Almost Interesting

In a show of kindness, the CEO of the company at which I work decided to get everybody in the office ice cream today. There was also sorbet, meaning that I would not be left out. Unfortunately, the only thing with which one could eat the frozen treat was a cone. So I picked out the cake cone (for the 20 calories, of course), some mango sorbet, and went to town. It made me happy that I was remembered, and that it was tasty and I could try to socialize with some of my coworkers.

You see, where I work there aren’t many women. There are six altogether, and only four of us work in any technical capacity. For once, I wasn’t self-conscious about this, and simply was enjoying myself.

Ram watched me. He started laughing loudly.
“What?”
“Stop that!”
“Stop what?”
He laughed some more.
“What? I’m just eating sorbet.”
“Come on, stop it already!”
And then I remembered myself. I can’t simply be me, I’m not a human being at all. I’m a woman. Not just a woman, but a filthy, vile wretch. People stopped making eye contact with me. I am a shameful creature.
“I’m going to my desk.”

I returned to my desk and started snapping the fresh, supple rubber band around my wrist until it broke. I’m a woman, so anybody who wants to own me does. I have no choice in the matter. When a foul-smelling old man at the hospital gropes me, people avoid eye contact with me all the same. I am the one at fault, I am a filthy thing whether I like it or not.

Tonight I was supposed to go to the Distant Worlds 2 concert with Roman and his mom. Roman’s mom has been dying to go to the symphony or the opera for YEARS – after Ro bought the tickets for tonight, she bragged for ages about it. Now Roman says she’s claiming she was drunk when she accepted and didn’t really want to go. Bullshit! She was at work and entirely bubbling with joy at the idea! She was avoiding me. Obviously. I asked Ro to take her, and instead he gave away his tickets and tried to lay a guilt trip on me.

If it had been Roman who were polyamorous and I wanted a divorce, people would look at me and wonder what it was that I had done wrong. Too fat. Nags too much. Too clingy. Something. Because it’s me, I’m a horrible, vile thing. People who once professed love for me and promised me that no matter what happens I’ll always be family won’t even come near me. I’ve committed the greatest sin there is: being a slut. I don’t want to be a woman, I just want to be a human being.

There is something satisfying in watching a book you are reading slowly age and decay. No matter how tenderly you handle it, there will be inevitable scuffs, bends to the spine, corners frayed, pages yellowed. Likewise is it a beauty to watch those you love grow older, affirming life through a slow descent into antiquity.

In response to this post at Feministe.

I have never been spanked/whipped/whooped/made to bleed with finger nails by any but my parents, whom felt that it was a necessary practice. Along with the trauma inflicted (including the void and mistrust it creates between the parent and the child) and the advocating of violence as an answer to problems (which I specifically place a great deal of blame on for how my brother turned out [up to and including his suicide]), I further place blame on this outdated and barbaric practice for the illogical way in which people think and act in society.

Corporal punishment simply serves as a violent outlet for the anger of a parent/guardian/authority figure. It does NOTHING to explain to the person being punished WHY what they did was wrong, nor what the consequences of their actions will be, nor how they can help to rectify their actions. It is nothing more than a cop-out for the lazy, angry parent/guardian/authority figure which additionally serves to create another generation of people who have been taught to reflexively believe others when they say something is bad/wrong/evil without any proof of what harm it does (the “bad” thing could be anything from being gay, women doing “men’s” jobs, sex acts done in private between consenting adults, etc). I sincerely hope that enough people will start to question the nonsensical practices of previous generations and turn their backs on this barbarism.

Eighteen years ago tonight, I got to go to the house of one of Mom’s friends and hang out with this awesome older girl I had a major crush on (Autumn~ <3 lol), play with LEGOs and eat potatoes au gratin. Autumn wanted me to sleep in her bed, and Matt in a sleeping bag on the floor, but I was much too bashful to do it and was consequently put into the guest room on a bed which was much too firm. I had a hard time sleeping.

The next morning, the clamor of sparrows raiding Mrs. Atkins' garden right outside the window woke me. I figured there had been no news yet as no human sought to rouse me from me sleep. I wandered out of the guest room, feeling the old-fashioned high pile brown multitoned carpet between my toes (It felt strange!) as I wandered into the living room in search of someone who would give me chocolate-flavored breakfast cereal. Dad was on the couch talking quietly to Mrs. Atkins, which surprised me. I figured Dad would not be back until there was news to be had, and the fact that nobody was acting excited betrayed the lack thereof. I hastily demanded information of him, and was calmly informed that the baby had been born and, yes, it was a girl.

I got excited. I ran into Autumn's room and kicked Matt repeatedly until I received a vocal confirmation of my unwarranted abuse. I'm not sure exactly what I yelled at him, but I know some of it included, "I was right!" and "It's a girl!" Matt half-registered this information and unenthusiastically went back to sleep, vexing me terribly. I kicked him until he got up to strike me in return, guaranteeing his continued wakefulness.

After we were dressed and fed an obesity-assuring breakfast (which I wanted to eat after visiting the hospital, but you know Dad), Matt seemed a bit more interested in what was going on. We were brought in to St. Rose room 202 and shown Mom and a tiny, red, squished-up person in an uncomfortable-looking, lid-less plastic container of some sort. This, of course, was you. Matt was eager to prove his manliness by successfully carrying – without dropping – you and was given the opportunity with the stipulation that he be seated. More hesitatingly was I given the same chance.

To be honest, I was greatly crestfallen. No six-to-seven-year-old envisions their infant sibling as an infant for more than a moment. They forsee a playmate much in the mold of a peer. Though it was an uncharacteristic thing for me to do, I swallowed that emotion and didn’t voice it until a much later date: when it could be said that such disappointment had passed. My useless infant incessant companion was allowed to come home that same day, and as though she had sought to alleviate my chagrin, she made the great leap of turning her own head despite not even being a day old. (Nice try.)

The following night at around 10 PM, as Mom and I were watching Walker Texas Ranger, you totally tried to cover Mom in a giant bubble of liquidy, unscented baby poo as she changed your diaper. That is one of the images I’m sure will inhabit my head until my dying day.

Happy birthday, Benny!

The Book of Joshua isn’t particularly interesting, though much more heinously bloody than all previous. It recounts the string of genocidal conquests into Canaan which occurred between the death of Moses and the death of his second-in-command, Joshua. Of the people found there, God orders all of them put to death without exception. Of course, exceptions are made about which God is peculiarly silent.

In chapter 2 two Isrealite spies are aided by Rahab, a treasonous resident of Jericho. Rahab is either a prostitute or an innkeeper, about which the NIV is unsure. (Seems like a fairly big difference, yes?) She aids the spies in exchange for her and her family’s lives. After a successful campaign (the one where the city is marched around for seven days and all the walls fall), she lives among Israel. This story confuses me. So God commands destruction of all the people of Canaan without exception, yet exceptions are allowed?

Chapter 7 shows the inconsistency of these edicts. A man named Achan looted a few items during the conquest of Jericho, all of which was to be destroyed. After suffering a minor loss in Ai and some others dying of sickness (revealed in 22:20-22), Joshua is told that it was because some among them secretly sinned. (Sure, all bad things that happen are punishment for sin. It can’t be that you weren’t adequately prepared. Noooo. Joshua also preemptively blames intermarriage for military failures in 23:12-13. What about everybody who will marry a relative of Rahab?) Upon interrogation Achan confesses and is punished with death for himself and his entirely family, again directly acting in opposition to Deuteronomy 26:16.

I was impressed with the Gibeonites, a group of Hivites, whom deceived Joshua in chapter 9. After they heard of the fates of Jericho and Ai, some men were dressed shabbily and sent to meet Israel in order to forge a treaty. They claimed to have come far away and proffered their shabby wares as proof. (Smooth!) They are believed, God is not consulted nor does he intercede, and a peace treaty (sworn by the God of Israel) is made. Shortly thereafter the ruse is discovered and all Gibeon LOLs at them. Just kidding, they become the Israelites’ slaves. Um… good going?

In the next chapter occurs the other memorable scene from the Book of Joshua: the Sun stands still. Of course, nobody – apparently even God – knew that the Sun was stationary (Well, not really, but I’m sure God didn’t know this either.) and that the Earth turns and revolves around it. And when, as logic would dictate, the Earth stood still (perhaps the genesis of this term) gravity was not noted to have suddenly decreased. Also no word was of how hot the Earth – especially in a desert place like Canaan – became that day. Surely even an ignorant such as the author of the Book of Joshua knew the relation between the Sun being “up” and the temperature rising.

In chapter 20, the rules for people acquitted of murder are changed or contradicted. In Numbers 35:24-26 the person in question must remain in the Levite city until the high priest dies, but Joshua 20:6 states that they may leave upon being cleared of the charge. Though I do not complain about laws becoming more just, it does bother me that they are not constant. If their god is perfect, ought not these laws remain the same for more than some fifty years? (It’s not as though their society or technology improved much during the interim.)

Chapter 22 relates the anecdote about the tribes East of the River Jordan erecting a replica of an altar in order to remind those there of their god. The Western tribes get upset thinking that they had resorted to idolatry (which is likely given that these people have a history of worshipping new gods just two weeks after the old becomes occupied with other work [Exodus 32:1]). This was very funny to me because isn’t that exactly what a graven image/idol is? Surely people even back then were not stupid enough to think that the little statue got up and did the bidding of worshipers while nobody was looking, right?

The whole book is about genocidal military conquest, misplaced blame, stupidity, long lists of non-Israelites murdered, and more long lists of land allotments (upon which other people still live). The pervading themes of Joshua are the bigotry and smallness of the Israelites and of their god. “Thou shalt not murder” (Exodus 20:13) and other commandments clearly only apply to Israelites (who have not incurred magical wrath) and those whom curry their favor. My reading thus far has only strengthened my conviction that even if magic and all that nonsense could be real, a god like this is not worthy of worship. Any just-minded person would certainly rather spend eternity in Hell than with a monster like Israel’s God.