Assuming your responsibility.

Some human beings are amazing, wondrous creations of light and goodness.

Now that I've spent my positivity for the day, I'll get skeptical. Some days I wade through the tidepool of mankind's arrogant, selfish, fuck-you-ism and feel like I can barely pull my feet out of the muck at the bottom.  Mostly it's when I'm cleaning up messes that other people leave, namely animals left to die at the overpopulated shelters in the city of Los Angeles. 

On Thursday of last week, I hesitantly dragged myself into the East Valley Shelter in Van Nuys to video a cat for a potential adopter. It's the easiest way to get these poor, wretched animals out of the hellhole cages, and so at times, I find myself trying to unsee what I see in there.  Thursday just wasn't my day, because as I walked back and forth with a volunteer trying to find "Mistletoe" the Christmas present that "didn't work out," I couldn't help but notice a little black dog that was noticing me.

"She's staring at you," the volunteer noticed.  "Shut up," I responded. 

After going back and forth five more times, it was clear that this little dog WAS actually staring at me, not making a peep.  The other dogs around her are going nuts, barking, growling, howling, hiding, wagging, pouncing---it's like a kid's book full of dog verbs, but without a positive ending.  I tried to ignore her, even as I saw a staffer pull her from her kennel mournfully. I knew I shouldn't ask, but I questioned, "Is she getting adopted?" He looked at me, his eyes deeply sorrowful, and all he could do was mutter, "no."  Still, I felt that I should ignore her.



Bonham



Here's why:  I have two dogs already, Frito La Chihu-hu and Bonham Von Rotterdane, both of them from shelters, both pulled hours before they died by lethal injection. One of them from Riverside, one of them from North Central Los Angeles.  They were both complete pains in the ass when I adopted them, untrained, sick, scared, scarred...and it tookmonths of treatment and training and patience beyond belief and lots of lots of money, don't forget that, to make them into the fabulous, amazing, gentle, sweet, and confident dogs they are today. 



Frito



In between the two I have now, there was Dexy Stormcloud the German Shepherd---who I adopted as a senior (left to die at the shelter because she had a tumor growing in her stomach and infected sores on her elbows) so she wouldn't have to die on a cold steel table.  After a year of treats and training and medical treatment, lots of love, a warm bed, and toys...she got to peacefully pass under her favorite tree in my backyard...with her head on my lap.  I'm not even going into a discussion about the cats. There have been many, many cats, and several foster dogs including Bowie BooBoo, the pitt bull/great dane mix, Squishilina Dandelion the jindo/husky mix, and Berkeley Voodoo the whatever in god's name he was. Most important of all was Circe Taurus Izaboo, who taught me how to be a nurse for 12 years, served as my first lesson in rescue, and opened up a lifelong hole in my wallet.

These dogs were dropped off to die by their owners, becoming the taxpayers' responsibility. Then, by some twist of fate, they became MY responsibility...to clean up after you, whoever you are, with time and money and love.  I took over your responsibility to these animals, and it makes me sick for mankind.



Joplin enjoys her freedom.



I now have three dogs, because as I saw the little black Am Staff/lab mix trot happily next to the shelter staffer, completely oblivious to what came next, I couldn't ignore her anymore. She came home with me that day instead of being turned into fertilizer for our public parks and medians.  I try not to think of the ones I left behind, because it breaks my heart. I think of my new baby, Janis Joplin Baby Pibbles.

(Yes, you may have noticed the ridiculous names. I'm sure the people at Avid Microchipping get a huge guffaw at these monikers...and quite frankly, most days I  just need a good laugh.)

One more animal lives because I took responsibility for someone else's bad decisions. I'm not sainting myself here, because I could do more and help more and give more. I just find myself skeptically retreating towards the back of my kennel like an abandoned dog that has given up hope in the human race...wondering why the fuck-you-ism has become so pervasive, and why so many people feel it's okay to have everyone else clean up after them. 

Skeptically Yours.



Rage, rage, against the dying of the light!

Dylan Thomas didn't heed his own advice, as he drank himself night after night into a stupor at the White Horse Tavern...mercilessly kicking his liver when it was down.  He died a young man, and while he went out of this world with a host of amazing work and was a celebrated artist, this skeptic thinks mainly of all of the waste in losing someone so amazing and so young before he could really finish his work. 

Regardless of the waste, the loss, and the sadness in losing someone that quite clearly had something to say, his last poem to his dying father became not only the Villanelle that really mattered but also an amazing life philosophy that poor Dylan didn't get to embrace himself, but I will.

I sat in the pub where Dylan drank himself to death, had a beer, and while looking out the window to the West Village street, pondered all the ways I have and haven't lived that philosophy.  I have lived safely, protecting my own heart above experience (shutting people out, walking away from love). I have lived recklessly, inviting death (motorcycles, fast cars, a host of bad decisions).  Neither one of those lifestyles work out in the long run, because you're either shielded from all experiences that matter, or too reckless to notice the opportunity.

In order to live fully and rage against the dying of the light, to embrace the fullness of life until there is no energy left in me, it seems that a shedding of the protections and safety of being walled-in have to come down.  I know that heartbreak is a natural side effect of vulnerability, and I wouldn't be a good skeptic without asking myself, "What the hell am I thinking?" So I ask myself...and I think that too many people now aren't raging against the dying of the light, be it loss of personal liberties, be it the loss of themselves, whatever it means for them to lose the light...too many people are walking into the darkness without a single yelp.

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,

Because their words had forked no lightning they

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright

Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,

And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight

Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,

Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Skeptically Yours.

My Last Weekend as a Blonde

Changes have been running through my life at a rapid pace, and I've been rolling with the punches.  One thing I'm not skeptical about, (surprised, aren't you?) is change. Change has always been something I eagerly embrace, and so in these crazy days of change after change, I feel like finally I understand where I stand on most issues, most of my desires, and many of my flaws.  Change has recently brought on a huge appreciation of freedom...not "freedom" in terms of a relationship/no relationship, but "freedom" in the sense of making my own decisions, and sort of just opening up the throttle. 

This weekend, in Austin TX, I spent my time with a treasured, amazing friend...running the Texas roads in a 412 hp Mustang GT we named "Melba".  While I taught her how to impress guys by saying stuff like, "That's a good note for stock exhaust" and shooting a .357, I was subconsciously learning a few things behind the scenes about myself.

I prefer to be the supporter.  I loved teaching her to shoot and seeing the target get shredded just left of center as she learned to breathe properly, I loved hearing her nail the rolling joke about the Mustang's exhaust every time I put my foot down.  I kept hoping there would come a moment, somewhere in an Austin parking lot, when she'd get to publicly use it.  No dice this time, but we'll keep trying.

So as the changes keep coming, I'm resorting to a tried and true of method of getting through them as gracefully as I can...by being myself. Out with the blonde! Out with the insecurities!  Bring on the Led Zeppelin Tee Shirt, the Converse, the Brunette!

And in with the loyal, faithful, and fun Bigskeptic I used to be. 

Lastly, I learned that when in doubt of self, a long stretch of highway in a fast car can cure the blues most quickly...

What's that Mary?  It's got a good note for stock exhaust??  It sure does.

Skeptically Yours.

Melba.

View from a Classic Car

Everything looks different when it's painted in hues of classic Americana, with the visceral feel of a 4 speed shifter in your hand, simple but adequate brakes, and the type of suspension that allows you to both feel the road and float a little at high speeds. Even the people inside are cast in a different light. 

I spend a lot of my time in a very new, very nice car as my daily driver. It's equipped with 11 airbags, navigation, back up camera, Sirius XM Radio, etc...etc...and it's fabulous in almost every way. New cars have their place in our world, to be sure, and I can't say that I don't understand people with kids wanting the newest and safest car to keep those children safe.

But...

I'm skeptical about the real necessity of more technology in cars, really, because it's making us worse drivers.  We're use to our electronannies keeping us on course, but sometimes even the smartest cars can't correct the whopping mistakes we make as drivers.  I see it every day...people jump in cars as if it's as easy to pilot as a tricycle, and they expect to navigate the highways and traffic-congested roads without killing themselves or others.

But folks, it's not that easy.  Driving a car, depth perception, and multitasking are way harder than the average person actually believes it to be.  The car does so much of the work for us that we're virtually lulled into a auto-pilot mode where muscle memory of dealing with emergencies is virtually catatonic, and therefore makes it harder for humans to snap to a quick and accurate reaction when shit does hit the fan.

Tom Vanderbilt has done exhausting work on traffic and the human experience behind the wheel of the automobile, which he filed neatly into a little book called "Traffic: Why We Drive the Way we Do (And What it Says About Us).  He contends, as I do, that while electronannies may sometimes save our hides, that they are creating a new breed of brainless driver.  He says in an interview, "We’re definitely already in the era of "driver-assist" automobiles, with blind-spot warnings and adaptive cruise control and the like. As people who study automation have noted, these "semiautomated" processes come with very particular challenges — drivers may relax their vigilance, thinking everything is fine thanks to the car’s technology, but something might happen that actually confounds the car’s systems, and suddenly the driver is 'out of the loop'."

Beyond the idea of reusing a material or product until there's virtually nothing left (an idea I am married to...see my sweaters for reference, filled with holes and faded but beloved until they no longer function) I believe that people need more hard training in real automobiles before we're allowed loose on the city streets.  If we choose to drive these vehicles with so many gizmos to protect us, that's fine, but we should first know how to protect ourselves out there.  Relying too heavily on technology to save us means eventually we'll morph into the fat-can-barely-walk-virtual-addicts from the WALL-E movie...floating along in our isolation, content to be lazy and useless while machines do our thinking.  Where is the stimulation in that? Where's the joy?

For me, I abide by the reuse principal, and I abide the fact that when I'm out on the road, I am mostly in charge of my safety by knowing my car, knowing the laws, and knowing how to create a defensive bubble around myself.  Accidents happen, sure...I'm just convinced that 90% of the accidents happening right now aren't "accidents" at all but the product of over-estimating ones driving prowess, distractions, and just not understanding physics of the road and that an object in motion tends to stay in motion.

When I drive a classic, everything is up to me...how hard I press a set of manual brakes, my input to the steering wheel, the force of my right foot on the pedal.  I appreciate the simplicity of the classic car, the cues it gives you as feedback in the exhaust note, the vibrations, even the smells. It talks to you, works with you, it becomes your partner in this adventure on the road instead of your new-car babysitter, smacking your hand with VSC, TRAC, VDIM, EBD, etc, when you screw up.

The world is framed for us in all kinds of ways...through the helmet on the motorcycle, through the window at the office, through the windshield of your car.  I think these frames shape your perception, your reaction to and with the world though the frame.  The frame of the windshield on a 50's, 60's (some) 70's car says, "put the windows down and listen to me, listen to my cues, and your view will be larger than the frame."

And it's true. My frame of reference expands every time I let my heart experience the thrill of really driving, really driving a real car, really doing it all by myself.

Old video of the Nova on an outing, taken by a patient passenger.

Skeptically Yours.

Home.

From the "shit going on in Bigskeptic's Life" files....


In this era of foreclosures, squatters, etc, the very notion of home has been questioned, compromised, and forced into having been redefined.  People with families now regularly live out of their cars rather than the traditional 3 bedroom/2 bathroom set up that generations of people came to view as "home."  I think my own definition has always been fluid, because based on my past, home was a travel trailer in a storage yard, a double wide trailer, a traditional house, a monolithic antique semi-mansion, tiny apartments, relatives couches, a best friend's floor, the road, among other things. I didn't understand people's attachment with "home" as a location. Still don't. Never will.

The right to your home has also been attacked, and it's come down to a judgement call by the bank or corporation invoking Eminent Domain in most cases, minus one I can think of where the police officers asked to remove a woman from her home simply couldn't abide because she was 103 years old and on her deathbed. She skirted eviction because the law enforcers saw a glaring indecency and decided against acting on their orders. You can read the story here: http://www.ajc.com/news/atlanta/103-year-old-woman-1245741.html 

So home is an very personal thing, obviously, and carries with it a multitude of meanings. Right now, "home" to me is a point of contention, because I find that in most of my heartaches there came some sort of discrepancy between the matter of a home, what makes a home, or where "home" is located. The amount of leavings that I have endured in my life adds up to watching a lot of taillights disappear in the distance, disappear away from my current definition of home, away from me.  I always understood the necessity of every leaving, despite the sadness of watching as someone you love leaves, because I feel the same draw to the road, to whatever's next, to making your way in your renewed life elsewhere. 

It's very American to set out on one's own in discovery of self, which is why American Literature is teeming with tales about heading West, heading to college, and essentially to steal from Thomas Wolfe...to never be able to go home again.  There's truth in that, because once you leave that definition of "home" from your childhood, you have moved past a very basic illusion we humans have developed...and that's the notion that "home" is a place.

As we're collectively fighting the banks, watching Friends and family losing their houses, we seem to be fighting for more than a place to live, but the idea that home is how we define it, and by taking away our homes there is a much larger infraction occurring. It's personal with us, because so few of us stay in proximity to our birthplaces anymore.  It's not just the loss of a house, but the loss of that self discovery that said, "I found this place. I made it my home."

As I sadly prepare to once again watch figuratively as taillights disappear into the distance, I have to question why my own feet have been planted for so long. Am I living up to my gypsy roots? Maybe having stayed in one place for so long has made sedentary the quest for constant self-discovery.  Maybe the next set of taillights to disappear over the horizon should be my own...

Skeptically Yours.

Beware The Rock Polisher

In 1988, I was eight years old. The political events shaping the world were still outside of my reality, my favorite band was Def Leppard, favorite movie was  "The Lost Boys" and the love of my life was Dan Cortez from MTV Sports.  Things were very, very different back then, as I still had a few shreds of innocence and was still in all technical facets a child. You'd think that I would have changed quite a bit since then, and as much as I now realize that Def Leppard was pop hair metal without substance, you'll catch me listening to them every now and again, and let's just say the season of "What I Like About You" starring Dan Cortez has a permanent place on my DVR. My favorite show? No. Do I look at Lo Mein and recite the lines, "Worms....you're eating worms, Michael" every single time? Yes, yes I do.

I feel like I've been one of the few left out of the smoothing process, left out of our societal coming of age ritual of rubbing off the sharp edges and creating this "well-rounded individual" that is supposed to fit in better with our norms and customs.  I feel, therefore, lucky. See, the sharp edges that  make us who we are...stubbornness, introverted-ness, super competitiveness, super sensitivity, those are rubbed down to more acceptable levels and society attempts to fill the percentage of change from your rough edges that have been filed down with more socially acceptable things.

Back to 1988, when I was 8.  I had this strange epiphany whilst in my friend's room as we played with a rock tumbler that was meant to take plain looking, average rocks from your back yard and turn them into pretty, polished little rocks that you could collect.  I realized that as these little pebbles and rocks tumbled around in there, they emerged looking prettier, being more sought after perhaps, but that it didn't change the core of the rock or what the rock actually was.  Even at eight, I started seeing some relevance, some comparison between what we do to each other and what that rock tumbler was doing to the stones we had gathered.

My friend was Emmett.  I'm not going to string this out or try to go all Politically Correct about Emmett....he was defined as a nerd in strict 1988, third grade terms. He wore super thick glasses and just never really fit in with the other kids, who were all, at that time, already joining the cliques and small subcultures of third grade life. It happens earlier now, I'm sure, people segregating into neatly defined units of class of popularity...

But Emmett was my friend because he was awesome, and as it turned out, most of my friends through the years would be judged on the criteria of whether or not they were awesome people and not to which clique they belonged.  It probably explains why my illustrious group of besties includes a whopping 4 or 5 people. Emmett is still counted among my friends, as well as some other fabulous people that stood out from the crowd. 

I look back now, and I revisit some of the sort-friends I acquired in high school and college and realize that the relationships didn't last because they bought into the well-rounded individual bullshit and submitted themselves to the societal rock polisher. They allowed school and church and parents to alter them in ways to make them more presentable, more acceptable in society. These highly pliable people learned how to fit in, to blend.

I never quite learned that lesson, maybe because people inherently saw that I would break the tumbler, or that I would come out broken into bits, or whatever. The point is that I missed the tumbler altogether and I am thankful. I am thankful that I still think in pre-polished terms, and that being part of the social clique of those that were polished is outside of my desires.

We go to school, go to church, do group activities and we're told on a consistent pattern what good and bad behavior is, what to think, what to do...and yes, I understand that people need leadership and guidance, but when you really look at what we're telling our kids, teaching our kids, feeding our kids....it's shaking them around together in the polisher, not always teaching them to think for themselves or to be skeptical, critical, of the "wisdom" they receive.

I'm not remotely comparing myself to the high-brow, damned-smart individuals that also missed the reshaping and smoothing out...but there's a long list of them. Many of the people that are really good at one thing and make that one thing their life's work change the world, but what would have happened to the invention of the light bulb, the invention of the battery, the discovery of antibiotics, etc, etc infinity, if the people behind these world-changing items were more interested in fitting in being "well rounded," and spent more time trying to sheer off the rough edges that made them work without fatigue? That made them study, or practice, or read until they mastered that area? We wouldn't have masters of craft like Roddenberry, Hawking, Kaku, Newman, Kubrick...these were people that never quite "fit in" because that very superficial goal didn't matter to them. And those that missed the polisher that aren't necessarily changing the world are at least making their own path-off-the-beaten-path and living with passion.

When I think back to who I was at 8, I see more similarities than differences. I was not easily attached to people, they had to earn my trust. Once they did that, I put them in my heart forever. I was not interested in bullshitting with people, and I didn't give in to laughing at jokes to be polite. I made decisions impetuously. I loved music, and movies, I was quick to judge, stubborn as hell, and I loved animals. I analyzed content carefully, I had a great memory, and above all things, I wanted to be a writer. I am very much still that person, in all of those ways, the good and bad. It's why I have been remotely successful in a very self-made manner. I have matured, learned, grown up...sure...but the nature and content of my character is intact.

The societal rock polisher of instilling a pre-packed mentality yields a lot of the mob-mentality that I defame in a previous post. Group-think culture is one that is bound to rush headlong together into self-destruction.

I will be left behind from that cultural careening into devastation, as I have been left behind from many of the group-decisions in the past. I'm okay with that, because the others left behind are those that I am actually interested in having around.

Skeptically Yours.

Everysinglefrickingday.

That's how often I am astounded by the dichotomy of human nature. I see amazing things, and I see startling things that make me want to install a turret on my roof.  More than anything else on this Skeptic's list of things I hate about people is sheer ignorance. When I say "sheer ignorance" it's the blank, uneducated, doesn't want to know, uninterested, blanket ignorance. There are an astounding amount of people that fall into this category, and one such reminder for me everyday is the deluge of nonsensical laws surrounding breed ban legislation, as well as breeders and the general flippancy of society to love one moment a breed and villainize it the next.

I do some rescue work, and the one creature on earth that I fully trust with my unconditional love is the canine. Any canine.

I find it, then, horrifying, that as a society we have created/over bred/loved/maligned specific breeds.  Any guess where I'm going with this?

My heart breaks at the mass slaughter of dogs in our shelters.  Over 7 million/year in California are killed, and it's largely because people are too idiotic to fully grasp the overpopulation concept for both themselves and their pets, and while we play God with the domestication of these animals, only to abandon them later, the state holds a large bill and a large karmic footprint in these deaths.  If breeders didn't over breed them in the first place, and if people adopted rather than bought, we'd decrease this situation infinitely.  But that's another day...

Today, I'm thinking about Pit Bulls. If you aren't among the above ignorant bastards, you probably know that "pit bull" means American Pit Bull Terrier, American Staffordshire Terrier, Staffordshire Bull Terrier, and a million mixes of medium sized but strong dogs that look like these breeds.  They were heroes early in the century, posing in posters with children and fighting alongside our soldiers. Stubby, a pit mix, is the most decorated war dog ever.  Ever...

Stubby. Decorated War Hero. Pit Bull.

And yet, in the last few decades the only images you see of pit bulls are in the news, having bitten someone, having been used for fighting, etc, etc.  After Michael Vick's disgusting criminality with these dogs, I thought more research and more understanding may surface.  If you take a little time learning about the breed, particularly in the tear-jerker account Lost Dogs, you'll find that most of the dogs confiscated from the Vick compound were actually rehabbed, and adopted into homes. There were a few that just had it too rough, and they weren't savable, but upwards of 90% made it. That's HUGE. You couldn't rescue people from a situation like that and expect them to be anything but batshit crazy, and yet these dogs were saveable and still trusted human beings after a remarkably short time. Unbelievable!

So in that case, why are certain counties in the US banning them altogether? Why are they the #1 dog on the euthanasia list at virtually every single animal shelter in the US?  Where are the people standing up for them?

Well, among the ridiculous uses of Facebook for posturing and the "look at my fabulous life" pictures there are some amazing, charitable and aware uses, like advocating for animals and networking against the backwards bureaucracies imposing Breed Bans. That helps, but it isn't enough.

These dogs need someone in Public Relations. We need a way to spin it back to the times that they were considered the Nanny Dogs of North America.  How did we go from that to now, with the pit bull the international symbol of crack houses everywhere?




How did we get to this point from here, the Nanny Dog?



     

It came from their popularity, partially.  Over breeding is the start, that first domino down.  Lots of people breed these dogs, and lots of people buy them.  With overbreeding comes an onslaught of health problems and the other issue of just too many damn dogs.  Then you have people buying them for fighting, for protection in drug houses, et al, and suddenly the reputation is marred forever by really, really, bad owners.

Rotties got the same reputation years ago, though I hear less about it now.  I do know that renting with these dogs is damned near impossible, and that prevents a lot of potential adopters from pulling them out of the shelters and saving their lives.  I lived with the problem of breed restricted housing with my Rottweiler. My solution? I died her brown bits black with all natural hair dye and said she was a lab mix.  I lied.  It worked.

Its harder with the short, compact and muscular pit bulls.  They can't be disguised as pomeranians, so we're at a point where we can't lie. We just have to fight for them, because they deserve it. 

And that means educating the lazy, ignorant assholes that clamor into the mob with their pitchforks at the ready, no matter what the mob is going after.  This idiot Mob Mentality is so incredibly pervasive that it's infiltrated even the loftiest groups (like Congress). Defy it by arming yourself with information, and defy it by throwing down your pitchfork and researching the matter.  I'm skeptical about the amount of people that will, actually, research something before drinking the Koolaid, but hell...it's worth a try to at least ask. 

And I ask because I hope that as we become more informed, I'll open Facebook and there will be less dogs to save, less dogs killed in the shelters, less Pit Bulls in pictures staring at me soulfully, hopefully, only wanting to have someone rescue them from their terrifying jail cell, still trusting and loving despite all of the betrayal committed against them.

Everysinglelfrickingday.  That's how often I watch the mob gather, hunting down some other Frankenstein that the mob blames for some current evil. It's disturbing, particularly when it's so evidently and irrefutably misinformed, as in this case.  I am providing some links for basic research into this...because when you drop out of the mob, you'll feel really silly, and you'll want to know the truth.


http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sergeant_Stubby
http://www.pbrc.net/faq.html

And then buy this:
http://www.amazon.com/Lost-Dogs-Michael-Rescue-Redemption/dp/159240667X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1325888718&sr=8-1


Skeptically Yours.

Breaking Contracts: soooo American....

Based on the fact that people of the laziest generations yet have agreed to rise up in semi-unison against the big-bank-big-wealth-all-for-me-none-for-you is a great stepping stone on which to feel like things have to be getting better, right? I mean, the slackers have mobilized into a political force, standing up in their Converse and swinging signs angrily at the inhospitable police force threatening to pepper spray their corneas into submission.

It's a rocky start to what may be the biggest "fuck you" to the wealthy hosted in the last 100 years.  What felt like infinite depression starting with the Reagan years may be sloughing off, under which lays a fresh new crop of kids willing to chain themselves, at least figuratively, to an ideal.  That's all good.  I remember standing at the protests against the war in Iraq being photographed by police officers, presumably to catalog us heathens in a some giant super-directory of undesirables.  I felt betrayed at that time, wondering when "submit and be quiet" became the American Way...because the America I felt like I belonged to, and in, was a place where the average American voice carried at least a little weight. It was very Thomas Paine of me, I recognize, to blindly think that "for the people, by the people" was still at least remotely relevant.

Fast forward through some political turmoil, some war(s), the changing of the Presidential Guard, and an economic upheaval that left us all saying, "What the fuck just happened??"  and we're here.  We've watched in horror as families lost their homes, lost their jobs, and  watched ourselves on television bombing the shit out of Middle Eastern countries, in turn causing vast civilian loss of jobs, homes, and lives.  Damn...I've just brought myself back down.

(Intermission for self-medication.)

And we're back.

Now I'm dealing with my own drama with the bank, and I have to say that it feels like goddamned fiction.  The complete and total 180 from just two and half years ago is startling. I'm not speaking badly about the bank, in fact, Wells Fargo handed me a dizzying array of options, and none of them were particularly bad.

A personal note: this Skeptic (sort of) recently went from Facebook status "engaged" to "blank." That means that there were a lot of changes of my own to deal with in the last months 2011, particularly the logistics of going from a party of 2 to a party of 1.  The house...well, you can imagine that it's the single biggest part of the deal.  In my quest to figure this out, I talked to my bank.

They offered the Short Sale option, which used to be a bad thing on your credit and the bank could sue you for whatever loss you took against the mortgage.  Not so now...they forgive you the debt, and while your credit does take a pretty large hit, they will allow you to BUY another house ASAP.

So let me get this straight....

I get to sell my house at a loss and be forgiven?

And then...I can buy another house right away?  Can I buy my own house? Can I buy my own house for it's lesser value? Yes??  Okay...so why doesn't everyone short sell, buy their own place for what it's ACTUALLY worth, and just forget about the $20k or $30k they are short??

Where's the logic in this?  I know I'm putting a $20,000 hole in my own foot here, but what happened to being responsible for your debts? I know, I know, shit happens and sometimes its not fair. I get that. In this case though, I'm going through a separation, not a significant loss of ability, income, or health. Why should I get the super easy road (well...sort of super easy road, aside from my credit tanking)?

Well, I'm not taking it. I'm going the harder way, to assume the loan as my own and pay it off through the years in full, because when we bought the little house in the first place, we agreed to pay THAT amount...not "maybe that amount, maybe $20,000 less."

I actually believe in honoring contracts, honoring your debt, honoring your promises.  Is that weird? Is that what the kids at the occupy protests would do? What if everybody believed in paying their debts and not trying to short someone else? Would we be in this mess at all, especially if it started way, way, way up top with the people at the big-banks-big-wealth-all-for-me-and-none-for-you? 

I doubt it.  If everyone respected their promises to and for each other, I don't think we'd be anywhere near this point. Here's (skeptically) hoping for 2012 that we get there.

Skeptically Yours.

The Lloyd Dobler Effect

I've had this discussion probably 32 times in the last month, this recurring conversation about a common dillemma that most people, I'm guessing, haven't even considered to be a dilemma.  Yet...I do, and apparently I'm not alone.  I'm talking again about apathy, because it seems to be everywhere, all around me, draped 'round my shoulders like a worn-out hoodie.

It's a women and men thing...and it's really come together for me recently.  Some background information first: I have never trusted men.  See, most men in my life were complete douchebags, minus my brother, who is and always will be the greatest man ever.  Now that I've said that, I'm realizing partially that a) I can't hate/distrust (almost) every single man out there because of the plethora of douchebaggery to which I've been exposed and that b) we are sort of training our up and coming crop of men to be said douchebags.

Stick with me, I promise I'll be burning gas in a second.

I remember the days when I felt like feminism was a good thing, and I still do but in general I grip the immense polarizing effect it's had on society.  I no longer have a NOW tee shirt, I DO shave my legs, and while I love tinkering on my cars in the garage, I have found that I ALSO enjoy cooking and I now admit to having a maternal instinct.  I used to be more one sided...I WILL work, I WILL be a mechanic, I WILL not be girly because girly is weak.

Weak.  I let feminism mutate in my head to say that if I'm girly, I'm being weak, and therefore open to victimization.  I wouldn't admit to wanting kids.  I wouldn't admit to wanting to actually stay at home and write and not have to be a manic workaholic in a suit. To completely contort Eric Cartman to fit my needs...I have learned that I want to say "Screw you guys...I'm going home."  I have a great job, and I like the independence that the sufragettes before me fought themselves bloody to procure.  And for years I have been among them, albeit still wearing my bra.  Now I find the most useful part of feminism, for me anyway, is to be able to choose.

I choose, if I am able, to not have to work.  I realize that in the eyes of most women now, their value is their career.  I get that.  It's been me for seven years. 

Now, to the hard part of being this newly envisioned feminist, deciding on using my womanhood for it's organic, hardwired components:

Men.

Men are sort of trained, right? As trained as us strong, independent women.  We work equally, we make approximately the same pay, we have moved into the male sectors of traditional employment.  That's great and all, and yay for women, but what effect did this have on the guys?

I notice it sometimes, when I outshoot the men at the range.  When I can talk cars better than the guys at the car show.  When my male friends want to fix their cars...and relunctantly they call me.  And then they stand there, looking a little lost, looking at me as if I'm pissing standing up.  They are confused.

How can they feel needed when I can do this stuff as good as or better than them?  How can they feel like they are protecting me, which seems like a real male need, if I can grab the .357 and protect myself?  How can they strut around, feathers raised, and attract me if I can outdrive them, outshoot them, outthink them?

In short, my female desires at this point are sort of outweighed by the fact that the TYPE of man I want is sort of heading towards extinction.  I want a man that CAN impress me with his smarts, make me laugh with better timing than mine, protect me and make me feel secure, make amazing decisions that I can follow without wondering "what the hell am I doing?"  I don't want him to feel insecure around me because of my stengths, I want him to feel secure in his OWN strengths, and therefore be able to appreciate mine. I'm tired of being a leader. I want someone to feel comfortable taking that position.

So...where do I find this rare creature? Does it still exist? Am I subconsciously looking for Lloyd Dobler, only to come up short and finding the asexual creatures that are popular these days...the skinny, weak intellectuals that seem apathetic about the whole thing ala Spencer Reid on Criminal Minds?  Lloyd Dobler seems to be a popular name with my generation, and there's a reason we've all stuck with him.  You don't see it often enough, these character traits.  Lloyd Dobler was indeed flawed, but he was flawed in some amazing ways. 

In Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs, Chuck Klosterman blames his inability to satisfy women on John Cusack, explaining that Lloyd Dobler has set an example impossible to follow. He writes:

     It appears that countless women born between the years of 1965 and 1978 are in love with John  

    Cusack. I cannot fathom how he isn’t the number one box-office star in America, because every straight

    girl I know would sell her soul to share a milkshake with that motherfucker … But here’s the thing that

    these … women don’t seem to realize. They don’t love John Cusack. They love Lloyd Dobler. When they

    see Mr. Cusack, they are still seeing the optimistic, charmingly loquacious teenager he played in Say

   Anything.

I think there's something to this.  Women from my generation have been trained to want it all, to want the Lloyd Dobler, to want a career, to want kids, to want to provide but also be provided for...but it's all too much.  I don't want a career AND kids....so what's it all mean?
 
Lloyd Dobler adored Diane Court. He fought for her. He checked up on her and made sure she was okay, he steered her around obstacles, he wouldn't let her slip away, he held her with passion.  However, she was the powerhouse in the relationship, smarter, more organized, more educated, more eloquent.  He was the passion, the emotion, the follower. She was pragmatic and practical. In this instance, they end up together and he raises the kids while she chases a career in international law....
 
So altogether, I think Lloyd Dobler is a bigger problem than previously imagined.  Do I want my husband raising my kids as I slave away in a corporate graind?  No. Flip it around. Lloyd Dobler made us recognize something we wanted, but it wasn't transparent enough to realize that HE was going to take the traditional wife role in this instance and Diane was going to support him forever. Maybe she wanted that. Maybe some women do, but I am going to start being a voice of semi-opposition.
 
Confused men are becoming apathetic, because their roles have been diminished and become enigmatic. Men are more likely, these days, to posture instead of practice (See below post, and note that Facebook was created by one of the "world's biggest posers"-direct quote from someone smarter than me.)  I know more apathetic men than women, I know more apathetic teen males than I ever imagined existed.  Those that do not feel needed are more likely to be apathetic, right? So it completely makes sense. If men are inconsequential in this society, apathy takes over and more and more men will actually be the dreaded d-bags, without a path, without a PURPOSE, misguided, confused. We all need a purpose. Damn...having a bigger purpose, a bigger voice, and better choices were what feminism was all about. Now the pendulum has perhaps swung too far.
   
Skeptically Yours.