This story has been bothering me for months now and it finally boiled over:

Asshole cheating drug using pastor claims that therapy has cured him of his “urges” to use male prostitutes.

I call utter and absolute bullshit on the whole thing.

You cannot cure who you are.

Blame abuse all you want if it makes you feel better, but don’t belittle so many people’s sexuality just because you can’t accept who you are.

Asshole.

This email has been doing the rounds on the web of late:

Shame on you GREAT BRITAIN..we have children going to bed without eating..elderly going without needed medicines..mentally ill without treatment..troops without proper equipment..yet we donate millions to other countries before helping our own first..99% ppl wont have the guts to copy and repost this.!!!!!! WILL YOU ???

I’ve seen various versions of the same email, some that begin with “Shame on you AMERICA”, etc.

If I’m honest, I don’t get it.

I understand the concept of charity beginning at home, but it seems to me that people comparing poverty in the West, to poverty in third world countries are either off their heads or off their meds. Or both.

The fact is, poverty is relative. A poverty-stricken child in England just cannot be compared to a poverty-stricken child in Sudan.

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to the asshole who,  in the middle of a thunderstorm, swerved towards the sidewalk while accelerating, thus creating the waterfall that blinded me and finished the job of soaking me to the skin:

I hope you get crabs and become allergic to them.

Enjoy your chuckle, asshat.

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In other news… still haven’t gotten my reviewing mojo back, and I have no idea when (if? *gulp*) I’ll get it back.

I just started working again–hourly employee in the food service industry. This translates into never having the same schedule two days in a row, let alone week to week. It also means more physical exertion than any other job I’ve ever held (and for less money than I’ve ever earned too).

On the other hand, in an economy where one in ten persons is unemployed, I’m very grateful I’m one of the nine with a job.

Seven women skied their way from the coast of Antarctica to the geographical South Pole in 38 days. No guide, no strong man (or dogs) to carry or drag their supplies. Seven women.

Three of the seven where the first person from their country to reach the South Pole,  and two more were the first women from their country. Only the two Brits (one of whom was a last minute replacement for the Ghanaian woman who, sadly, contracted malaria shortly before the date set for the expedition) come from a country where women have accomplished such a feat repeatedly.

From their website:

Marking the 60th aniversary of the Commonwealth, the expedition aims to demonstrate the potential of greater intercultural understanding and exchange, while at the same time highlighting the achievements of women across the world.

So first and foremost: kudos to each and everyone of these women, for braving the gauntlet and succeeding so brilliantly in their mission.

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Now… the rant. (more…)

Do you ever feel the urge to say, to a loved one (or a friend, or well meaning relative, acquaintance, etc.), “I don’t know where you get your information, but it doesn’t apply to my reality”?

I confess I’ve been having to exercise restrain not to do that myself, just now.

Having dealt with the public consistently for some four years, I readily understand how draining, unreasonable and aggressive people can be towards those of you who make your living as customer representatives.

Perhaps it would help everyone involved if you would internalize this trivial fact: by the time a customer seeks you out, he or she is already aggravated by a broken down system. He or she doesn’t have the emotional reserves to be kind, understanding and apologetic about interrupting your day with unreasonable demands to receive whatever services s/he is already paying for–the nerve!–and when you yourself are short, ungracious and rude, it only compounds the problem, unnecessarily prolonging an interaction that is, clearly, as repugnant to you as it is to the customer.

Therefore, perhaps it would behoove you, in a fit of self-interest, to be expedient in resolving whatever disagreement or complaint is coming your way, so that you may hang the phone all the sooner, turn around to your fellow customer service representatives, and make fun of/bitch about the latest imbecile to interrupt your working day with her trivial and stupid problems.

Thank you kindly,

a customer.

An excellent tutorial:

To alter, is to change. To worship, we use an altar.

The palate is what we cleanse with a new taste or flavor. Palette is what painters use to mix their colors.

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Yes, I’m cranky. And your point is…?

For the love of all that’s good and holy: when writing a character of an ethnicity not your own, please please please get someone who is one hundred percent fluent in that language to check and double check your foreign language expressions!

Yes, if you are writing for the US market it’s likely that a good chunk of your readership will skip over those and be happy, but for those who actually speak that other language it is grating and annoying and-I’m sure unintentionally but all the same-offensive.

It is not that hard to find someone who actually speaks other languages like a native (or who is indeed a native). It is not.

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I am serious, this is not a review. This rant originated while I was reading Maggie Shayne’s “Animal Magnetism” (originally in the Wild Thing anthology)

Bare bones set up: there’s a serial rapist about and no clues. The bastard wears a mask of some sort, beats his victims to within an inch of their lives, then rapes them and leaves. During one such attack, he shoots the victim’s dog. When the cops arrive, one of them takes the wounded Lab to the nearest vet… who happens to have a psychic ability that allows her to communicate with animals. Events unfold from there.

So far, so good, right? But then I got blindsided.
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After nine years and tons of bitterness and accusations flying every which way, the final report on Catholic schools for children in Ireland has been published. Apparently it details decades of abuse of thousands of children by the very people who should have cared for them, protected them, eased their (already heavy) burdens.

What is truly sad is that I am not surprised, not the teensiest bit surprised.

I’m sure a number of people are going to get up in arms over this post, so let me explain a couple of things:

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