obtain welfare, etc, we're regulating the what, when it gets right down to it.

And it's interesting that we choose to focus on biological sex, instead of gender, when I would argue that most people have a stronger gender preference than they do a sex preference. Hear me out...I very rarely look at dating opportunities and think, "That is a male" (referencing biological sex). I think, "That is a man" (referencing gender identity). A lot of this probably has to do with the fact that I'm by and large attracted to the "gym rat" type--former football, soccer, or baseball players who are generally big guys in height, weight and muscle mass. None of these characteristics have anything to do with the biological factor of being male, perhaps save muscle mass, since more testosterone means one can build muscle more quickly. I would argue that choosing a partner based on gender characteristics is especially prevalent in the gay community. (And if you don't believe me, watch The Broken Heart's Club.)

The "why" that's left out in considering how to define sexuality is the most important part, I think. What if people were defined solely by why they choose the partners they do, or why they choose to (or if) to sleep with someone? Maybe, when it comes down to it, we use biological sex to define because it's the most visible characteristic we have to go by. Of course, with gender reassignment surgery, we all know that's not exactly a fail-proof screening device... Another why definition might be left out because it disproportionately applies to women, ie, sleeping with someone because of economic reasons (needing someone to provide for you), as a prevention of violence (so he won't beat or kill you), or as an exchange of power (making someone else even momentarily helpless can make you feel more powerful). Maybe if we defined sexuality in those terms (which all those considerations do happen to women all the time, all over the world and right here in the US), women's situation would improve.

Defining your sexuality by whether or not you consent and/or want a sexual encounter is another way to go about it. If sex is, like it is for many women, something that "just happens" to you, I think that's very different than if you are an active, choosing participant. And while fully 1/3 of all women will be sexually assaulted in their lifetimes, we still insist on defining sexuality on the biological sex of the actors involved. This would be what CMacK calls a "hello question." Hello? Does this make sense to anyone else? Is this just another way of ignoring victimization? Do we not focus on women as consenting, wanting actors (and there is a distinction between consenting to an encounter and actually wanting said encounter) because if we did, we would have to reexamine what happens to women every day?

Just asking.


To find out how you can help in these issues, and others, visit:

The Joyful Heart Foundation: Providing comprehensive therapy to rape and sexual assault survivors.
RAINN: Rape, Abuse and Incest National Network
Find out if there are rape survivor advocate programs in your area
Support comprehensive sex education

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* Note: When I originally linked to this news article, I had not anticipated all the commentary I would feel compelled to write. I may not be done with this treatise yet.

Just One Person

This inspired me, so maybe it will also speak to you... It's a bit long, but it's worth the time.

Just One Person
Don't buy into the myth that one person can't make a difference.
By Danusha Veronica Goska
Excerpted from "The Impossible Will Take a Little While," edited by Paul Rogat Loeb.

It was September, 1998, in Bloomington, Indiana. As part of the conference on "Spirituality & Ecology: No Separation," a group of concerned citizens was gathered in the basement of St. Paul Catholic Center. They were thinking and talking about living their ideals. Some had planted trees in Africa. Some described ways that they honor the indigenous spirit of a place, and their own ancestors. Elderly nuns and young feminists recounted their part in women's struggle. One frustrated woman voiced the nagging worry of many. "I want to do something, but what can I do? I'm just one person, an average person. I can't have an impact. I live with the despair of my own powerlessness. I can't bring myself to do anything. The world is so screwed up, and I have so little power. I feel so paralyzed."

I practically exploded.

Years before I had been stricken by a debilitating illness. Perilymph fistula's symptoms are like those of multiple sclerosis. On some days I was functional. On others, and I could never predict when these days would strike, I was literally, not metaphorically, paralyzed. I couldn't leave the house; I could barely stand up. I had moved to Bloomington for grad school. I knew no one in town. I couldn't get healthcare because I hadn't enough money, and the Social Security administration, against the advice of its own physician and vocational advisors, denied my claim.

That's why I imitated Mount Vesuvius when the conference participant claimed that just one person, one average person, can't do anything significant to make the world a better place; that the only logical option was passivity, surrender, and despair.

I raised my hand and spoke. "I have an illness that causes intermittent bouts of paralysis," I explained. "And that paralysis has taught me something. It has taught me that my protestations of my own powerlessness are bogus. Yes, some days I can't move or see. But you know what? Some days I can move. Some days I can see. And the difference between being able to walk across the room and not being able to walk across the room is epic.

"I commute to campus by foot along a railroad track. In spring, I come across turtles who have gotten stuck. The track is littered with the hollowing shells of turtles that couldn't escape the rails. So, I bend over, and I pick up the still living trapped turtles that I do find. I carry them to a wooded area and let them go. For those turtles, that much power that I have is enough.

"I'm just like those turtles. When I have been sick and housebound for days, I wish someone-anyone-would talk to me. To hear a human voice say my name; to be touched: that would mean the world to me.

"One day an attack hit me while I was walking home from campus. It was a snowy day. There was snow on the ground, and more snow was falling from the sky. I struggled with each step; wobbled and wove across the road. I must have looked like a drunk. One of my neighbors, whom I had never met, stopped and asked if I were okay. He drove me home.

"He didn't hand me the thousands of dollars I needed for surgery. He didn't take me in and empty my puke bucket. He just gave me one ride, one day. I am still grateful to him and touched by his gesture.

"I'd lived in the neighborhood for years, and so far he has been the only one to stop. The problem is not that we have so little power. The problem is that we don't use the power that we have."

Why do we deny that power? Why do we not honor what we can do?

Part of the reason is that "virtue" is often defined as the ultimate commodity, something exclusive, like a Porsche or a perfect figure, that only the rich and famous have access to. "Virtue" is defined as so outside of normal human experience or ability that you'd think, if you were doing it right, you'd know, because camera crews and an awards committee would appear on your lawn.

Thus the defining of virtue is surrendered to a Madison Avenue mentality. I remember when the Dalai Lama came to Bloomington in 1999. The words "virtue" and "celebrity" were confused until they became synonymous. The Dalai Lama's visit was the most glamorous event Bloomington had seen in years. Suddenly even our barbershop scuttlebutt featured more movie stars than an article from People magazine. "Did you see Steven Segal on Kirkwood Avenue? Richard Gere gets in tomorrow." Virtue becomes something farther and farther out of the reach of the common person.

I was once a Peace Corps Volunteer. I also volunteered for the Sisters of Charity, the order begun by Mother Teresa. When people learn of these things, they sometimes act impressed. I am understood to be a virtuous person.

I did go far away, and I did wear a foreign costume. But I don't know that I was virtuous. I tried to be, but I was an immature, inadequately trained girl in foreign countries with obscenely unjust regimes and little to no avenues for progress. My impact was limited.

To put myself through college, I worked as a nurse's aid. I earned minimum wage. I wore a pink polyester uniform and I dealt with the elderly and the dying, ignored people who went years without seeing a loved one, who died alone. When I speak of this job, I never impress anyone. I am not understood to be a virtuous person. Rather, I am understood to be working class.

I loved this difficult, low-paid work not out of any masochistic sense of personal elevation through suffering. I loved it because I physically and emotionally touched people everyday, all day long; I made them comfortable; I made them laugh; I challenged them; they rose to meet the challenges. In return, patients shared with me the most precious commodity in the universe: their humanity.

This essay is not a protest against selfishness, which, well done, can be a beautiful thing. There is nothing I envy, and appreciate, so much as a life led with genuinely unconscious, uncomplicated self-absorption. It's a sort of karmic performance art. Isn't that quality why some people so love observing cats? And I do not begrudge my fellow travelers' enthusiasm for glamour; there's nothing I like more. The right dress worn by the right starlet on Oscar night probably does as much to feed the soul as a perfect haiku.

Rather, I'm protesting the fallacy that to be virtuous, one must be on TV, one must be off to a meeting on how to be a better person or one must have just come from a meeting on how to be a better person, but one can pass up every opportunity to actually be a better person.

It's sad how sometimes "virtue celebrities" intimidate us with their virtue résumés. We think, "Gee, I'll never travel to Malaysia and close a sweatshop; I'm not brave enough (or organized or articulate enough) to champion a cause. I have to go to work every day, and I just don't have the time or the gifts to be a virtuous person."

I go to a food bank every two weeks to get my food. I have no car. I can'tcarry two weeks worth of food the three miles back to my house. Every week, I get a ride home from other food bank patrons. These folks don't pause for a second to sigh, "Oh, problems are so big, I'm so powerless; will it really help anything if I give you this ride?" They don't look around to make sure someone is watching. They just, invisibly, do the right thing. I get rides in old, old cars. In one car I could see the road beneath whiz past under broken-down flooring; in another, I shared space with a large, lapping dog. I once got a ride from a man who told me he'd just gotten out of jail. Another time, my chauffeur's tattoos ran up and down his naked chest and back. When I was sick, I went from agency to agency, begging people with glamorous titles and impressive virtue résumés for help. Most did nothing.

The Lamed Vov Tzaddikim are the thirty-six hidden saints of Jewish folklore. Unlettered and insignificant, they work at humble trades and pass unnoticed. Because of these anonymous saints, the world continues to exist. Without their insignificant, unnoticed virtue - Poof! - God loses divine patience, and the world goes up in smoke.

Sometimes we convince ourselves that the "unnoticed" gestures of "insignificant" people mean nothing. It's not enough to recycle our soda cans; we must Stop Global Warming Now. Since we can't Stop Global Warming Now, we may as well not recycle our soda cans. It's not enough to be our best selves; we have to be Gandhi. And yet when we study the biographies of our heroes, we learn that they spent years in preparation doing tiny, decent things before one historical moment propelled them to center stage.

Moments, as if animate, use the prepared to tilt empires. Ironically, saints we worship today, heroes we admire, were often ridiculed, tortured, or, most punishingly, ignored in their own lifetimes. St. John of the Cross gave the world the spiritual classic, The Dark Night of the Soul. It was inspired by his own experience of being imprisoned by the members of his own religious order. Before Solidarity, Lech Walesa, the Nobel Peace Prize winner who helped bring down Communism, was a nonentity; a blue-collar worker in an oft-ridiculed Eastern European backwater. He was always active; one moment changed this small man's otherwise small-time, invisible activism into the kind of wedge that can topple a giant. Now, that moment past, Walesa has returned to relative obscurity.

Besides the pressure of virtue as an unattainable status reserved for the elect, there may be another reason why people don't live their own ideals. It may be that many who do not live what they believe have been stunted. They've been told many times: "What you feel does not matter; what you believe is ridiculous; what you envision is worthless; just sit back and obey the priest, the preacher, the teacher, the cop, the mob, the man in charge, or your own fear." When the still, small voice whispers to them that they ought to visit an elderly neighbor, or write a letter to the editor, or pull a few strings and let the indigent patient in to see the doctor, even though the red tape says they cannot, they tell the still, small voice "Stifle yourself!"

Such self-numbed people may see themselves as perpetual victims. "I have nothing!" they insist. "I have no power! I can't do anything! I have nothing to give! Everybody picks on me!" These are the folks who begrudge so much as a smile to their neighbors. Even as they live in houses, drive cars, enjoy health, they see themselves as naked, starving, homeless, penniless wretches waiting to be rescued by whomever is in charge. Their sense of victimization does not allow them to see that they are in charge - of their own choices.

While working or traveling in Africa, Asia, and Eastern Europe, I occasionally met people who really did have next to nothing, but who stunned me with their insistence on the abundance of their own humanity. One afternoon, as I trekked to my teaching post in the Himalayas, a monsoon storm turned day into night and a landslide wiped out my trail. I got terribly lost; coming to a strange village, exhausted, I sat on the porch of a peasant home. Inside, the family was eating roasted cow-corn kernels for dinner. Roasted cow-corn kernels were to be their entire dinner; there was nothing else on their menu.

A man inside saw that a human form was sitting on his porch. He couldn't have seen that I was American, or anything else, for that matter. It was dark night by then, in a village without electricity. In any case, I was wearing a sari. He whispered to his wife, "Someone is sitting on our porch. We have to cook rice." Rice is the highest status food in that economy. And, by "rice," they meant, for them, an elaborate meal consisting of rice, lentils, and vegetables.

This feeling of being seen, this conviction that every act one performs matters to a supremely consequential audience, can come from a belief in God. Psalm 139 articulates how thoroughly and consequentially witnessed the theist feels. "O Lord, You have searched me and You know me. You know when I sit and when I rise; You perceive my thoughts from afar. ...Before a word is on my tongue You know it completely, O Lord. Where can I go from Your Spirit? Where can I flee from Your presence? If I go up to the heavens, You are there; if I make my bed in the depths, You are there." The very marrow of the believer's bones is impregnated with the conviction that everything he does is avidly witnessed by God, and that everything he does matters to God. Whether or not one's fellow incarnate beings see is secondary.

Non-theists, including atheists, can also have this feeling that one is witnessed, that everything one does matters. Not just a personalized God sees and tallies human action. Disembodied forces that can never be tampered with also weigh our deeds. For some, karma plays witness. You may be able to fool your fellow humans, but, ultimately, you can't cheat karma.

In many cultures, there is a disembodied force that demands that every action be ethical: honor. "Bog, Honor, Ojczyzna," or "God, Honor, Country," is the Polish national motto. My stays in Poland introduced me to otherwise empty-handed activists who faced off against Nazis, Communists, and now, capitalism, with relentless personal power. "Burnout" and "apathy" were not in their vocabulary. Even when serving time in prisons that appeared on no map, they felt visible. Honor recorded their every deed, and ensured that it mattered.

I suspect that we all have our three-in-the-morning moments, when all of life seems one no-exit film noir, where any effort is pointless, where any hope seems to be born only to be dashed, like a fallen nestling on a summer sidewalk. When I have those moments, if I do nothing else, I remind myself: the ride in the snow; the volunteers at the food bank; the Nepali peasants who fed me. Activists like the Pole Wladyslaw Bartoszewski who, decades before he would earn any fame, got out of Auschwitz only to go on to even more resistance against the Nazis, and then the Soviets. Invisible, silent people who, day by day, choice by choice, unseen by me, unknown to me, force me to witness myself, invite me to keep making my own best choices, and keep me living my ideals.

The Day of the Holy Innocents

In the church calender, the 27th of December is known as The Day of the Holy Innocents. This is the day for Christians to remember the death of the children of Israel after the birth of Jesus, as written in Matthew 2:13-18:

13When they had gone, an angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream. “Get up,” he said, “take the child and his mother and escape to Egypt. Stay there until I tell you, for Herod is going to search for the child to kill him.” 14So he got up, took the child and his mother during the night and left for Egypt, 15where he stayed until the death of Herod. And so was fulfilled what the Lord had said through the prophet: “Out of Egypt I called my son.”[a]

16When Herod realized that he had been outwitted by the Magi, he was furious, and he gave orders to kill all the boys in Bethlehem and its vicinity who were two years old and under, in accordance with the time he had learned from the Magi. 17Then what was said through the prophet Jeremiah was fulfilled: 18“A voice is heard in Ramah,
weeping and great mourning, Rachel weeping for her children
and refusing to be comforted, because they are no more.”

Many people dislike this day. Coming so close to Christmas, it is uncomfortable to remember that the birth of Jesus came at a great cost to the people of Israel. But at this time, remembering the slaughter of innocents is perhaps more important now than ever before. As of today, 14,880 to 17,076 Iraqui civillians have been killed. I do not begin to suggest that all these were innocent, but by ignoring the deaths of non-Americans, we are glamourizing war even more than we already have. Entire generations have been decimated. A culture is dying, and people are at continual peril. And, like many other crimes, it has been perptrated in the guise of justice and religion.

When I first began my "spiritual journey," one of the major things that turned me off of Christianity is the horrible history of the church. The Crusades, slavery, policies of non-involvement in multiple conflicts and wars, and the continual degredatation and belittlement of women are just a few of the things that come to mind when one mentions Christianity. Now, as a Christian, I find myself terribly bothered by non-Christians who use these arguements, the same arguements I used before to others and myself, to support their opinion that Christianity is at best antiquated and unneccessary, and at worst, evil and wrong.

There are some things to be learned from the history of Christianity, however, past the caveat of what should not be done again. One is that in every horrible historical event, there were those who perpetrated the travesty, and those who stood idly by and tolerated it. These people are equally guilty. At the same time, however, there has always been a minority in the movement who have known that what was being done was wrong, who have willingly sacrificed their freedom and lives to speak out against what they knew was wrong.

We can also learn that just as Judaism cannot be defined by the wars in Israel or genocide perpetrated against Jews and Islam cannot be defined by September 11th or political extremism, Christianity cannot be defined by the fringe groups who profess a hatred of anything that is different than they are--be it racially, sexually, religiously, or nationally. This is why, in my mind, there must be a clear difference between religion and faith. Religion is an organized group of people. Faith is personal. Some people use religion to strengthen their faith, others use faith to strengthen their religion. When it comes down to it, though, going to a place of religious worship does not make you a faith-ful person, just as going to a McDonald's doesn't make you a sandwich. (I know, old phrase, but it works.)

When I cultivated my faith and got to a point where I could freely participate in organized religion without allowing it to sway me in neither a positive nor negative direction, I realized that faith is an inward process. Without it, religion doesn't amount to anything more than ceremony, which, while interesting, is not usually that comforting. I also began to realize that there is nothing I can do about the history of the church and how people interpret it. All I can do is my best, which includes quiet reflection and faithfulness.

Chemistry? Yeah, chemistry.

It's no use trying to force chemistry. Either it's there, or it's not, or so they say. But the question remains, what is it that makes us attracted to one person and not another? There's scientific research about facial symmetry, and there's speculation about pheromones. There's the Freudian interpretation that we look for partners that resemble our opposite-sex parent physically and behaviorally, but that doesn't offer much explanation for people with an absent parent or same-sex attraction. And no amount of research can comfort you when you realize that it will never work with the person you're intellectually attracted to simply because you have no physical attraction to him.

Cole slaw

I went to the first funeral of my adult life last weekend.

Aunt Susie, also known lovingly as "Granny Grump," was my grandmother's fourth sibling and first sister amongst her 8 siblings. She had a stroke while visiting my grandmother two weeks ago, and died last week at the hospital after never regaining consciousness. She was 67.

Susie was a mother, a grandmother, a great-grandmother, and a community leader. She had been active in 4-H for the entirity of her life, teaching and counseling at summer camps, serving on the local and state boards, and leading her own 4-H group, the All-Stars. She was kind and beloved by many, and will certainly be missed.

My Aunt Susie had many quirks. In the 24 years I knew her, she always wore her long, grey hair in a bun on the top of her head, with pencils and pens stuck in the bun jauntily. She said that this kept a writing utensil handy at all times. :-)

Susie loved good food, and the day she had her stroke, she and my grandmother went to my grandmother's house to make fried chicken. On the way, they passed their favorite restaurant, and Susie suggested that they stop for cole slaw. My grandmother talked her out of it, since she had cole slaw at home, but as they ate lunch, Susie talked about how she wished they had picked up the other kind, since it was so much better.

Friday night, before the wake, my mom, grandmother and I all went to that restaurant and had cole slaw. Very quietly, my grandmother said that she wished she had stopped that day, so Susie could have her slaw. My mother took her hand and pointed out that Susie is certainly having her cole slaw now.

American "On A Break"

(satire, because I just had to)

Sources close to the world-famous lovematch known as the United States indicate that the couple may be "on a break."

"They've been together for a long time," a representative for the Blue States said, "but lately it just feels like they're growing apart."

For several weeks, outsiders have speculated that the recent election may have drawn too much attention to the young match, emphasizing their differences. Red States were seen by themselves early Tuesday afternoon, but by Tuesday night, seem to have found friends to lean on.

"I don't know what Blue States's problem is," Red States said at a late-night party that night. "I just want what's best for us." In the background, Blue States's friends scoffed and made gagging motions.

A heated exchange occurred Monday night, in which Red States accused Blue States of being simple, godless Communists, and Blue States responded by calling Red States fascist, evil, and out-of-touch. Sources close to the couple, which has had a rocky history througout its short courtship, blame the wealthy friends of Red States for creating divisive, overly-moral issues that drew the couple apart.

Blue States's representative denies that Blue is seeing anyone else, but has said that Red and Blue are trying to "remain friends" through this ordeal.

Contradiction

I'm on a Democrats board online. In my profile, I list (some of) my reasons for being a Democrat, as well as my hobbies and what I'm doing with my life. Today, I received this (unsolicited) message. His text is italicized:


I tend to side with Carlin on the question of religion. Though there are wonderful philosophies to be found in the bible, there are many truly awful ones too...and any institution that threatens non-believers with eternal damnation is inherently intolerant (and non-liberal).


I'll agree on this one. However...


I gotta call you on this: "well-thought-out beliefs" is a contradiction. "Thought" is a process of using facts to come to a conclusion; "belief" is a conclusion based on little or no knowledge. ("Faith" filling in the gap, much like with the rationale for war and tax cuts for the wealthy.)



No, actually. My religious faith (as well as my faith in other things) is entirely interdependent on my ability to think through available information to logical conclusions. I’m interested in where you got your helpful taxonomy of word breakdowns. Thoughts, when extrapolated to their fullest means, become beliefs quite frequently. In grade school, I learned how the earth revolves around the sun, creating seasons and alternating patterns of light and dark. Extrapolated, I now believe that when I go to bed at night and it is dark, the next day, with predictable accuracy, it will be light again. Maybe a weak example, but there are many others.


Without going into a lot of details with a total stranger who feels the need to question the phrasing of others, I've gone through enough research and thinking to discern that 1.) There is a God 2.) I am not God. 3.) Jesus Christ is/was the only Messiah, was crucified and raised from the dead. If not, it's the greatest hoax in history.


After all, what is the worst sin a person can commit according to Christianity? Non-belief. We're "fallen" in the first place because humanity ate from the "tree of knowledge." Hitler could've repented in the bunker and gotten into heaven, but a kind and generous agnostic will burn for eternity? Religion, like the current administration, fears knowledge and dissent... which goes against the spirit of liberalism, which celebrates those things.


Hey, careful. Lumping in all people who believe in anything with fundamentalists who use misguided religious beliefs as weapons of oppression is, as you said, like the current administration. Separating equality-minded, liberal government-oriented into the "have" and "have not" camps of religion isn't just incorrect, it's dangerous to the political orienting process. Many religions, including mainstream Western ones and nearly all Eastern ones have the firm belief that knowledge, dissent and religion are compatible. Where else would the Three Questions of Judaism, the scholarship of the early Catholic church, and the tradition of learned Buddhist masters have come from, if not from a faith rooted in the idea that humans are separated from non-human entities by their capacity for abstract thought?


And in most Christian sects, there is no "worst sin." That's a fallacy. As for if Hitler could repent of his sins and sincerely believe and whether or not that's "fair," that's a tired argument based on the assumption that any all-supreme deity wants to separate people out and damn them, which is ultimately very silly and makes absolutely no sense. Does it matter that Hitler would be acceptable to God in the same way Mother Teresa would be? Should it matter more to Mother Teresa or Hitler? Can one ever be truly sorry for the things one has done, whether they are acceptable in the culture or not? Moving in that vein, we're getting into Sarte and essentialism.


Check this out and see what you think: http://www.infidels.org/library/historical/m_m_mangasarian/truth_about_jesus.html
Let me know what you think, and feel free to put me in my place! Write me at: (e-mail address deleted)


While the prose style is interesting, many of his facts are flat-out incorrect. The Gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke are consistent with the place and time of Jesus’ birth, within a few years. Most scholars agree that Jesus was born in late October, since the Aramaic word for sheep used in all three gospels specifies a sheep of a certain age, which would be impossible at any other time of year due to historically documented, centuries-old breeding and shepherding practices. The mathematical probability of one person fulfilling all the prophecies written out in the Tanakh (“Old Testament”) is approximately 1 in 580,276. Your odds of winning a national lottery are higher, since that seems to be an analogy familiar to most.


What I find particularly interesting is the need of people to run around and “debunk the myth of Christianity” and to bombast those who profess a Christian faith. Truthfully, would you do the same thing to someone who professed to be religiously Jewish, or Shinto, or B’Nai B’rith? Other than the bad example set by those professing to be Christian, what is it that bothers you so much about me, a random stranger, that you felt compelled to write?


*************


So the question is, why do people feel the need to categorize and divide? What purpose is served by dividing religious from non-religious, monotheistic/poly- or anti-theistic, Democrat/Republican, Christian/Jewish, male/female, straight/gay, left/right, et cetera, ad nauseum, ad infenitum?

Aside from the basic helpfulness of matching, why? Just...why?

Death

Christopher Reeve's death has been big news for the past 24 hours. What news sources failed to pick up was that the philosopher Jacques Derrida died on Friday, a death that saddens and affects me more than Reeve's death.

For excerpts of Derrida's work, please visit here.

Homecoming

This past weekend was the afore-reviewed Harvest Homecoming, a street festival in nearby New Albany, Indiana. The highlight of the festival for most people, as far as I can tell, is the food. So Friday afternoon, my mother came to pick me up at work and we walked down to Main Street, where three blocks were closed off with booths of all kinds. Most of the stuff there is of no interest to me--lots of country-esque tchotchkes, odd pieces of homemade "art" and other questionable materials--though there is the occasional volunteer opportunity. (It was at HH that I first got involved with Habitat for Humanity.) Because my mother was getting the chance to view the booths later that day with her friend Joanie, we headed straight for the first of the Harvest Homecoming institutions: chicken and dumplings.

It's funny how vivid singular memories are. When you experience something only once a year, or once in a lifetime, it somehow becomes more rich in your memory than something that you experience every week or every day. We all have things like this, I'm sure--birthday cake, the smell and feel of a relative you love dearly but rarely get to see, your first view of a long-awaited sight, or that elusive, perfect kiss.

Here's my theory on things like this: Much like the taste of chicken and dumplings or pumpkin ice cream at Harvest Homecoming, the things you have vivid, amazing memories of very rarely live up to the expectation. They take on a life of their own, so that the potato pancakes your grandmother makes (or, if you have my grandmother, the potato pankcakes and fried green tomatoes she makes) once a year never taste *quite* as good as the year before. They haven't changed--your memories of them have changed what they are.

And I don't think that's a bad thing. It doesn't matter if the second (or tenth, or one-hundred-tenth) time around isn't as good as you remember it being, because you'll always have that clear, shining moment of beauty and perfection. What's more, I think that the memory behind glass, where life and circumstances can't change it, is necessary. When my great-grandmother finally dies, I don't want to remember her like she is now--childlike in speech, helpless from Alzheimer's. I want to remember her the way she was when I was small--brilliant, active, and wickedly funny, teaching me about the birds that flitted about her 100+ acre farm and helping me and my grandmother pick blueberries in cool August dawns.

I'm not bothered by the fact that it will be different the next time I hike Mt. Acadia and see the sunrise from the first place in the US to greet the dawn. I wouldn't give up the first sight of Yankee Stadium for the same feeling in the next thirty glances. The same goes for the Prado, El Vaia de los Caidos, Westminister Tower, and the Pacific Ocean at the 45th Parallel.

I think what makes me not all that concerned is that I know thousands of other things will join those perfect, beautiful memories. The first time I see Tokyo, the first real "I love you," my first child's first breath, the first time I win a case... The possibility of future memories is endless, and, as Catherine of Aragon wrote, "I dwell in the possibilities."


*************


Then again, I could be alone on all these theories. Let me know.

These are a few of my favorite things (Part II)

(Note: I love lists. So I guess the first thing on my list of my favorite things should be lists.)


Books:


I love books--both fiction and nonfiction. In fact, I keep lengthy lists of books to read in both categories. (This is in addition to the shelves of books in the "Read Next" category.)
Here are some of my favorite books:


Tell Me Lies, Jennifer Crusie:

This fiction book has one of the best opening lines of any book I've ever read. It's about first love, doing the right thing when you really should be doing the wrong thing, gossip, sex, small towns, and how, in the words of John Lennon, "life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans." The first Jennifer Cruise book I ever read; it came to me with the caveat "You have to read this--Maddie is you."


Circle of Friends, Maeve Binchy:

Maeve Binchy is not the most complex writer. (Read more than one of her books and you'll realize that she basically does the same plot in every novel.) However, this being the first book of hers that I read, and the one where I felt the most kinship with the characters, it's still one of my favorites. Read it if only for the moments of surprising profundity in the text:

"It was always easy to make them laugh. It was a different think altogether to get them to see you in a different light."


Lamb: the Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal, Christopher Moore:

I firmly believe you can't approach religion without a sense of humor. Plus, I've always wondered what happened in those "missing years" of Jesus' life, from 13 to 30. (That's a lot of time for nothing to happen.) At the risk of cliche, you'll laugh and you'll cry, sometimes within the same page.

"The Messiah was holding the little girl's pet bunny, hugging it to his cheek with the big back feet swinging free. He was gloriously drunk. 'Know what?' Josh said. 'I love bunnies. They toil not, nor do they bark. Henceforth and from now on, I decree that whenever something bad happens to me, there shall be bunnies around. So shall it be written. Go ahead, Biff, write it down.' He waved to me under the bunny, then turned and started back through the gate. 'Where's the friggin' wine? I got a dry bunny over here!'"


Stones from the River, Ursula Heigi:

Trudi Montag is a dwarf living during both World Wars in Germany. Having never read anything about Germany during the wars, it was a refreshing and educating change. Heigi handles the atrocities of war, genocide, physical illness, and family secrets with amazing dexterity.


Do They Hear You When You Cry?,Fauziya Kassindja:

After the sudden death of her liberal father, Kassindja is betrothed to an uncle who demands her circumcision. She escapes to Germany, then to London, and finally emigrates to the United States through a passport belonging to a friend's sister. In the US, she was arrested and confined for two years for using an illegal passport while she battled for asylum. Eventually, through the help of legal aid, she gained amnesty and became a legal resident of the US. Through her biography, female genital mutilation became a war crime and fear of FGM became a grounds for granting asylum.

Still Life with Woodpecker, Tom Robbins:

"There are essential and inessential insanities.


The latter are solar in character, the former are linked to the moon.


Inessential insanities are a brittle amalgamation of ambition, aggression, and pre-adolescent anxiety--garbage that should have been dumped long ago. Essential insanties are those impulses one instinctively senses are virtuous and correct, even though peers may regard them as coo coo.


Inessential insanities get one in trouble with oneself. Essential insanities get one in trouble with others. It's always preferable to be in trouble with others. In fact, it may be essential."



Television:

I used to watch a lot of tv. A lot. But that was when there were good tv shows on. There are very few tv shows I still enjoy--Joan of Arcadia being one. Most of the shows I still love have been cancelled or have simply gone off the air. Here are a few.


Sports Night:

Best. Show. Ever. Written by Aaron Sorkin, who later wrote and produced The West Wing, this show was funny and brilliant with an amazing cast. It also has some of my favorite quotes, like, "If you're stupid, surround yourself with smart people. If you're smart, surround yourself with smart people who disagree with you." (Isaac Jaffe), and "You are about five different kinds of crazy, you know that?" (Casey McCall). Plus, it has Josh Charles, who I'm a little big in love with. Okay, a lot. :-)


Felicity:
Okay, I'm not ashamed. I'll admit it. I loved "Felicity." It was a soap opera for college students when I was in college. Sure, not much of the stuff that happened to her happened to me--I never followed a guy that I hardly knew all the way across the country, I never fell in love with my RA, I never had sex with a random art student, and I never had a mean song written about me by a girl whose boyfriend I stole. (Well, not that I know of.) But "Felicity" was fabulous, if only for the Contemptuous Sardonic Felicity Watchers' Society, of which I was a member. (Of course.)


Sex and the City:

I didn't start watching SaTC until it was into Season 5, but I know exactly when I fell in love. Before seeing the first episode of Season 2 in reruns, I thought the show was offensive and unnecessary and had very little to do with women's real lives. The aforementioned episode (entitled "Take Me Out To the Ballgame") includes Miranda yelling the line, "When did our lives become so juvenile? All we ever talk about is men and dating. It's like junior high with checking accounts!" and imposing a break on her friends, which was exactly what I've said multiple times to several friends. While many of the things that happen have never happened to me (and I doubt they've happened to anyone save a select, adventerous few), it's still a great show with great advice. (The most important being, "If he doesn't call, it's not because of some elaborate excuse. He's just not that into you.")



Okay, enough for now. More later.

Making the political personal

Last night, while watching the first of the Presidential Debates, I was struck by the language that was used by both the candidates. The first quarter of the debate focused on the US's involvement in Iraq. Both Bush and Kerry outlined their plans for ending the occupation of Iraq and Afghanistan, talking about their obligations to the troops stationed there. Not once did either candidate mention the Iraqui citizens, other than their capacity to fight for or against "democracy." Not once did the candidates mention that while life under Sadaam Hussein was difficult for women and children, life now under the US-appointed prime minister is worse. During Hussein's reign, 65% of girls under the age of 16 were enrolled in school and attended full-time. Now, with the imminent threat of rape, kidnapping, and genital mutilation from Iraqui insurgents, American troops (yes, it does happen, and with shockingly-regular frequency), and genocidal countrymen, fewer than 15% of girls under the age of 16 are enrolled or attending schools.* Women and girls are afraid to leave their homes. Suicide bombings and bombings of public venues have increased drastically since the US began occupying Iraq.

We entered Iraq on the premise of finding weapons of mass destruction. WMD have never been found. We entered Iraq and Afghanistan because women and children were experiencing "atrocious" human rights' violations, as evidenced by the wearing of the hijab (face veil) and burqua (full-length body and face veil). Afghani women have faced the same injustices that Iraqui women and girls have faced, in addition to being indefinitely detained in refugee camps--common breeding grounds for genocide, sexual assault and abuse, and ideological terrorism. We entered Iraq with no exit strategy, limited military personel and equipment, and, more than a year later, we are still there, in the same circumstaces.

The candidates talk about human rights like they're some ideal exclusively held by Americans, or even by those living in democracies. (They're not.) They talk about human rights violations like they're exclusively happening in Iraq and Afghanistan. (They're not--they're happening in the US, in China, and in North Korea, among other places. Yet we don't seem to care about those places.)

There are so many Americans who have the right to vote and don't use it. They don't think their vote makes a difference, or they can't be bothered to stay informed, or they don't like any of the candidates. Not voting is an insult to the sacrifices made by Alice Paul, Lucy Burn, and Dora Lewis. Not voting is an absolute degradation to the men and women who walked miles to cast their ballots, only to be turned away from polling place after polling place because of the color of their skin. Not voting negates any right you might have to complain about the presidential administration, and it negates any right you have to tout the ideals of democracy. You have given up the rights afforded to you under a democracy.

Occasionally, I will read an op-ed piece that mentions the perils of making "the personal political." I say that the personal is always political. Our political convictions come from our life experiences, and cannot be separated from our personal lives. Those who think making the personal political is dangerous usually do so because of their fear of rights that have been limited by sexuality or sexual expression (meaning gay and lesbian rights as well as reproductive rights).

Moreover, the political should be personal. I used to think that the sitting president had very little to do with my daily life. Now I know that's wrong. An irresponsible, war-mad president has restricted the rights of the people and has caused Americans to live in fear. He has shown himself to be a poor leader, a poor planner, and an even worse diplomat.

This November, make the political personal. Vote.

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The deadline for registering to vote (either in person or through absentee ballots) is Monday, October 4th for Indiana and Kentucky. To register online in any state, visit here.

* Data from Women for Women International and Amnesty International.

These are a few of my favorite things...

I'll admit that I probably complain a bit too much about the place that I live. This occurred to me yesterday afternoon as I was driving down I-265 toward home. The sky was a bright autumn blue, the air was crisp, and the hills were (alive with the sound of music? Nahhh...) breath-takingly beautiful. So, without further ado, a short list of my favorite things about Kentuckiana:


WNAS Radio:
Airing live since May of 1940, this is the oldes student-run radio station in the world. It airs from both New Albany, the first public high school in Indiana, and from Floyd Central High School (my alma mater).


Harvest Homecoming:

A street fair held one weekend in early October every year, this would be your only chance to have pumpkin ice cream, chicken and dumplings, funnel cake and just about anything you could imagine on a stick. (However, the thought of deep-fried Snickers bars makes me want to vomit.) It's worth it to go on a Friday night if only for a rousing game of "Spot The Mullet"


Lynn's Paradise Cafe:

The best day to go is either Derby Day (see below for information) or, my personal favorite, New Year's Day, in which there is a giant pyjama party and mimosas and bloody marys for $1.50 each.


Hawley-Cooke:

Hawley-Cooke was bought out by Border's last year. It had formerly been the first privately-owned bookstore in Louisville. The staff was personable and extremely knowledgable, and it was a joy to shop there. When Border's bought it, they respected the history of the place by keeping up articles and memorabilia about Hawley-Cooke, and paid attention to what the customers really wanted by keepingmany of the original staff. It's still fun to shop there.


Kentuckiana:

An area-unique name developed by advertisers in the 1950s, this is the only area name that really caught on. (Perhaps obviously, it's a contraction of the two state names and refers to the multi-county area surrounding Louisville/Jefferson County. Personally, I would have preffered Indiyucky. Somehow, that didn't catch on.) Other areas might have their "tri-state area" or whatever-valley, but we have this. Plus, it's less surrounded by controversy than "Louisville" (see below).


Churchill Downs:

It actually came as a surprise to me that people even just one hundred miles away have never heard of the Derby or the Oaks, have never been to a Derby Party (a fact that Chris is probably thankful for!), and have never had a mint julep or Derby Pie (see below). The Oaks is run on the first Friday of May, and is run by three-year-old fillys (female horses). The winner receives a $500,000 purse and a garland of lilies.


The Kentucky Derby is run on the first Saturday of May by one-year-old male horses. (Smarty Jones, the horse that one the 2003 Kentucky Derby, was the first gelding (castrated horse) to win in over fifty years.) The winner of the Derby receives a trophy, a $1,000,000 purse, and a garland of roses in the winner's circle. The horse usually eats the roses while waiting to have his picture taken.

(Some might be interested in the fact that the Kentucky Derby is the first of the horseracing Triple Crown. The second is the Preakness Sweepstakes in August and then there's the Belmont in October. The following year is the Breeder's Cup, after which the winning horse(s) are sold for breeding and put out to pasture. (Oh, to be a horse.) No horse has won all three races in many, many years (I can't find how many right now) because of the difference in the racetracks.)


The other festivities (the Hat Parade, the Infield crazyness, the millions of dollars worth of fireworks at the pre-Derby festival) are too extensive to mention.

Derby Pie:

Nobody knows what's really in it, and no one can really make "Derby Pie" other than the Derby Pie makers themselves. It's a sweet pie made with pecans, sugar, semi-sweet chocolate, and bourbon, with a cookie crust on the top andbottom. It's perfection, and it's worth putting up with three of my major food allergens (eggs, sugar, and tree nuts) for.


Louisville, Looeyville, Luhville:

Okay, at this point, the controversy is actually quite funny. People who've never been to the area call it Louisville (pronouncing the 's'). Much like the 's' in Illinois, it's not pronounced by anyone except the extremely gauche. People who've lived here for a couple of years pronounce it Looeyville, but people who've been here for 4+ years say Luhville/Lu-uh-vll. The trick is to not open your mouth at all.

Ramblings: Monotheocracy

I finished reading   Reading Lolita in Tehran yesterday and The Handmaid's Tale today. Both were good books, worth reading and worth my time to recommend them.

The thing is, though, that away from school, away from the constant contact of people who will discuss things ad nauseum, ad infinitum (and know what both terms mean), only to arrive to a closing point in a discussion and say, "Yes, but what does any of it really mean?", makes discussions where you don't really know what your point of entry is particularly difficult. I could start with the fact that both societies in the books--the fictional Gilead in The Handmaid's Tale and the nonfictional Iran in Reading Lolita... are monotheocracies that use state religion to control women specifically. Questions:

1. Is the mandated wearing of garments that cover the entirety of the body--veils/hijab, hats/burquas, robes/chardors, etc., a terrible thing? Is true freedom in revealing as much of the body as possible, or is it in the sovereignity of being able to choose how one's body is revealed?

2. When the US "democratizes" countries like India, Nicaragua, and Afghanistan, why are we persuaded to go into these countries by the supposed inhumanity of women being covered up? Why is the miniskirt a symbol of freedom from oppression?

3. Why are women's bodies so often seen as dangerous or subversive?

4. What happens to the faith of people who are subjects of monotheocratical tyranny?

Right now, I have more questions than answers. Par for the course, I suppose.

*************

I keep saying that I'm not ready to go back to school yet, but with the sheer volume of books I've read recently and the papers that I've begun in my head, symptoms would indicate otherwise

Liminal space

I wanted to see if I could still do it. And I can, more or less. Forgive the errors--my accent keys aren't set up on this keyboard.

*************


La dificilidad en este vida es que solo algúnas personas pueden vivir en un mundo entre Español y ingles. La mejoridad del tiempo, estes personas son niños de personas que imigran a los paises ingleses, y ellos encontran sus propios difícilidades en viv irían en un mundo liminal. Este es la lastima, por supuesto, porque estas personas, mis paísanos, son mas benidictado de las personas que deben enseñar una lenguanueva cuando estamos adultos. (Aprendí español cuando era joven, pero la lengua siempre estaba mi lengua segunda. En años pasados, puse pensar en español, y cuando viví en España, puse vivir en un mundo solamente español. Ahora, olvido cerca de tres palabras cada día, mas o menos.)


Es un lastima que, en muchas partes del mundo inglese, no ponemos mucha respecto a ensenar una lengua segunda en un tiempo durante que aprenda ms de una lengua es mas facíl. Tambien, es un lastima que no podemos existan en un mundo que es normal a usar varias lenguas en un frase. Hay veces que solo una lengua no es suficiente, como en hablando del amor o otras emociones fuertes.

Mental illness and cultural relativism

I'm incredibly fascinated by this. For the full text, please visit here.

"...how people narrate their own experience will be influenced by culture. Happiness is a particular cultural value. In North America, it is important to indicate your success by exclaiming your happiness. In many other cultural contexts, however, people don't view the point of life as being happy; they may view it as being productive, as being honorable, as being a contributing member to society or to a family. I think the idea that we should be happy is a particularly American value. It fits very well with consumer capitalism, where the route to happiness is the consumption of products. It's certainly possible that the strategies someone uses to pursue well-being (such as through economic productivity) have built into them inevitable unhappiness, but we're not really encouraged to question our value system."

*************
E-mail me at Currer1013-at-yahoo-dot-com if you have any thoughts. I'm not sure where it goes from here, but it's going somewhere.

Indiana--Case in point

I don't know if there's anything to say about this...

Coroner Discussing Gun Safety Shoots Self


BLOOMINGTON, Ind. - Monroe County Coroner David Toumey was hospitalized with a leg wound after accidentally shooting himself while trying to demonstrate gun safety.

Toumey told The Herald-Times for a story published Saturday that he was demonstrating gun safety to some people at a Lake Monroe boat ramp about 11 p.m. Wednesday when he accidentally shot himself.

He said that as he checked to make sure his weapon was unloaded, the gun discharged, and a bullet struck him in his left leg.

"It's an unfortunate accident," Toumey said. "I've always been very, very safe."

He was taken to Bloomington Hospital and later transferred to Methodist Hospital in Indianapolis.

Toumey said he was scheduled to have surgery Saturday and expects to be in the hospital from three to five days.

Monroe County Sheriff Steve Sharp said he was unable to release details of the shooting because the report had yet to be filed by the deputy assigned to the case.

An introduction: Hi there!

Welcome, bienvenue, willkommen, bienvenidos...

I've decided to shut down an old weblog and move the interesting stuff here. From time to time, you'll find updates from me. I'll be posting rants about current issues, ramblings about what's going on in my life and the lives around me, reviews of movies and books, and random thoughts. Hopefully, some of it will be thought-provoking, amusing, or at least interesting. Feel free to leave notes.

Quotation of the week:

"The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two diametrically opposed ideas in the mind at the same time. One should, for example, be able to see that the world is ultimately doomed, yet be determined to make it otherwise." (F. Scott Fitzgerald)

Rant: Kobe Bryant and the message boards

I find it appalling that the charges against Kobe Bryant have been dropped. Equally appalling is the fact that her sexual history was admitted into the court, violating two decades of Catherine Mackinnon's work. But perhaps even more appalling is the public's perception of the trial proceedings. A post on a Louisville-area message board prompted a high-octane rant from me. The text to which I responded is itallicized.

I agree 100% with you bluerider. Kobe just doesn't fit the bill as a rapist. Any girl that has sex with multiple partners in the same day lacks credibility in my eyes. This isn't like Mike Tyson who has a violent history either. The whole case was screwed from the start. A slutty girl and a man with no violent history, gee I wonder who wins.

While I realize that this may make me immensely unpopular, I had to respond to this post. There is no one who "fits the bill" as a rapist. Rapists are not creepy weirdos who hide in the bushes and pop out at unsuspecting women. Rapists are, by definition, people who violate another person sexually by force. That's it. Most convicted rapists do not have a "violent history," although there often will be a history of battery or other sex-related offenses that he or she is not convicted of. The fact that the sexual history of plaintiff in the Bryant case was admitted into court is a travesty and a violation of victim's rights laws that have been in effect for two decades. It is permissable, if not required, to admit any history that would reflect on her credibility as an accuser, but the fact that she was presented as "slutty" is unforgivable. Whether or not she's a "slut" is beside the point. Rape is not about sex, it's about power, control, and violence. Prostitutes can be raped, as can nuns. The sexual character of the survivor is without merit in any sort of case, including a rape case.

For more information, please visit Rape Victims' Advocates.

How many times have we heard of girls like this claiming to have been forced to do something they didn't want to?

The statistics are 4 to 6% of reported rapes are false claims, which is exactly the same for other reported crimes. I agree that those who falsely report crimes of any kind should be prosecuted (and, I might add, are). BUT--falsely reported sexual assault cases are a rarity, and are considered problematic because of the disproportionate publicity they get.

Her sexual history is very important in this case, because it shows what she is capable of. I mean the girl had sex with 3 guys in one day. Let's use common sense, if she did that, then why in the hell would she turn Kobe FREAKIN Bryant down?

Maybe she turned Bryant down because...she didn't want to have sex with him? Just a suggestion. Here's a scenario: A person gives money to a charity early in the day. Later that day, the same person gives spare change to a homeless person. At the coffee shop, the person puts money in a can for another charity. While walking home, the person is robbed. Because the person gave money three times earlier in the day, does he or she "deserve" to be robbed? It's exactly the same with a rape case.

Random Thoughts: Philosophy, etc.: Or, what happens to what we believe?

Everyone talks about the nature versus nurture debate, but I've not heard anything about the effects of being raised with a philosophy. (And when it comes down to it, isn't religion, or even a lack of religion or faith, really a philosophy, a way of living?) Being raised without a religion, I can't really participate in the debate of what it means to be Jewish or Catholic or atheist or anything else. I wasn't raised atheist--my parents just never talked about God at all. I know that the effect it had on me was that after a lot of research, I found my own faith, and I think that's really worked out for me. I've often said that I'm the type of person who would have automatically rejected any dogma just because it was dogma, so I'm glad that I was left to find my own path. Then again, you never know--things could have turned out completely differently, so speculation is really quite useless.

Looking at how your parents' philosophy affects your own philosophy and the results of your life would be an interesting study, though. I think that designing it would be somewhat daunting, though, because where do you start? What kinds of questions can you ask that would gauge how a fundamental belief/world outlook affects one's life?

I'm just brainstorming here... Sorry about the puddles.