Funny Post Friday: Ostrich vs. Little Girl on a Pony

2012-03-02T15:39:00.000-05:00

Since I know that you're all probably exhausted at the end of this week, and just want to hurt something to externalize the rage and emptiness in your working heart, I thought I'd post this darkly funny video of all hell breaking loose on some strange European farm. It's just hilarious how it progresses, and what the camera allows you to see/not see.

I'll shut up, just watch.

Preferably while intoxicated.

Teach Yourself Tuesday: Why We Have Leap Years

2012-02-28T22:22:00.000-05:00

Ever wonder why we have leap years, or why there will never be a flawlessly functional calendar? Take a peek below: worth a look, in, erm, "celebration" of tomorrow.

Awkward Tales of Childhood

2012-02-27T13:17:00.000-05:00

While brainstorming material for this blog, a few friends of mine suggested that I share some stories from my childhood. It’s not that I necessarily had that exciting of a childhood – it was a pretty by-the-numbers middle-class American standard – but for some reason, my identity as a child was that of a bipolar crybaby badass.

Yes, yes, all kids are swirling masses of pure chaos, but I had a deep-seated disturbance in my soul beyond my years (this does not imply I had any sense of wisdom or general understanding of the world, however). My parents always seemed to be looking for some sort of biological explanation – across my childhood I was hypothesized as deaf, mentally challenged, physically impaired, and of having a speech impediment.

And on more than one occasion, my mom found elementary school me sobbing my eyes out in my unlit room because there was “so much suffering in the world.” I’d be like borderline suicidal, Trent Reznor-ing myself into numbness, but it’d always be over the most mundane shit.

On the flip side, I also feel like I was an arbiter for the suffering of all the other kids around me. For some reason, I had a strangely powerful influence on about nine or ten kids around me. I can distinctly remember one recess where I simply stated that I was not in the mood to walk that day, so one of my friends crawled on all fours and I rode him across the playground for the remainder of the afternoon. Max Pulante, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry. For what it’s worth, you have very strong shoulders.

So over the next few weeks I’m going to be uploading brief recollections of my bizarre and somewhat disturbing earlier days. I hope you guys can understand and relate to them, and, if you do, please consult your nearest developmental psychologist as soon as possible.

The Most Depressing Valentine’s Day Post You’ll Read This Year: A Slain Hero and the Disposable Male

2012-02-20T02:46:00.004-05:00

A couple days ago on Valentine’s day, my Facebook feed was a rushing torrent of copy-and-pasted memes, pretty much comprised of high school girls saying how lucky there were to be in true love with their current boyfriend (and said boyfriends reluctantly posting something similar to jeers of their friends), or posts from people who had the misfortune of being (gasp!) single this Valentine’s Day, who decided to rant about the superficiality and marketability of the holiday that they were gushing over the year before.

But not all posts fell into these camps: I had an indulgent little rant about my car breaking down, and how it was proof that we lived in a godless universe, and a Facebook friend of mine wrote a charming piece about their cats’ interactions, and how across the day it played at a microcosm of a romantic relationship, ultimately culminating in them batting food at each other and sleeping in different parts of the house. And, as to be expected, there were plenty of brainyquotes and retro pictures with text overlays to go around. One of them, however, stood out in its regretful and poignant nature. A couple of girls began sharing this image of a Northern Illinois University newspaper article:

Take the time to read it.

If you absolutely can’t spare a minute (and good god - why the hell are you reading my blog then?!), it gives details on one of the victims of the 2008 Northern Illinois University shooting, Daniel Parmenter. Daniel was shot by Steven Kazmierczak four years ago on Valentine’s Day. He was not even a student of the class he attended that day, but instead was sitting in on a course his girlfriend was taking, because he wanted to spend Valentine’s Day with her. When Kazmierczak began shooting, Daniel immediately fell to the ground to cover his girlfriend. She survived, and he did not.

This is a painful thing to read, but at the same time, what Daniel did was heroic, beautiful, and awe-inspiring. The love that he and his girlfriend must have shared and the courage that he must have had to do this, made this act, of one human being sacrificing themselves for another, so remarkable.

I was glad people were posting this article and calling attention to Daniel Parmenter’s sacrifice – that was, until I saw the description that was attached to the image:

“What makes a good boyfriend? What makes a man? This guy knew what it took to be both, and he paid the price. God rest his soul, in my eyes he is a hero.”

I don’t even know where to fucking start with this.

First off, the fact that it has a snazzy little copy-and-paste tagline to go with the romantic theme of the holiday makes it pretty transparent that this is a not really a memorandum for Daniel Parmenter’s death, but instead warps it into a holiday cliche, as catchy and easy to digest as a Blue Mountain e-card .

Saying that this, his sacrifice alone, made him a "good boyfriend" sets a standard incredibly high and low at the same time. On one hand, he could've done anything else during their relationship: abused the hell out of her Chris Brown-style or verbally assaulted her every day, but if he fell on her during the shooting, he was suddenly a "good boyfriend."

And on the flip side of the coin, it also implies that if a man does treat his lover as best he could, being sensitive to her/his feelings, reassuring them, encouraging them, and taking risks for them all for the sake of their love - if he doesn't have the chance to prove that he would sacrifice his own life for them, well pfffffftt - I mean, I guess he'd be an okay boyfriend.

But that's really just an issues of semantics. It's the second sentence that bothers me. That doing this made him a "man." That Daniel's death indeed proved that he was member of his own gender.

This is a textbook example of sexism - and not overtly offensive sexism, but sexism in a way that implies a lot of damaging prejudices (similar to racist views that could be misconstrued as positive, like implying that all Asians are good at math). This particular example of sexism is known as the "Disposable Male." Essentially, in pretty much all of modern Western civilization, there has been a mantra of "women and children first." This isn't only a rule in emergency situations like fires and sinking cruiseships, but also applies to things like, say, properly feeding oneself in a low-income situation or making day-to-day sacrifices for the good of ones family. It's not only implied that men will always be the one to make these sacrifices, but also that they wouldn't dream of complaining about it. Because that's not, well, manly.

(Also, if you can, watch a brilliant video rundown of this concept and its resonance in modern society by "Girl Writes What" - and try to ignore the urge to slam all her drawers in the background shut).

The scariest thing about this concept of the "Disposable Male" is that it not only holds back men, expecting them to always get the short stick and shafted, but also holds back women in a role of passive opalescence and expectation. The more that men play the protectors and women play the protectees, the more we begin to fill old gender roles where the men are faceless security guards protecting the objectified female merchandise. I could talk all day about this inequality towards the perception of worth and value members of each genders have, but I think I'll rambling on far too long, and far too bitterly - but what's important to remember is that it's definitely both parties fault for rejuvenating these views; women for wanting safety and security, and men looking for affirmation and a sordid sense of glory.

And before you say, "David, how could you see him as disposable, this article was pasted all over the internet!" - well, it may have been, but let's take a look at the most common hashtags used on this image on Tumblr during my search.

*Ahem*

And of course my favorite...

Out of the 30 or so posts I saw, Daniel Parmenter's name was not once a trending hashtag, but instead his girlfriend's name was, his killer's was, and of course, "Valentine's Day" and "Boyfriend" were the most popular. The most significant nod he personally received through a themed trend was two bros that called tagged him as an "awesome guy."

Daniel Parmenter gave up his life at age 21 to save his girlfriend. I guess he was a pretty "awesome guy."

I was called awesome last week, too, for doing a 40 second kegstand. It's good to know we're on par.

But what really made me furious about all of this was the Facebook posts that elaborated on the attached image description (which I won't post here for privacy's sake). Girls praising that "Finally! Proof that men exist anymore!" were seen, and one going as far to say "I wish he was my boyfriend."

That made my spine crawl - she wished that her boyfriend died for her.

Maybe I'm being a little presumptuous here, but... I'm gonna go ahead and guess she might be a little high maintenance.

But seriously, that's a foul thought: that the affirmation that a man is worth something comes through his death, and perhaps in a strange extension of logic, the affirmation that a woman is worth something is by being died for. Seeing this bizarre and dark parading of his passing made a few of my Facebook friends look little less than psychotic, and a little something like this:

I apologize for how offensive that image may come off as, and how belittling of his death it may appear, but that's exactly what these wistful reposts of this article are doing: belittling his death. By saying that he did it because he was being a "man" makes it seem less like a rational sacrifice from the agency of Daniel Parmenter, and more like a responsibility - or even an obligation - of his, due to his ownership of a Y chromosome.

I think what needs to be focused on is that one human being loved another enough to do this.

It wasn't a man doing it for a woman, or a NIU student doing it for another, or one American doing it for another American - it was only Daniel Parmenter making a sacrifice only for Lauren Debrauwere because of his love for her. I don't think he was thinking about his duty as a man while enveloping her in his body, and I don't think he was hoping to become a meme alongside ragefaces and advice animals while bullets riddled his back and he bled out in his lover's hands. I think Daniel only thought how much he loved Lauren.

Let's respect and remember that.

And look... next Valentine's Day, just don't try to focus on your responsibilities of your gender roles to prove that you really are a man or really are a woman - just try to focus on the things that holiday is really about: the greeting card and dark chocolate industries.

R.I.P. Daniel Parmenter. February 14, 2008.

Good evening,

2012-02-19T18:45:00.009-05:00

... I'm David, and I don't know when to shut up. Really. So I started this blog, as an extension of my mouth and my hands, to start a discussion and reminisce with you all. Pleasure to meet you - I'm rather looking forward to the conversation.

I'll also go ahead and apologize for how god-awful my drawings are.

Rambling Bastard

Funny Post Friday: Ostrich vs. Little Girl on a Pony

Teach Yourself Tuesday: Why We Have Leap Years

Awkward Tales of Childhood

The Most Depressing Valentine’s Day Post You’ll Read This Year: A Slain Hero and the Disposable Male

Good evening,