- Todd & I watched the Gates of Heaven over the holiday - a documentary about pet cemetaries. What happens to cemetaries in a more-atheist society? With limited land resources, are cemetaries (for pets or people) a wise use of space?
- Louis Theroux - America's Most Hated Family in Crisis - about the obnoxiously self-congratulatory Westboro folks.
- The extended edition of Fellowship of the Ring. Still in love with Cate Blanchett.
- Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (American version... we saw the Swedish version early in 2011)
I have opinions on things and I like to talk about them.
28.12.11
Holiday Movies - 2011
Because I'm terrible at remembering what movies I've seen, etc... one of my 'resolutions' is to note that in my blog.
27.10.11
All Protesters are Hippies
Note for a later blog post:
Is it okay that the actual people protesting don't necessarily reflect the values and visions of the people supporting the protest but unable to participate due to work, health, family or other?
Is it okay that the actual people protesting don't necessarily reflect the values and visions of the people supporting the protest but unable to participate due to work, health, family or other?
13.10.11
africa, from a white girl
continent of spice, and tigers and mystery
what do I have to do with you?
My white ancestors smell of coal, turnips, seasalty fish, we
Are rumrunners, perhaps mountain folk,
Back far enough.
What have I to do with your sun and dark,
Your riches and rape, your depth and warmth and
Resilience?
I honour you, africa.
How did a continent writ over crossways with famine become
Nell-Carter Mother Africa--Mother Jones, Oprah, Maya
All voluptuous round chocolate warm curves and strength and love and
Carrying on, carrying the weight, carrying.
Is this a stereotype television has fed me?
Well, duh.
You are rich riot orange-green-yellow-indigo-brown kente cloth,
Swathes, swaddled on waddling hips, with flashing smiles and turbaned hair,
A statement I cannot make, I, who wear blackbecauseitisslimming, as my people do.My people: those I see every day, most of them with that peculiar peachy pink hue we
call 'flesh', we caucasian-centric colour namers.
You are every shade of coffee and chocolate, and
I am milk.
i have never travelled your roads myself, but have
clutched the aura of strangeness that Mary Jane and Magan were
wrapped in on their return, sniffing it like a
strange perfume, like an infusion that restored breath.
They are richer for knowing you, while I am the child trying to
timidly touch Jesus' hem from the edge of the crowd.
Africa, it is your women who draw me, your ragged old-too-young rape
of warfare survivors, your grandmothers raising villages where a morality-fused
disease has decimated your children, and you,
You carry on. Carrying the weight, carrying.
I have studied your seedsavers, your co-operative
founders, your micro-credit mother groups. I
know that the challenges that could slay me are
breakfast in your world. I am soft. You
are strong.
The pretender child disavows his own mother from
Shame, and gets nearer to the mother he wants, to try
To become someone he's not.
I know who I am. I know my heritage, my worth, its worth.
But still, I wish
You were the aunt who visited every holiday and let me see you
Hair down, relaxed. I wish I had learned some of your spiced wisdom,
To complement mine.
Africa, I know my own community may lack
savannahs, lions, tigers, zebras, deserts and
there is no Sphinx, but
It too is full of your children.
Please help me, continent of ancient knowledge,
continent of origin,
Help me understand how to overcome my
ignorance, my lack of connection, my
inability to know how to what to when to say...
Help me embrace my honesty and meet you on my
doorstep,
Help me understand when I am ready
when I am worthy
what I can do.
What can I do.
Carry on. Carry the weight. Carry
you in my heart.
what do I have to do with you?
My white ancestors smell of coal, turnips, seasalty fish, we
Are rumrunners, perhaps mountain folk,
Back far enough.
What have I to do with your sun and dark,
Your riches and rape, your depth and warmth and
Resilience?
I honour you, africa.
How did a continent writ over crossways with famine become
Nell-Carter Mother Africa--Mother Jones, Oprah, Maya
All voluptuous round chocolate warm curves and strength and love and
Carrying on, carrying the weight, carrying.
Is this a stereotype television has fed me?
Well, duh.
You are rich riot orange-green-yellow-indigo-brown kente cloth,
Swathes, swaddled on waddling hips, with flashing smiles and turbaned hair,
A statement I cannot make, I, who wear blackbecauseitisslimming, as my people do.My people: those I see every day, most of them with that peculiar peachy pink hue we
call 'flesh', we caucasian-centric colour namers.
You are every shade of coffee and chocolate, and
I am milk.
i have never travelled your roads myself, but have
clutched the aura of strangeness that Mary Jane and Magan were
wrapped in on their return, sniffing it like a
strange perfume, like an infusion that restored breath.
They are richer for knowing you, while I am the child trying to
timidly touch Jesus' hem from the edge of the crowd.
Africa, it is your women who draw me, your ragged old-too-young rape
of warfare survivors, your grandmothers raising villages where a morality-fused
disease has decimated your children, and you,
You carry on. Carrying the weight, carrying.
I have studied your seedsavers, your co-operative
founders, your micro-credit mother groups. I
know that the challenges that could slay me are
breakfast in your world. I am soft. You
are strong.
The pretender child disavows his own mother from
Shame, and gets nearer to the mother he wants, to try
To become someone he's not.
I know who I am. I know my heritage, my worth, its worth.
But still, I wish
You were the aunt who visited every holiday and let me see you
Hair down, relaxed. I wish I had learned some of your spiced wisdom,
To complement mine.
Africa, I know my own community may lack
savannahs, lions, tigers, zebras, deserts and
there is no Sphinx, but
It too is full of your children.
Please help me, continent of ancient knowledge,
continent of origin,
Help me understand how to overcome my
ignorance, my lack of connection, my
inability to know how to what to when to say...
Help me embrace my honesty and meet you on my
doorstep,
Help me understand when I am ready
when I am worthy
what I can do.
What can I do.
Carry on. Carry the weight. Carry
you in my heart.
11.10.11
"We are not who we are"
This weekend pointed out another case of social media gone bad, and yet turned good.
Confused? So are the New Glasgow police. Apparently, they were blissfully ignorant that some erstwhile "fan" had assumed their identity to host a Facebook page called "New Glasgow Police Service." While it's not clear what the person's intention was -- public service or malfeasance -- the site featured posts of news stories about criminal matters around New Glasgow, along with more personal posts ("do you like our new ford truck").
When Amber Kirwan went missing, the site administrator, whoever they may be, undertook to be part of the solution... they began posting helpful details like "NOW SEARCHING THE EAST RIVER". Finally, they were called out and admitted that they were in no way affiliated with the NG Police Department, in one long unpunctuated run-on sentence.
The site has been taken down now, but it begs a few questions.
My first question was, how gullible are the public? Every post that wasn't simply a link was an uncapitalized, unpunctuated, poorly written run on sentence. A police department, even one in a small town in Nova Scotia, would surely hire a professional communicator to operate what could definitely be a risky venture!
A larger question for our consideration is, what social media presence is out there purporting to be one of us? If we are not monitoring, or even paying attention, how would we know? And even if the administrator of such a site is well-meaning, can they possibly properly represent us without our input?
Some post-Thanksgiving food for thought.
Note: 25 nerd points if you can cite the source for the title of this post.
Confused? So are the New Glasgow police. Apparently, they were blissfully ignorant that some erstwhile "fan" had assumed their identity to host a Facebook page called "New Glasgow Police Service." While it's not clear what the person's intention was -- public service or malfeasance -- the site featured posts of news stories about criminal matters around New Glasgow, along with more personal posts ("do you like our new ford truck").
When Amber Kirwan went missing, the site administrator, whoever they may be, undertook to be part of the solution... they began posting helpful details like "NOW SEARCHING THE EAST RIVER". Finally, they were called out and admitted that they were in no way affiliated with the NG Police Department, in one long unpunctuated run-on sentence.
The site has been taken down now, but it begs a few questions.
My first question was, how gullible are the public? Every post that wasn't simply a link was an uncapitalized, unpunctuated, poorly written run on sentence. A police department, even one in a small town in Nova Scotia, would surely hire a professional communicator to operate what could definitely be a risky venture!
A larger question for our consideration is, what social media presence is out there purporting to be one of us? If we are not monitoring, or even paying attention, how would we know? And even if the administrator of such a site is well-meaning, can they possibly properly represent us without our input?
Some post-Thanksgiving food for thought.
Note: 25 nerd points if you can cite the source for the title of this post.
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