Lilith Saintcrow

Courtesy of the Martian Mooncrab.

I wonder what they’d do with Jingle Bells?

Happy Winter Solstice, one and all! The Year King is reborn, and the world starts anew.

Well, it’s still winter, but you get the idea.

My weekly post is up at the Midnight Hour. It’s about strategies that help one write when one’s life is falling to pieces. Good and necessary information, says I. Especially during this time of year.

Rant ahoy:

I hate this time of year. I am not a Grinch, but I hate this time of year. I hate how people treat their children in malls this time of year–they’re upset and angry trying to keep up with the materialistic excess, and they take it out on the kids. I hate the rampant, crass commercialism. I despise the pretense of perfection that is so many family get-togethers, where simmering resentment lies just under the surface, jealousy shines in the eyes, and people think that pretending to be the perfect family for one day will somehow make the abuse and one-upmanship okay for the rest of the year. I hate how domestic disturbances and suicides spike at around this time.

Most of all, I hate how plenty of people think that doing one kind deed or going to church one day out of the year excuses being a complete and total jacka$$ the other three-hundred-and-sixty-four days. I hate the false, cloying sentimentalism–peace on earth, goodwill toward men? That’s not just one day a year, dammit.

One should be as decent as one can all year round. That’s called being an adult human being.

To that end, I’d like to thank every year-round decent person I know. Like the Selkie, who is stellar as a human being can get. Like my kids, who are wonderful people with occasional bad days, but who doesn’t have those? Like that lady who works at the Chevron on the corner, the one with the son who won’t turn his cell phone on but who always has a smile and a hello for me. Like the peeps at La Bottega and Pho Thanh who recognize me and have a smile for a regular.

You know who you are, you decent year-round people. Thank you. It’s because of you guys that I strive to be as good as I can be–not fake-nice, not false, but as decent and fine a human being that I can be–all year ’round. I have your example in front of me every day, and I thank you.

I hate this time of year. But it also reminds me that being a good person is a daily goal, one that you work on every day, all day, with varying degrees of success but always keeping that goal in sight. Be as good as you can, every day. It’s important.

It’s not peace on earth, but I think it’s the only reasonable way one human being can commit to getting there. Though my pessimism tells me human nature is to destroy itself, maybe being as decent as one can every day might ameliorate that. It may tip the balance, in some cosmic way. It might be the feather that makes that hundredth monkey turn the scales, or something.

Hey, if it’s the season for miracles, that’s the one I’m going to hope for. Dream big, says I. What’s the use of dreaming small?

Happy Solstice to you, one and all. Be good and safe out there.

Over and out.

Ah, the marvelous Interwebs, where I can turn in time of need. No matter how black the mood, the sweet sweet Internet always has something cool for me.

And so, link salad!

* Black Hole Attacks Galaxy, Film at 11! The geek in me just LOVES this to DEATH. Especially the description of what would happen should a jet of radiation from a supermassive black hole hit Earth. That there is what’s called a plot bunny, in my biz.

* Rivaling this in Sooper Awesomeness is author Suzanne Brockman, who says in an interview that she always knew her son was gay.

Jason came out to me when he was fifteen. He and I had long had a habit of talking together for few minutes, when he went to bed.
He’d been doing some dating — going out with girls — and Ed and I just kind of sat back and waited. I remember thinking, “Is it possible he doesn’t know?” And, “Gee, maybe we were wrong…”
But I remember so clearly that one evening. Jason took a deep breath and said, “Mom, I think I’m gay.”
And my heart swelled with love and pride (and relief!) because it takes such courage to say that in our society, even to your mom. But I kept things light. “I know. I love you. I’ll always love you. Where did you put your dirty socks…?”
“You knew?!?” He was actually surprised — and so relieved.
Even Jason — growing up in a home with parents who had spoken openly about their support for gay rights and for their gay friends — was a little afraid of what would happen when he came out.
You see, he had friends who were kicked out of their houses by their parents, because they were gay. It makes me heartsick to think of such a thing. And yet it happens. Too often.

You bet your sweet bippy I never told my parents about my experimentation in high school or my genderbending afterward, for just that reason. Identifying oneself as queer or bi can be dangerous at ANY age. There are still places in America–in AMERICA, for Chrissake–where you can be physically harmed because of any perception of homosexuality.

It makes me sad. But Ms. Brockman’s total awesomeness makes me happy. If there’s hope, it lies there–in: “Mum, I think I’m gay.” “I know, I love you. Where are those dirty socks?”

* There’s a Craigslist post floating around the ‘Net purporting to be from a “nice guy” telling women where all the nice guys went. But you don’t have to read such tripe, because Mightygodking has done it for you and brought back a line-by-line report. (Note: contains adult language and may make you bust a gut laughing. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.) Link courtesy of Smart Bitches, and may I just remark that I too know the dating law that states, “When a man goes out of his way to declare he’s a nice guy…he isn’t.” Oh, and Mightygodking? Go on clefting gerunds, baby. That’s hawt.

* And also from Smart Bitches, where I always seem to turn in time of great Internet need, an examination of women, sexism and romance (that mentions Joss Whedon), and the reaction I share about Jamie Spears’ pregnancy being top news. WTF, people?

What happened to actual news being news? *sigh*

Last but not least, the Princess asked me yesterday, “Mum?”

*me, tapping away at a scene of death and destruction* “Huhwhat?”

“How come I have all this Christmas spirit and you don’t?”

“Because it skipped me and you got double, sweetheart. Genetics.” Because I hate seeing the way people treat their kids in malls around Christmastime. Because my mother always broke down around Christmas. Because people think acting “nice” for one bloody day excuses them being total rude jerkwads the other 364 of the year. Because–

Wide blue eyes. “Oh. Would you like some?”

Awwwwwwwwwwwwwww.“If it comes in the form of a hug, sure.”

“Okay. Can we back sugar cookies?”

Aha! Now we have it.“Very deft of you, my darling.”

Again, big innocent eyes. “What?”

“Never mind. Sugar cookies maybe, hugs definitely.” Closing laptop. “C’mere. I need my hug.”

Kids are cool.

Happy Thursday, everyone. And to all a good night.

…where it would have been better to stay in bed.

*weeps, gnashes teeth*

I just finished Murdering Holiness last night, a book about turn-of-the-century Holy Rollers in Washington and Oregon and murders sparked by religious belief, intersecting with an examination of the insanity defense as a means for a jury to use “unwritten law” rather than actual law. It was also an examination of gender roles during that time. Needless to say, I recommend it for Candy, though my copy will probably go to my friend Jeff Davis first.

I am also reading Jennifer Stevenson’s Trash Sex Magic, but it’s hard going. I suppose I’ve read too much Dorothy Allison–and been too poor myself at various times–for me to read a book that romanticizes poverty. I understand what Stevenson is trying to do here, but several underlying assumptions in the story just bother the hell out of me. The writing is fine and I suspect would even be lovely if I could get over the romanticizing.

Last but not least is Sick Heroes: French Society and Literature in the Romantic Age, 1750-1850, which will take Murdering Holiness’s place as bedtime reading. Am I such a geek because I am salivating at the mere thought?

All right, folks. Radio silence from me for a little while. Two bad days in a row are hard to take, even with a good TBR pile around.

My, I am a cranky pussycat this morning. So, five random things:

1. Bless the Princess. While watching a cartoon history of the US (Uncle Sam showing Porky Pig why the Pledge of Allegiance is important) she says, “Why aren’t there any women in this? They shoudl at least be telling their brothers and husbands goodbye.”

My response? “Well, history’s mostly written by men, honey. They don’t focus too much on women.”

“Well, that’s nuts.” A complete change of subject. “Are they British?” (pointing at the marching militiamen on the screen.)

“The funny thing is, the American Revolution started because people over here wanted their rights as British citizens.”

“Huh…” Another long pause. “I’d better get a few books about this.”

*containing my glee* “I guess so, honey.”

2. A friend’s LJ contained some thoughts on weight and appearance issues this morning. I don’t dress traditionally, and since the weight has started to melt off (very little of it is my doing; I’ve just changed my coping strategy from food to Other Things and my body is normalizing) I’ve been the subject of…well, attention. From people who seem to consider me attractive. Which kicks a lot of my assumptions about myself right square in the nuts. It’s been…weird.

I have only two things to say: Diet’s first three letters are a warning! is the first. And the second is, yes, the weight-loss industry is worth billions. IF there was a “magic bullet” that would turn one into an underweight sitcom star or rail-thin model, the entire industry would tank overnight. I am much more inclined to agree with Susan Powter than anyone else when it comes to weight and food. She may be nuts, but she’s HONEST nuts, and low on the bullshit factor. You know we had the same hairdresser briefly? I actually met her and had no idea who she was. She was a firecracker, man. On all the time.

Anyway, the whole thing is a crack-up. It’s meant to separate women from their money and since we only earn seventy cents on the $%&#ing dollar a man earns, I’m not buying it. Period.

3. I know affirmations are silly, but they really seem to work for me. Now let’s see if I can remember to use them.

4. Gmail tried to give me a recipe for Spam Strudel.

*shudder*

5. Today the Princess and I start reading The Hound of the Baskervilles together. Much fun will be had by all.