The most important epidemic

"Cholera and typhoid," [South African Sanitation Minister Ronnie Kasrils] tells me, "kill so many million kids a year, which amounts to two jumbo jets full of children crashing every four hours."

As long as this is going on in the world, we need to stop spending even a single public cent worrying about fat people, and work on making these kids safe.

I'm also thinking that, if these were white kids, it wouldn't be happening.

A quote regarding the glorification of pain

I have no patience these days with the Nietzschean cliché, “That which does not kill us makes us stronger.” I’ve found that the deepest pain holds no meaning. It is not purifying. It is not ennobling. It does not make you a better human being. It just is.

All the worst pain does is reduce us to our most primal animal. We want it to stop. We want to survive. It short-circuits any sense of self, diminishes us to a bundle of biological reflexes.
- Dana Jennings, Source

Revisiting the "Lucky Ducky" mindset

"Lucky Duckies" may seem like old news, since the term came about in 2002, but I think it's vital that we revisit it at this very moment, because we need to be reminded exactly what we are up against. We need to always keep in mind that the neocon point of view is horrifically sociopathic, and that we are dealing with people who are so mentally ill that they believe people who live below the poverty line are fortunate to be doing so. This may seem ludicrous to you, but it is not a joke, and it is terribly, disturbingly unfunny--made even more so by the fact that this point of view actually instigated policy changes.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lucky_duckies - Lucky duckies is a term that was used in Wall Street Journal editorials starting on 20 November 2002 to refer to Americans who pay no federal income tax because they are at an income level that is below the tax line (after deductions and credits). The term has outlived its original use to become a part of the informal terminology used in the tax reform debate in the United States.

Here are some excerpts from articles about the "Lucky Duckies" discussion that came about when the term was coined:

http://www.gregsopinion.com/archives/002640.html

Carping critics of the conservative movement have been known to say that its economic program consists of little more than tax cuts, tax cuts and more tax cuts. I may even have said that myself. If so, I apologize. Emboldened by the midterm election, key conservative ideologues have now declared their support for tax increases ? but only for people with low incomes.

The public debut of this idea came, as such things often do, on the editorial page of The Wall Street Journal. The page's editors, it seems, are upset that some low-income people pay little or nothing in income taxes. Not, mind you, because of the lost revenue, but because these "lucky duckies" ? The Journal's term, not mine ? might not be feeling a proper hatred for the government.
The Journal considers a hypothetical ducky who earns only $12,000 a year ? some guys have all the luck! ? and therefore, according to the editorial, "pays a little less than 4% of income in taxes." Not surprisingly, that statement is a deliberate misrepresentation; the calculation refers only to income taxes. If you include payroll and sales taxes, a worker earning $12,000 probably pays well over 20 percent of income in taxes. But who's counting?

http://archive.salon.com/news/feature/2002/12/21/duckies/print.html

Chait and countless others pointed out that the Journal's argument was both factually wrong -- it considered only the federal income tax, not all the taxes that poor and middle-class people pay, in particular hefty payroll taxes like Social Security -- and culturally out of touch. Had the editors ever met a person of little means? Did they realize that being poor, while perhaps an attractive tax shelter, tended to come with such hard-to-bear downsides as not knowing where your next meal will come from?

http://writ.news.findlaw.com/commentary/20070423_buchanan.html
Buchanan makes a GREAT point here:

Unfortunately, because tax issues are all about numbers, it is far too easy to introduce confusion into the debate. And conversely, it takes a bit of effort to unsnarl the arguments. But when the facts are laid bare, the brazenness of this new attack on fundamental American notions of fairness is simply stunning.

Indeed, the proponents of "Lucky Duckies" will hurl numbers right and left, but can we honestly say that we need to "unsnarl" those numbers to understand that it sucks to be poor? That having food security and shelter is better than not knowing if you'll have enough to eat today, or whether you'll be evicted from your home at the end of the month? That Joe being able to keep his modest roof over his head is more important than George buying a fifth Mercedes? And, probably even more importantly, that George's fifth Mercedes was paid for by laying Joe (and fifty of Joe's coworkers) off?

Buchanan continues:

The zero bracket is simply a matter of humanity. If someone is working but unable to earn above a basic minimum, then they should not pay income taxes.

EXACTLY. Humanity--the keyword here, and what the neocons seem to be sorely lacking.

He continues, with some more common sense:

in reality, are we anywhere close to such a situation? In 2005, total income reported to the IRS rose by nine percent, but all of the gains went to the richest 10% of the population. Incomes for the remaining 90% actually declined. Every day brings news of ever-greater income inequality, with measured inequality reaching levels not seen since the Roaring Twenties and the Gilded Age.

If we have a redistributive system, therefore, it is not having any noticeable effect on the party in the penthouse. Any concern that our political system is somehow excessively responsive to the poor, and deaf to the cries of the rich is, moreover, hard to take seriously.

Finally, this Ruben Bolling cartoon is an eloquent illustration of the neocon point of view regarding how "lucky" people living in poverty are. I just wish there were some way for Bolling to illustrate how long Ducky had to stand in line at government offices and agencies to receive the meager benefits he got.

Some thoughts on bullying

Edited to add:
It's interesting to note that the bullies who inspired this post have actually come here and left hateful comments filled with abusive language. Of course, they are outraged that I just reject their comments--how dare I "censor" them! They are even more outraged that the incidents that led to this blog entry culminated with their actions being reversed by those in charge; what was stolen from me and the other person involved was restored to us. If you steal something from someone, and then the authorities take it away from you and give it back to the original owner? You're not being oppressed.

Someone in a livejournal community I'm in noted that bullies almost always have a persecution complex. When their victims protest, or fight back, the bully reacts with extreme outrage that would be out of proportion even if they'd just been attacked without provocation.

I've come to believe that at least some of them are bullying because they *want* someone to fight back and put them in their place. Perhaps they had absentee or ineffective parents that gave them no structure, or an unstable structure, and they are seeking someone, anyone, that will teach them some boundaries. They constantly test boundaries until they find someone fearless or fed up enough to draw a line and push them away and back over it.

I'm wondering if some of the severe acting out and bullying I see online, including those who engage in a great deal of trolling, are the result of the "self esteem" style of parenting, when many parents failed to teach boundaries and respect to kids because they were fearful of stifling their children's happiness. (Please note that I don't think you should beat your kids, or break their spirit--but kids need reasonable rules and structure.)

Boundaries are very important to self-esteem. They give you a map of where you end and others begin, and vice versa. Without knowing this, it is difficult for a person to have a sense of self without constantly seeking that line by testing boundaries. Unfortunately, the testing usually consists of striking out at other people and seeing what you hit. The seeker then starts to create an identity based almost entirely on the reactions of other people to them; their identity cannot stand alone, but instead is reminiscent of sonar--they send out signals, and get a picture of who they are based on what comes back to them. A healthier person is more able to be comfortable with who they are without needing constant feedback from other people.

A decent person who needs feedback (I will not comment on whether or not this makes them healthy or not, because it's of course variable from case to case) seeks positive feedback from others by doing nice things and helping people. If I cook you a nice meal, and you thank me for it and tell me how good it was, we both feel good and derive benefit. A bully will insult or hurt someone, and derive benefit from their negative response. It's easy to see which way is better--and not just better for the recipient, but for the giver. The question is, what makes a person choose bullying over kindness in their attention seeking behavior? And then, what can be done to get them to choose the latter when they have spent so long doing the former?

Stretch's story

Friday night, I got a phone call from K, who lives a block away. She LOVES cats, but is almost dangerously allergic to them. She has done a lot of TNR (trap/neuter/release) for the neighborhood ferals, and she has feeding stations in her back yard that allow her to monitor them and see who is coming and going. If a cat is missing around here, she's the first person to call. She knows the long time residents, both owned and stray.

She had a new one coming to her house, but he refused food. We're still not sure why he was there, since he wouldn't eat, but she found that he was willing to drink cream or milk, so she gave him a dish of that morning and evening. She was able to coax him into letting her pet him, but she wasn't sure how he'd react to being picked up. When she did reach down to pet him, he would stretch his neck up to rub against her hand, so she called him Stretch.

Friday morning, Stretch had a seizure on K's back porch.

She called another local rescuer to ask her opinion, and it was determined that the cat at the very least needed to be captured and examined. It was suggested that he be euthanized immediately, but K would have been a long time in forgiving herself if she had done that without at least knowing for sure that there were no other options; she would have been wondering and agonizing, worrying that she made the wrong choice. She needed to know for sure.

The biggest obstacle to start with was that she needed to get him into a crate, but she didn't know how badly he'd react, and she can't get scratched or bitten without it requiring a doctor appointment afterward. So she called me to see if Brian was "brave enough" to snag the cat and stuff him in the crate. I told her that I'm actually very good at doing that without getting bitten or scratched, so I went over on Saturday morning to do that. I had K meet me at the front door to hand me his dish of cream, and I crept around back to meet him and give it to him. He was happy to slurp it up--he was very hungry. Stretch allowed me to gently pet him, and when he was done with his treat, I quickly but calmly scruffed him firmly and got him into the carrier. He was pissed, but not nasty.

I went back home, and K made some phone calls to see if she could get him a vet appointment. I told her that if she was able to do that, I could house him overnight so he wouldn't have to stay out in the cold (it was chilly this weekend!), and to spare her allergies. She was able to get the appointment, and brought him over a little later.

He stayed on our front porch, which is enclosed; this is where we keep potentially questionable fosters in quarantine (no other fosters are kept there--tested/healthy ones go into our foster room). I let him out of the carrier, and he walked around, looking out windows and examining his surroundings. He seemed to find them acceptable. I also brought him some milk, since he was unwilling to touch real food.

Throughout the day, I went to pet him and talk to him while he was on the back of the love seat, and he didn't mind. I was able to gently lift his upper lip to look at his teeth, and they were really bad. From the tartar buildup and gum pigmentation, my amateur estimate was that he was at least 9 years old. I didn't open his mouth to see if he had sores, because I wanted to be gentle with him. I just let him have some milk to get something into his tummy, and let him enjoy his stay at Casa Rio. He did get a gentle brushing, because he had some stuff stuck to his fur on top, probably gunk from the bottoms of cars. I think he liked getting brushed, and liked the feeling of being cleaner afterwards.

On Sunday morning, I scooped him up, put him into a pet carrier, and said goodbye. I was pretty sure that the vet's assessment would not be a happy surprise, so I was prepared to not see him again. K picked him up and took him to the clinic (she has to put a sheet over the cage and drive with the windows open because of her allergies), and then we both had to wait. It was the spay/neuter clinic at the shelter; Dr. J is absolutely amazing at diagnosing and surgery, so the shelter got super lucky that they were able to hire her. She had 24 cats to spay or neuter that day, so it was about 3:30 before she was able to talk to K about Stretch's condition.

The diagnosis was end-stage FIV, with concurrent infections that included sores inside his mouth. His teeth were in terrible shape; if he were to have any quality of life, he would need twelve of them pulled out at the very least. She felt that the recovery from his infections and dental care would not be easy or even guaranteed, and that he would probably suffer quite a bit before (and if) he was well enough to have a good life. B, the Robin's Nest volunteer who works the spay/neuter clinic, said she would adopt him and pay his vet bills herself if it would give him a good life, but Dr. J was very compassionate and clear on the fact that it probably would not.

Stretch was euthanized at 4pm on May 17.

I don't know how he knew to go to K's house for help, but he did. He didn't go for the food, because he couldn't eat it. But he seemed relieved to be in the care of humans who could do right by him. He was beautiful and sweet, and I wish his life had been better, but it wasn't.

Stretch's life and death could have been made much kinder if whoever owned him in the past had done one simple thing: Had him NEUTERED. A neutered male cat, even if he is outdoors, is far less likely to contract FIV because they aren't engaging in tomcat fights; FIV, like HIV, is relatively fragile, and requires special circumstances to transmit, usually blood contact. Your cat won't get FIV from hugging, sitting on a couch with, using the same doorknob as, or sharing a toilet seat with a cat with FIV. Your cat CAN get FIV through sharing needles, having unprotected sex, and fighting with FIV-infected cats. While the needle sharing is wholly dependent upon humans being careful to use fresh syringes for each injection on a cat (cats don't become heroin addicts on their own or vaccinate themselves, you know), the latter two are pretty easily curtailed by removing the organs responsible for driving those behaviors: The testicles. One very minor operation, and Stretch would have preferred long walks on the beach to Feline Fight Club or wild cat orgies. He also might have been kept indoors, since neutered males smell less pungent, and don't tend to hose down the walls with pheromones.

Please...neuter your cats. Neuter other cats, too. Neuter your neighborhood strays, and offer to get your mom's cat, your friend's cat, and your worst enemy's cat neutered. The cats won't miss those two bits of tissue, and they will live longer, healthier lives. If you run up against some weirdo who projects his own testicular hangups onto his cat's furry little privates, show him Stretch's pictures, and tell him that Stretch would rather have been healthy and neutered than have a mouth full of rotten teeth and sores, starving to death, and who knows what else pains and miseries that he could not give voice to (and we could not begin to guess). To believe otherwise would be nuts.

Here are photos of our dear one, who was with us for but one day...Stretch was a polydactyl cat, meaning he had extra toes, one on each foot, just like our Ptera. Ptera and Stretch both had the same foot structure; one extra on each front paw, making them look like they had "thumbs", and one extra on each rear foot, halfway up the foot so it looked like a dewclaw.

The Invisible Crutch

The Invisible Knapsack of White Privilege, conceived by Peggy McIntosh, discusses the many things a white person takes for granted, in list form. As a white person, many of these things were uncomfortable to read, but I also saw reflected in them the things that men, wealthy people, and non-disabled people take for granted.

I've decided to build an invisible crutch from things that constitute abled privilege, without repeating too much of what is in McIntosh's list (so read her list, and substitute "disability" for "color" for many of those things).

1. I can, if I wish, arrange to attend social events without worrying if they are accessible to me.

2. If I am in the company of people that make me uncomfortable, I can easily choose to move elsewhere.

3. I can easily find housing that is accessible to me, with no barriers to my mobility.

4. I can go shopping alone most of the time and be able to reach and obtain all of the items without assistance, know that cashiers will notice I am there, and can easily see and use the credit card machines.

5. I can turn on the television and see people of my ability level widely and accurately represented.

6. I can be pretty sure of my voice being heard in a group where I am the only person of my ability level represented--and they will make eye contact with me.

7. I can advocate for my children in their schools without my ability level being blamed for my children's performance or behavior.

8. I can do well in a challenging situation without being told what an inspiration I am.

9. If I ask to speak to someone "in charge", I can be relatively assured that the person will make eye contact with me and not treat me like I am stupid.

10. I can belong to an organization and not feel that others resent my membership because of my ability level.

11. I do not have to fear being preyed upon because of my ability level.

12. I can be reasonably assured that I won't be late for meetings due to mobility barriers.

13. I can use most cosmetics and personal care products without worrying that they will cause a painful or dangerous reaction.

14. I can usually go about in public without other people's personal care products causing me painful or dangerous reactions.

15. My neighborhood allows me to move about on sidewalks, into stores, and into friends' homes without difficulty.

16. People do not tell me that my ability level means I should not have children.

17. I can be reasonably sure that I will be able to make it to a regular job every day.

18. I know that my income can increase based on my performance, and I can seek new and better employment if I choose; I do not have to face a court battle to get an increase in my income.

19. My daily routine does not have to be carefully planned to accommodate medication or therapy schedules.

20. I can share my life with an animal companion without my ability to care for them being called into question due to my financial and ability situations.

21. If I am not feeling well, and decide to stay in bed, I will likely be believed and not told that I am lazy and worthless.

I am sure there are more that I haven't thought of. Do keep in mind that I've tried NOT to copy Ms. McIntosh's work, because there's no need--most of what she says definitely applies to this list as well.

A short one

Ill people are not obligated to be brave, cheerful, or optimistic for the sake of preserving the feelings of well people.

Bootstrap B.S.

For all those who exhort the disadvantaged to "pull themselves up by their bootstraps", I ask that you take your damn bootstraps and shove them up your nose.

If you examine the origins of the phrase, they are rooted in variants of a tall tale (generally the Baron von Munchausen stories) where the protagonist finds himself in over his head, either in quicksand or a body of water, and he saves himself by bending down, taking hold of his bootstraps, and lifting himself up and out of his predicament. In other words, because this is a tall tale, he is doing something that is physically impossible--just like the actions of one Australian folk hero who cuts up mine shafts and sells them as post holes.

Telling someone who is in a disadvantaged state to "pull themselves up by their bootstraps" is demeaning and dismissive. It assumes resources not in evidence, and places blame upon the person for their status. I see these assumptions made all the time, and it annoys the hell out of me. Let me share one small anecdote that illustrates why I feel this way:

Client T is a disabled woman in her fifties. Her monthly benefits are so low that she can only afford to live in an area that has high levels of crime. Because she is disabled, small-bodied, and female, she has been the target of robbery at least twice--and was beaten up both times, once very badly. When applying for a program that would help her pay for something she needed, she was asked to submit a photocopy of some paperwork.

It may be difficult to imagine that a photocopy would be a sticking point, but think about this:
- She is disabled, and cannot walk to the nearest place that has a photocopier--even if there were a place close by, which there isn't.

- She does not have a car, as they are expensive, and she is legally blind regardless.

- Take the bus?

- Okay, so how does she know the bus schedule?

- I've heard people say, "Oh she can go online". No, she can't. She's destitute. She doesn't have a computer nor could she afford internet even if she did.

- She can get them at the library, of course, but how does she get to the library? The bus? And thus we have a repeating loop. Yes, she can call the bus office and ask them; my personal experience with doing that was pretty frustrating, though. And she still has to come up with the money for the bus.

- Cabs are RIGHT out. She takes a cab, she doesn't eat that week.

- And, leaving the house can be problematic for her, because she is fearful of and at risk for being robbed and beaten again.

One solution, of course, is for the agency requiring the photocopy to acknowledge that it isn't a completely simple matter for everyone, and to help her in getting that photocopy, either by sending over a social worker with a portable copier (as my friend Nancy does when she helps people do their HEAP applications), or by simply requesting a fax or digital copy from the paperwork's originating agency.

Sometimes, folks, we need to lend a hand to people instead of kicking sand in their faces when they are down. We need to acknowledge that taking care of disadvantaged people is not a waste of resources; it is what makes us human. Survival of the fittest is NOT a human trait; it is beastly and cowardly. It is when we care for one another that we advance and evolve.

It's about being civil

Even IF it is true that fat is unhealthy... (and it isn't)

Even IF lifestyle is the sole cause of being fat... (and it isn't)

Those are STILL not acceptable reasons for the things people say about and do to fat people.

Christopher Reeves' horse riding lifestyle choices resulted in him becoming a quadriplegic, yet it would have been socially unacceptable to scream insults at him about horses or paralysis. That's because it's asinine to do so. Well, it's also asinine to be nasty to fat people, regardless of their health or lifestyle.

How are you? Don't ask!

My aunt, who is only two years older than I am, has been undergoing chemotherapy and radiation treatments for an inoperable brain tumor. The treatments are not going to be life-saving; they will, however, lengthen her remaining time and stave off the loss of function for a while. Of course, the treatment has the expected side effects of feeling really sick, hair loss, etcetera.

When the family was informed of her diagnosis, I made the decision to start writing her letters--real, handwritten letters, sent through the mail, which to me are so much more personal and dear than email. I wanted to make sure I said all the things that I wanted to say, but, more importantly, I wanted to give her something to enjoy and look forward to. She knows that I know she's ill, and that she's suffering, and all that, so I ignored those topics altogether, instead focusing in my first few letters on the things I admired about her.

After I had gotten the "have to say this" stuff out of my system, I then focused my writings on good things that were happening here in my world. We both love animals, so I wrote about my foster cats, my own cats, my reptiles, and some of the volunteer work I was doing. I wrote about my garden as spring arrived. I told silly stories about my husband and roommate. I shared experiences with favorite restaurants and recipes, talked about art museum visits, and whatever else was going on that was positive. I made sure to tell her that I was perfectly okay with her not responding, that I figured she would want to spend the bulk of her energy on enjoying her family.

At some point, my mother had a chance to talk to her at a family gathering, and she told my mother that she was really enjoying my letters, especially because they focused on the positive things. So I kept writing, and at some point, I called her to answer a question she'd had about a bird. She commented on how irritating it was that people kept asking her how she was feeling. I told her I absolutely understood--that even though my condition is not as serious as hers, it still makes me feel like crap all the time, and so I never know whether to answer the question, "How are you feeling?" with honesty or not. I'd rather not talk about how I'm feeling, because it's always bad, and if you are always answering honestly in that way, people start to get annoyed with me for never feeling good.

So what should you say to a person who is ill, in lieu of "How are you feeling"? Train yourself to ask a different question. Ask if they've seen any good movies lately, read any good books, that kind of thing. Whatever common ground you've had with them before? Now's the time to draw upon it and talk about those topics. And, if the person is actually wanting to discuss their illness, let them guide you to that topic. I know that I sometimes do want to talk about mine, if only to share experiences that might be helpful to others, or when I need a little support, but a most of the time, if I have the energy for socializing, I'd just rather focus on other things, and I'm grateful to folks who allow me to do that.

My Fatifesto

I strive toward a world in which:

- People are treated respectfully, regardless of their body shape or size,

- Medical personnel treat a person's actual medical problems and behave as professionals who set aside personal aesthetics when treating and diagnosing a patient,

- The answer to every problem does not involve weight loss,

- A person's body size or shape does not reflect their morality,

- Fat people are not scapegoated for all the world's ills,

- Fat is not an epithet,

- My body's shape or size is regarded as my business and no one else's,

- The life-giving act of eating is not regarded as shameful, weak, or dangerous,

- A fat person can be in public without fearing they will be abused in some way,

- The abuse--physical, verbal, emotional, psychological, or other--of fat people is regarded as morally wrong, with no exceptions or excuses,

- It is acknowledged that no one needs to "do something" about their body's shape or size,

- It is acknowledged that most fat people cannot significantly change their body size or shape, even if it were beneficial to do so,

- Fat people are not subjected to hard-sell, dishonest marketing tactics that shame and scare them into purchasing products and services they do not need, and which do not work,

- A food's merits are based on its nourishing qualities and good flavor, not on how few calories it has,

- Fat people are not discriminated against in the job market.

And now, the hard part, part II

We are currently fostering some mothers with nursing kittens. One of the kittens, a tiny orange tabby named Holly, was rejected by the mothers, and by the time she came to us, she was skeletal. Brian and I did what we could, giving her formula with a syringe, which she lapped up eagerly. Within a day, she recognized us as food-bringers, and would run to us when we came in the room. If we didn't feed her right away, and had to leave the room (such as, refilling the water dish in the room), she would sit at the door and give a tiny mew.

Mother cats often reject a kitten because they know something is wrong, even if we can't tell. When Brian and I went in for her 6pm feeding, she was on her side, listless, with agonal breathing. Not long after, she passed, cradled in his hands. She was such a tiny baby, weighing only half a pound, and adorably sweet. Lots of "ifs" go through my mind, including wondering if we'd have been able to do better if she'd come to us sooner, but I don't think so. I am reflecting on her short life, and thinking of the good we did for her, while she was with us.

If we'd never fostered Holly at all...

...she would never have known a moment's peace from the fleas that covered her body in angry, red bites. She instead had nearly a week of flea-free living, enough for her skin to heal, and for the painful bites to cease.

...her last days would have been with an empty belly. Instead, she was fed to satiation by humans to whom she was so grateful, she came running to them whenever they came into the room.

...she wouldn't have been cuddled and stroked in her last days, because her mother didn't want her. Instead, she was held and cuddled by the humans who filled her belly.

...she would likely have died alone. Instead, she passed in the gentle hands of a human man who loved her dearly.

...she would have died nameless. Instead, she was carefully named with great love and consideration, and there are stories to be told of her short life with us.

...there would have been no one to remember her with love, and give her a shady resting place after her body failed her. Instead, she is immortalized in my foster diary, and she has a grave which will have a namesake bush planted in her honor. She is also near another kitty's resting place, so she is not alone (Teya, we miss you).

God hates McDonald's

So, the religious right is boycotting McDonald's because they are supportive of gay rights.

Not only do I have a problem with people who fight tooth and nail for their "right" to treat an entire demographic as subhuman, I also have a problem with hypocrisy. The catalyst for the current whine-fest is McDonald's being listed as a "Corporate Partner" on the webpage of the NGLCC. You can see this list here:
http://www.nglcc.org/corporate/partners

They are targeting McDonald's, yet there are quite a few other partners listed that are not getting so much attention. One major example that stands out in my mind includes a few pharmaceutical companies, including Pfizer, Merck, and Johnson & Johnson. I don't see these bigots going without their Viagra, Zithromax, or Zocor. Or, in the case of Johnson & Johnson, their band-aids, baby shampoo, or Tylenol.

Other companies include airlines (Southwest and American), hotels (Hyatt, Hilton, and Wyndham), credit card companies (American Express, Capital One, and quite a few others), quite a few grocery chains (including Acme, Shop n Save, and Albertson's), realtor Century 21, and that obscure little shipping company, UPS. In fact, it seems that quite a few of the corporate partners are providers of services that most people would be hard pressed to do without.

McDonald's has taken a beating for years over many things, including environmental issues, health concerns, and not disclosing that their fries are not vegetarian. Now that they've done something right, something that promotes justice, I really hope they stand their ground against the bigots. It might even convince me to occasionally patronize them, even if it's just for a pie and iced tea once in a while, and I am going to roll my eyes at the hypocrite fundies who think that boycotting one corporate sponsor of a civil rights group is going to help them in their fight to keep gay people from being treated as human beings.

I watch these people freaking out, as if they are terrified that gay people are going to...what, exactly? Break into their houses and make them engage in gay sex? Wave a rainbow flag in their faces?

No, really, I want to know why people are so terrified. If gay people are allowed to live their lives without being harrassed, discriminated against, or otherwise treated like crap, what are the consequences homophobes are so afraid of? Gays currently are able to do many of those things in certain parts of the US, and it is very clear that they aren't out raping heterosexuals en masse.

Why are they so concerned with something that is none of their business, that doesn't affect them?

Mart Cart, Revisited

There is SO much vitriol directed toward "Mart Carts" (motorized scooters in stores) and their users, especially if those users happen to be fat. I wrote about it here, back in April 2007, but I wanted to revisit the subject, especially now that I have more experience with them, and because I have seen more and more nasty things being said on that topic.

The usual hate-speak is to complain that if the person would "get off their ass and walk", they wouldn't be so fat. That, and referring to the carts as "fat carts", accompanied by outrage at the very existence of those carts. Many of these people seem to think that the carts are an accommodation just for fat people, and complain that fat people are being mollycoddled because stores have them.

First of all, those carts aren't for "fat people", they are for disabled people. And while complainers frequently whine that they "only see fat people" using them, I have to wonder how they got their marvelous psychic skills to determine that those people aren't disabled. Yes, it IS possible for a fat person to be disabled. A fat disabled person can be (and usually is) disabled by conditions that are not caused by their fat--and, in fact, the reduced activity levels caused by the condition may result in weight gain.

Disabled people DO need accommodation, if we are going to allow them some dignity and independence. When they are accommodated, they are able to go out in public and do some things, such as shopping, that they would never be able to do otherwise. This makes those people more visible in the public eye, of course, when they would otherwise be stuck at home doing nothing. Most of our public non-work activities include shopping and dining, so yes, you're going to see a fat disabled person using a cart in a store to do those activities.

Now, the major point I want to make here is that, even though the carts are a benefit to disabled people, and they DO offer a greater level of freedom for disabled people, no one who's used them more than a couple of times would, in their right mind, choose those damn things over walking with a regular shopping cart anyway. They aren't a fun toy; they are a pain in the neck. Those who use them are doing so because, while it is not an ideal way to shop for an abled person, it may be the best available option for a disabled person.

The carts are slow and bulky. When using them, a person's reach is VERY limited--it's hard to get stuff off of top and bottom shelves, it's hard to open freezer cases, and it's hard to put things on the belt at the checkout stand--and god forbid the person should stand up for a second to do ANY of those things, because that's the moment where people will say, "LOOK! She can stand up, she has NO right to use a cart!" The carts are also often dirty and/or smelly, they run out of electricity, and they don't hold very much compared to a regular cart.

Additionally, they can be a challenge to maneuver if the user isn't feeling great. Those are the days when, if the disabled person has a partner to help, a wheelchair can be really helpful. Unfortunately, most store wheelchairs seem to be in disrepair, they're uncomfortable, and they're usually filthy as well.

So if you think that someone is using the cart because they are lazy, I challenge you to give the cart a try yourself. Go through the store without an assistant. Remember that you are NOT permitted to stand up for any reason. You want something off a top shelf? Too bad; you have to ask a store employee for help, or a fellow customer (and hope that neither of those folks sneer at you or makes a snide remark). You aren't allowed to stand up to get something out of a freezer, no matter how damned frustrating it is to have to reach and maneuver the cart so you can open the door, then try to get the door to stay open while you maneuver close enough to get the item you want. If the cart smells, too bad; use it anyway, because it might be the last one left for someone who doesn't have a choice. Give it a try, and then get back to me on how much "fun" it is, how much "easier" it is. We aren't using them because it is easier, we are using them because our bodies don't work right. If you have a problem with that, why don't you get over yourselves and be glad that you have the ability to shop normally, in a store that is clearly designed for able people?

Edited to add: This is not the place for you to post hate-speech, especially personal attacks on people in the FA movement. Also, just because someone can go into a store under their own power does not mean that they can comfortably do all of their shopping that way; the fact is, you don't know ANYTHING about that person's situation, and it's none of your business. If they feel that they are better able to do their business using a mobility aid, then that is entirely their decision. Using a cane, wheelchair, or motorized scooter is not some "fun" thing people do because they are lazy.

The Blue Jay and the Box Turtle

In a forest by a river, a blue jay and a box turtle met and became friends. The blue jay could look around from the treetops and report on any gossip in the area, while the box turtle had a good sense of smell and strong front legs and claws to dig up choice morsels to share with the blue jay.

Because the box turtle sometimes needed to get the blue jay's attention when the jay was high up in a tree, they developed a semaphore system so that they could ask simple, short questions without either of them having to leave their immediate location. The box turtle used this system more frequently, because the blue jay could simply fly down to wherever the turtle was to talk.

Well, one day, the blue jay gets a question flashed at him from the turtle. He wasn't at the treetop; he was on a lower branch, so he begins to berate the turtle. "I hate it when you use the semaphores when I'm not at the top of the tree!"

The turtle was very confused by this. "What did you want me to do, scream from down here? I thought that would be less polite than using the signals."

The jay hopped angrily from one foot to another, fluffing out his feathers self-importantly. "I am really tired of using the semaphores. If you need to talk to me, the least you could do is come up and speak to me in person!"

If the turtle had eyebrows, one would have been raised at that moment. "How do you expect me to do that, exactly? You do realize that I am a BOX TURTLE, and therefore I do not have wings? And I can't climb like a fox or bear!"

"Well I don't know. I am just sick and tired of using those semaphores!" The bluejay fluttered off in a squawking huff, shitting as he went to express his displeasure.

The turtle sat at the bottom of the tree, aggravated, and muttered, "Why should I dig up grubs for him, if he's just going to be like that?"

"Hey hey whatcha doin?!" said a chirpy voice. Box turtle looked up to see a dear treefrog friend, who had just awakened as the sun was setting. The little gray frog blended perfectly with the bark of the tree, but hopped around, eyeing the air for flying insects.

"Hey, frog. Blue jay's been kind of a jerk to me today."

"Yeah? HEY LOOK A LACEWING!" The frog flicked out his tongue and swallowed a bright yellow insect. "Tangy!"

"Yeah, he thinks that, if I want to talk to him, I should come up into the tree instead of using semaphores."

"I don't really deal with those semaphore things; they aren't too visible at night," the frog replied, snatching a silent-winged moth with lightning speed. "So I can understand how he feels."

"Er, right, but we are using them during the day, so that isn't really a problem," the turtle said, sniffing at the ground and digging up a fat earthworm. "I'm not too hungry, you want this?"

"Ohhh!" The frog slurped it down voraciously, stuffing the worm into his mouth with his forelegs. "I guess that makes sense; when females communicate with us, they don't use voices, which makes it hard--only our males can talk."

"Yeah, that is a totally different situation. He seems to think I can just climb right up into the tree and talk to him instead."

"Well, it is not fair for him to expect you to climb all the way up there, but can't you just meet him halfway? That's what I'd do." The frog clambered over the tree's trunk, snatching up ants and eating them like popcorn. "Not as tangy as lacewings, but close! That formic acid is delish."

"Halfway? You're a treefrog, you CAN meet him halfway. I'm a turtle. I don't have wings. I don't have sticky toe pads. I don't have agile limbs like a fox."

"Right, but don't you think that you'd eventually be able to do it if you practiced?"

"How is practice going to change the very nature of what I am?"

"I don't know. I'm sure there has to be a way to work it out. I gotta go, I hear a bunch of flies across that glen; I bet they're chewing on something delicious and dead! Bye!" The frog hopped onto the turtle's shell for a quick hug, and bounced away.

The box turtle withdrew into her shell and tightly closed it up, annoyed with the entire world. A couple of hours later, she felt something nudge her. Cautiously peeking out, she saw her best friend in the world, a handsome fox, with flowing tail, wide grin, and crafty eyes. "You okay, turtle?" he asked.

"No, Blue Jay is making me really mad." She told the fox her experience with blue jay, and what the treefrog had said. He licked her nose sympathetically.

"I know I can climb trees, but I also know that some cannot climb trees. By the way, there is some really tasty looking fruit up that tree over there. You want me to climb up and get you some?"

The turtle nearly cried with relief at having someone as understanding as the fox. "Yes. And next time you see Blue Jay, would you eat him for me?"

The fox laughed. "I'll see what I can do. For now, why don't you dig up some worms for us, and I'll go get that fruit, and then we can take a nap together.

"That would be great, Fox. I am so lucky to have a friend like you."

For the love of snakes

A few days ago, a gentleman in Texas had his beautiful boa contrictor stolen from his car. After searching high and low, and offering a reward for her return, he received an anonymous phone call that led him to her destroyed body. She had been bludgeoned with rocks, then torn in half.

I'd imagine that whoever swiped her had no idea what they were stealing when they grabbed the bag from the seat of the man's car. He'd left the window open as he went into the Circle K to get a coffee. Less than two minutes passed betweent the time he parked and the time he came back to his vehicle. It was probably some stupid piece of shit looking for guns, money, or drugs. Instead, the thief opens a bag containing an 8-foot-long albino boa constrictor. I suppose for a non-snake-lover, that is probably shocking.

However, no matter how much you fear snakes, the entitlement a person feels to kill someone else's beloved pet simply because they didn't know what they were getting into when they ROBBED that someone's car, is really galling. They had choices they could have made at that point--they could have closed the bag and dropped it somewhere, snake intact. They could have anonymously left it on the doorstep of a pet store. Instead, they CHOSE to torture and kill it, for no reason except perhaps their own fear, or their own amusement.

I know that many people do not understand that some of us really love and have relationships with our snakes. Maybe you're afraid of them, and you don't like them, but we do not feel the same way you do. We have invested time, and love, and care into making these animals a part of our lives. We know their individual quirks, their personalities (yes, they DO have personalities), and the physical things that make them different from others of their kind. I look into Julian's yellow eyes, and watch his black tongue flicking, and I feel warm and fuzzy inside. I watch someone hold Tez, my Honduran milk snake, and they soften from anxiety to delight, as they enjoy his gentle movements over their arms, and they realize that they have overcome some of their deepest fears. I have seen Gregor go from terrified face-biter to simply wary and mildly trusting, after he learned that we, unlike his previous owners, meant him no harm.

They do have personalities. We DO love them. Even if you can't imagine that, at least respect it--snakes don't deserve abuse and destruction any more than other, more "charismatic" pets, and their owners don't deserve to suffer their loss, no matter how weird or creepy you think liking snakes is.

Fat is a symptom, not a disease, Part Four: Drug side effects

Many pharmaceuticals have weight gain as a well-documented side effect. The weight gain can be due to a variety of factors, including, but not limited to, lowering metabolic rates, causing hyperinsulimia (especially in anticonvulsants like neurontin and depakote), and many other biochemical effects that are not easy to put into layman's terms. To put it simply, these drugs work because they have a specific chemical effect, but they often react with other biochemical processes in ways that are either not anticipated, or are considered to be less important than the intended therapeutic effect.

To put it simply, a living animal is not a laboratory calorimeter, where calories in and calories out are a simple function. We are infinitely complex, and adding a molecule to the living system can help some problems, but modern medical science is not yet fine-tuned enough to successfully target one tiny process. Our SSRIs and other antidepressants are often like taking a blunderbuss to a rifle range--you will probably hit the target, but you'll hit a lot of other stuff too.

That's what progress is all about, though. A hundred years ago, you probably would have died if you had an acute gallbladder, while today a doctor plucks the quivering organ from our innards with a watchmaker's precision, making a cholecystectomy a very simple and survivable surgery, with smaller and smaller scars as tools and techniques sharpen. When I was a teen, I waited anxiously at a hospital in Milwaukee, five hours from home, for my grandfather's quadruple bypass to be completed. Today, he probably would have had stents neatly slipped into his blocked arteries, with only a pinprick on the surface of his skin to show for it.

Before we had antidepressants and other mental health drugs, we had some of the most inexcusably abusive quackery inflicted upon the mentally ill. Historically, mentally ill people were often just dumped in prisons and jails (and guess what--we're still doing it; ask any social worker). Some were treated to cruel, sometimes deadly exorcisms. Women were presumed "hysterical" and went to doctors for vaginal "massage" to induce orgasm as a treatment. Lobotomies became all the rage in the late 1940s, with frontal lobes scrambled with an ice pick through the eye socket. Asylums were often notorious for their squalid, cruel conditions, with many exposed by family members who were horrified at their relatives' treatment.

In the 1950s, the advent of psychotropic drugs was the first ray of hope for mentally ill people. I feel that we're finally seeing the tail end of the birthing pains of psychopharmaceuticals, with more solid research and standards being applied. The system is obviously not yet perfect, but important lessons have been learned, with our ancestors' brave--albeit not always informed--foray into citizenry as research subjects.

So, today, instead of a schizophrenic being shackled into a cold cell, at the mercy of potentially abusive captors, that person may be able to function normally with the help of a drug such as Risperdal. They may be able to work, have a family, and enjoy their lives. If the drug that enables them to function also causes them to gain weight, I question those who wring their hands over the weight gain. Surely the fact that they can live their lives independently is a pretty good trade-off for the potential stigma associated with the weight gain? And, if it is indeed the stigma the hand-wringers are concerned about, what is preventing them from working toward a better world, one where a fat person is not subjected to social stigma? Is their aesthetic sense so deeply rooted that they can't stand to see a happy person who happens to have a body shape that is not attractive to them?

Some of the best-selling drugs today are antidepressants, especially the SSRIs. They have helped millions of people become reacquainted with life, to poke their heads out of the steep-walled pit that is depression. Anxiety, another condition treated by SSRI, can be so disabling that its sufferers sometimes cannot even leave their homes. I think it is absolutely ridiculous that anyone would be so upset over the associated weight gain, when the drugs often make a person feel as if his or her life is worth living again. I'm tired of hearing the fatophobes shrieking about it, trying their damnedest to drag down those who have finally been able to stand up again, just because their bodies are different.

So tell me, fat-haters, are you really so shallow and juvenile that you would rather see someone institutionalized than fat? Hanging themselves instead of fat? I've really begun to wonder if the fat-hate is not just about fat, but about an excuse to be misanthropic to anyone who is socially vulnerable. After all, the mentally ill you used as a punching bag in ages past have now become functional fat people, so whom are you going to punch in their place? My suggestion to you is to find out why you need a punching bag at all, and then fix it, rather than continuing to delude yourself into thinking your victims deserve your abuse. Maybe you could even try one of the above drugs--it might even be good for you to see what it's like to gain weight without changing your eating or exercise habits.

Fostering pets

I wanted to talk a little bit about fostering pets. Most of the fostering I do is for homeless animals; my home is a way-station for homeless cats while they are given the care they need before they can be adopted. Most of the cats that come to stay with me are here for at least two weeks while they grow enough to be spayed or neutered, have their illnesses treated (I had poor little Salvador for three weeks because of his URI), and have intense socialization work (such as what Calvin, Ansel, and Owl needed).

There is another kind of fostering, however: Taking care of someone's pets while they are unable to do so for a little while. There is an organization called Guardian Angels for Soldier's Pet; they help find foster homes while soldiers are deployed so that our brave men and women do not have to go through the heartbreak of giving up their pets forever. Foster homes may care for the pet in an emergency situation that lasts 3 to 6 months, or for a full deployment that may last for two years.

My cousin Kurt just left for Iraq yesterday, and he really loves animals. He's a big, strong man (I feel so old calling him that!) with a real sensitive spot for dogs and cats. Fortunately, he is married, so his family dog is cared for by his wife, but I would like to think that if his situation were different, a kind soul out there would ease his heart by caring for any nonhuman companions he had.

Another situation of temporary fostering that I find is equally important is finding a safe temporary home for pets when a person is leaving an abuser. I have known many women who stayed in abusive relationships because they didn't want their pets to go to a shelter, or to be left behind with the abuser.

I am currently working to get two cats in such a situation transported to me; a friend was in an abusive relationship with someone, and needed to get out very quickly. I've agreed to foster her cats for as long as she needs to get back on her feet, but the crimp in our plans is getting them from Wisconsin to NY. As soon as the money is raised, they will be put on a plane to Albany, where I will pick them up at the airport. If anyone is interested in helping with this situation, drop me an email and I will send you the paypal link.

I am wondering if there is an organization out there to help abused people find a temporary home for their pets so that they are better emotionally prepared to get out of their abusive situation. If anyone knows of such an organization, please leave me a comment.

And, while I am at it, I want to say that yes, fostering can be hard. It can be hard to give them up. However, it's very rewarding, and there's nothing to bring tears to your eyes like a letter saying, "Thank you for our lovely family member, we love him so much!" I'll dedicate a future entry to some of the emotional aspects of being a pet fosterer.

Ianto the foster kitten

On Monday, we got a new foster. His story is REALLY sad, so get out your tissues. Oh, and "Ianto"? Yes, I was letting the boy name cats again. Yes, it's after the Torchwood character. It's better than naming them after dinosaurs, which is what he did with our first litter (Ptera-dactyl, Charlotte Bronte-saurus, and Anyankalosaurus--they are Ptera, Charlotte, and Anya, because I restrained him).

My friend Laurie was driving in the grocery store parking lot, when she noticed a cardboard box in the way. She didn't want to damage her vehicle, so she avoided the box, then stopped her Jeep and went to move the box so other people wouldn't be inconvenienced.

Within the box were three kittens, about 4 months old. One of them was dead. Laurie took one home, while another customer in the parking lot adopted the other. They were absolutely covered in fleas, which climbed up Laurie's arm as she was pulling them out of the box. She took the little guy home, treated him for fleas, and tried to integrate him into her household. She would have loved to have kept him, because he's really cute and playful, but her other cat just absolutely hated him.

So, when I emailed Laurie recently to ask her to buy stuff to support the rescue, letting her know that I was fostering and volunteering for them, she asked if I could help her by rehoming the little guy, whom she'd been calling George. I got permission from Robin, who is the rescue's namesake, and Brian and I picked him up on Monday (and sold Laurie some of the cranberry sauce).

When we got him home, I gave him a distemper vaccination, wormed him, and gave him Advantage. Today, he got his FeLV and FIV test, which was negative for both (hooray!). He also got his new name, so that he would be more unique and memorable. Ianto is due for neutering on the 30th of March, and will be up for adoption very shortly after that.

He is an exceptionally pretty cat; he reminds me of a lynx-point Siamese or something. I am sickened and angry that his former owners didn't even try to drop them off at a shelter, or somewhere they could get proper care before the sibling died. What kind of person does this?

Anyway, here are photos of Ianto:








By the way, if you are in the Capital Region of New York, and you are interested in adopting Ianto, or any other foster I've written about, please send me an email and we can discuss it.

If you are interested in helping to support the rescue with donations, you can do so via the Paypal link on the homepage here. Robin's Nest has programs to help feral cats, low-cost spay/neuter clinics, and adopts out only cats that have been spayed or neutered. This all takes hard work and money, so they can use every bit of help you can spare. Also, I have set up in my Etsy shop (on the right) a way to purchase cranberry sauce, which is our current fundraiser. It's delicious, and a great price.

Also, most of the cats I photographed for the petfinder page are actually adopted now! And, our foster Leonardo just found a home yesterday. Congratulations to them :) If you visit the page, check out Rosa's photos; she was a willing and wonderful subject for me.

Good Fatty/Bad Fatty

Well, y'all, I covered that particular topic over a month ago, but it seems to be all the rage now. So let's do this thing.

Dividing people in acceptable and unacceptable examples of their oppressed demographic is a time-honored tactic by oppressors. If you can get at least part of the group to turn its back on the rest, by way of convincing them that the oppression is somehow their own fault, and that it can be relieved by behaving in a particular way and alienating those who do not, well, doesn't that seem a perfect strategy for not just getting as many of them to behave the way you want them to, but also to assist you in oppressing their own demographic?

This is a well-beaten path, and we need to look to the experiences of those who have gone before us in pursuit of human rights to guide us. Civil rights activists have long known that when oppressed persons engage in behaviors (such as "acting white") to please their oppressors and mitigate their circumstances, the only thing that changes is the form of oppression. You are not truly free if you must behave in particular ways in order to avoid being abused.

We must also not fall into the trap of believing that those who abuse us have our best interests in mind, no matter what they claim. The abuse is easier to accept when we believe we deserve it, and abusers frequently try to convince their victims that the abuse is the victim's fault, and they wouldn't be abused, if only they would have done certain things. The truth is, abusers have no right to abuse, and they do so because it satisfies some desire or need in them--NOT because their victims deserve it. If the victims did not have a certain behavior or quality that the abuser focuses upon, there would be some other behavior or quality that the abuser would use an excuse.

None of us deserves the poor treatment we get for being fat. Every single one of us deserves basic human rights and dignity. What we eat, how much we exercise, our vital stats? Those aren't even a factor. Being a living, feeling being should be enough to warrant dignity. Don't stand for any less.