copyright 2010 mogmismo, used with permission.

I just received a forwarded email (copied in the first comment) from a representative of Conservative America, offering terms of settlement for divorce.  As it came to me, I reckon I am a fit delegate to respond to the offer.  My response is as follows:

Dear American Conservatives, righties, social retardists, despots, fascists, and Palin supporters, et al:

I have to say I was relieved to receive your email.  As you say, we have stuck together for years for the children, but given the obvious fact that the children are growing up and are able to make their own life choices, it’s clearly time we ended the game.  I’m in complete agreement that it’s far past time we stopped pretending to be on the same side, and I’m glad that for once you appear to be willing to talk on the level and come to a reasonable agreement.

I appreciate the fact that you clearly understand me well enough to offer some terms you feel I can not only accept, but even be happy with.  However, if this split is truly to happen on equitable terms, I have to clarify a few points.  I’m sure you will find my requests not only reasonable, but every bit as understanding and acceptable as those you have offered me.

Clearly, the dividing of assets is a necessary, but uncomfortable, part of any separation.  When it comes to actual landmass I can see that the argument could devolve to pettiness, but I think we can both be mature enough to realize that in actual fact, we rarely want the same things.  So I’ll take California, Connecticut, Iowa, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, Vermont, Washington D.C., New York, Rhode Island, and Maryland…the states where same sex marriage is at least recognized (yes, I remember Proposition 8, but we both know it isn’t going to last (edit: told you).  I’ll also take Colorado, Minnesota, New Jersey, New Mexico, Oregon, and Pennsylvania, as along with California, Connecticut, Massachusetts, and Maryland, they are the top solar producers.  I’d also like Texas, Kansas, Nebraska, South Dakota, Montana, North Dakota, and Iowa, as they are the top wind power producers in the country.  It only seems fair, since you are generously gifting me the alternative energy and hoping that fossil fuels are going to work out for you.  That’s 23 states, and to even it out completely, I think I should have Washington state and Oregon, as everyone knows they like me more than you.  Oh, and I’m going to have to ask for western North Carolina, or at least Asheville, as I live there and everyone I know in town pretty much hates you.

I’m going to be honest, here, and admit that I know Texas will be a bit of a wrench for you.  But, considering the Gulf War (which I know you intend to continue) and all the oil you can siphon out of the area around the BP oil spill, I’m sure you can see that it’s really a fair split.

Once that’s settled (and I think you can hardly disagree with my logic, so that should be simple), we can move on to dividing up the rest of our assets.

I’m happy to keep the redistributive taxes, though I hardly think we’ll need them once you’re gone.  I do understand that you will be taking at least 80% of the wealth in the nation with you, but I don’t think we’ll miss it.  After all, once you’re gone we can cure cancer and other congenital diseases, as well as make major advances in alternative energy, space exploration, and other sciences, so taking a long range view I’m figuring we’ll do OK.  Just as a side note, I think I should get to keep The Internet.  I know it was your kids who started it, but you have to admit it’s been our baby for a long time, and if you really had any invested interest in it Wikipedia and Opensecrets.org wouldn’t exist.  After all, it’s just a bunch of perverts and conspiracy theorists, why would you want it, anyway?

I’m happy to take the liberal judges and the ACLU, you can have the KKK, the white supremacists, the Christian fundamentalists, and Wall Street.  You can have your guns and war, but you must also take every single person who has ever participated at a Tough Man contest, the professional wrestlers, and Nascar.  All of it.  You also can keep Newt Gingrich, Sarah Palin, and Mel Gibson.  Quite honestly, I have no idea how you’re going to afford their medical bills, as I anticipate that drugs will be rather expensive over there, but I guess that’s really your problem, isn’t it?

Happy for you to have the pharmaceutical companies and Wal-Mart, we’ll take the public universities, NPR, and alternative press.  By all means keep the Alaskan hockey moms and greedy CEO’s, and you can have the rednecks but the country folk are ours.  Actually, I think we can make this even simpler: we keep art, education, and research, and you can keep religion and the military industrial complex.  I know we’ve always disagreed about the importance of these things, so you take yours and I’ll take mine and let the best man win.

Happy to take peace with Iran and Palestine, and you go ahead and fight them until you’re blue in the face.  Not stepping in to save your economy, though, you’ll have to go a little more in hock to China for that.  Speaking of which, you take the debts.  It was your missile habit that got us there in the first place, I don’t think I should have to pay for it.

In exchange, I’ll take on the U.N. bill, but if I’m paying for it that means I get the seat on the Security Council.  You can take as many “Judeo-Christian values” as you can muster, but I get the ones who want to turn the other cheek.  I’ll take the rest of the religions, though, as well as those who don’t espouse one.  It’s that Freedom of Religion thing that I always wanted to try.  You remember the one.

By all means take the gas guzzlers.  But in exchange, I get Detroit.  You screwed the pooch on that one, and I hear some folks there have some pretty interesting ideas that I’d like to support.

As to music, you can have “The Battle Hymn of the Republic” and “The National Anthem” (it’s called “The Star Spangled Banner”, by the way, but no one can sing it, anyway).  We’ll take all The Beatles, as well as punk rock, the blues, most rock and roll, and The Dixie Chicks.  You can have pop.

You can have the part of our history which you directed.  The loyalists during the Revolutionary War, every avowedly conservative President, McCarthyism, Japanese Internment, racism, sexism, etc.  We’ll keep the progressive bits, and I’m sorry to tell you that will include the Founding Fathers.

As to the flag, I propose a compromise:
 
You can keep the stripes, and we’ll hang on to the stars.

Sincerely,

Celestina Adams

Profligate and Heretic

Fuckin' Boom. Photo by Mogmismo.

In the last few days, there has been a rash of reports commenting on the Republican Party’s apparent embrace of violent terminology. You can read about it lots of places, but in case you somehow missed it, here’s an example.

So there appears to be a trend, not necessarily amongst all Republicans (I still like to dream that there are a few fiscal conservatives cowering beneath the onslaught of Moral Imperatives Activists and Obama Is A Fascist lunatics), but certainly amongst some of their most prominent and loud-mouthed representatives. And the contingent of the blogosphere which likes to think of itself as Sensibly Liberal has made the predictable response: they’ve gone into mama-next-door mode and begun worrying about the future of the neighborhood. They’re concerned, and perhaps rightfully so, that one of these days some teabagger out there somewhere is going to stop throwing bricks through windows and pick up a gun.

That could happen. Certainly, there are enough fanatical lunatics out of our 308,956,488 or so people that one or more of them are statistically likely to tumble over the edge any minute. But what I find curious is that no one seems to be asking the obvious question: what does the GOP stand to gain by not condemning language which seems formulated to encourage violent responses?

Let’s assume that most high-level Republicans actually do not want to see President Obama or any Democratic political representative killed. This assumption has nothing to do with their moral character, their moral character is irrelevant. What is relevant is the likelihood that assassinating a high-level Democratic leader would backfire. The Democrats would, of course, be justifiably outraged. The Independents are likely to suddenly decide that maybe one party actually is more apeshit than the other. And don’t forget that quiet little segment of the Republicans, the one that’s wondering how the hell their party got hijacked by these fundamentalists and is just trying to hang in there until the Universe rights itself. They might just decide to get the hell out and start a party that actually represents their interests.

So if the GOP doesn’t actually want people killed, what are they doing?

They’re playing on basic psychology. For years, they have painted the Democrats as pussies. Little, bleeding heart liberals that want to give milk and cookies to the terrorists. Mama’s boys who want to take away their guns because they’re scared they might get hurt. The Republicans, on the other hand, are stalwart pioneers, holding fast to the values that made this country great, and not taking shit off anyone. Basically, they’re engaging primitive tribal impulses by saying “Stick with us, kid. We’re strong, we’re survivors. That other tribe is going to fall into cannibalism any day now, just you watch.”

Democrats have never been good at playing this game. They take umbrage and try to argue that they never said any such thing, that they just want to make the world a better place, blah blah blah. They don’t address the gut fears that the Republicans like to play upon, they just try to make reasonable arguments about why the fears are counterproductive. They apologize when they are insulted. It’s weird, but beyond that it plays right into the GOP’s tactics. Because nobody wants to be on the losing side.

Having lost in the last national election, the Republicans had to do something to shore up confidence in their tribe or risk losing members. So they brought out the tea party notion, completely misappropriated and bastardized, but it didn’t matter…the tribe had something to believe in. Note well…they didn’t have to think about it, they just had to believe. And that got them through that tricky first year after losing control of the government. But then, after a long, seemingly losing battle, the Democrats pulled out a so-called “victory” with health care “reform”. Whatever you may think of the bill, the Republicans had drawn a line in the sand and this was just not supposed to happen. So what to do? Ratchet up the rhetoric. Remind the constituents that they are the strong ones, they are the ones not afraid to “go out and fight”. Whatever may have happened, it’s still our strong tribe against those pussy Democrats, and you know we can always take them if we want to. Hell, those sons of bitches don’t even own guns, do they?

It’s a pity the Democrats were scared to say “you know, there’s really no reason you need to bring a gun to a political rally.” It’s too bad they couldn’t bring themselves to set up a “Fun With Waterboarding Day” on the White House lawn, so that anyone who wanted to could try it, and then indicate whether or not they thought the U.S. Government should be using it as a form of interrogation. It’s rather sad they couldn’t bring themselves to say “Seriously? You’re listening to that fucking idiot?” after Sarah Palin “informed” the nation that health care reform would mean “Death Panels” which would kill their grandparents. I suppose they’re not likely to respond to the current rash of death threats with “Only scaredy cats go around waving their gun in the air. Don’t you have a tea party to get to?” But it sure would be nice, just for a change of pace.

On the other hand, maybe the Dems are out-strategizing the GOP. If the Republicans don’t reign in their dogs soon, one of them really is likely to take a shot. When that happens, the Democrats can finally rest assured of another six years in office.

Children have no sense of wonder. As a culture, we like to pretend that they do, we like to paint portraits of them wide-eyed and awestruck…but the simple truth is that kids are rarely awestruck by anything, because they have not yet formed opinions about the operational parameters of the world they experience. Everything is normal, everything is beyond their comprehension, therefore nothing is particularly amazing (or arguably, everything is, though they don’t typically seem particularly amazed).

As adults, we crave a return to that sense that anything is possible, as over the years we slowly box ourselves in to more and more limited systems of belief, a process which we call “learning from experience”, though in fact real learning has very little to do with it. We experience facets of life, and attempt to generalize from these (usually in an attempt to avoid discomfort in the future). We call the generalizations “understanding”, but in actuality it is a slowly crystallizing structure of beliefs. And eventually our beliefs trap us. We are hemmed in by our own boundaries, and we long for the days when we could breathe freely, delighting in the possibility that literally anything could happen.

Those moments when we glimpse that nearly forgotten realm of possibility inspire what we adults call “wonder”.

After our first taste, wonder is an addictive sensation, though most people never realize what it is they are craving. They substitute the weaker experience of surprise, which while perfectly fine for what it is, will never begin to approach the complete, if momentary, freedom that is wonder. The open night sky, the bizarre implications of quantum physics, those moments when we witness something which perfectly embodies love, truth, or beauty…these things will always carry a deeper sense of satisfaction than the most surprising surprise party in the world.

Is it possible to reach a point where we completely regain our sense of boundlessness? Can we develop a permanent sense of wonder, within which we combine wisdom based on experience with the knowledge that our experience is a doorway rather than a boundary line?

Is that, perhaps, what growing up was always meant to be?

giant puppets are pretty wonderful

Dear MoveOn,

A year and a half ago, you asked me to choose which Presidential candidate MoveOn, as an organization representative of my beliefs, should support and promote. I chose Barack Obama, as did many other MoveOn members. So many, in fact, that he received your endorsement for the Presidency; support which undoubtedly had a significant influence on the election results of 2008. Barack Obama is now President, thanks to our hard work.

And the country has yet to see the Change and Hope upon which he based his platform.

This is all the more disturbing considering the Democratic majority in Congress. Now that they have a so-called “super majority“, one would think that meaningful reform would be ushered immediately and gracefully onto the floor. But this has not happened, and according to any intelligent reading of the reports from Congress, it’s not about to happen. Despite their ability to enact real change which would have a significant impact on the American people…Congress is not inclined. It’s easy to say compromise is important, but when you have offered extensive compromise and your opponent says “Not good enough!”, it is time to walk away and carve a path on your own. Democrats do not need to compromise to enact health care reform, alternative energy research, net neutrality, or any other goal they strive to achieve…all they have to do is vote for it. Their reluctance to do so speaks volumes about their loyalties and their fears.

It is understandable, given the results of the last Democratic attempt to implement health care reform(1), that they would be cautious now. Recent polls(2), however, make it clear that the majority of American people want universal health care. It is traditional to try to ease in change, rather than rush it forward before a majority of the people understand the necessity. Immediate and goal-oriented action, however, is required if the United States is not only to survive, but to prosper, during the coming energy crisis. A belief in the efficacy of “trickle down” economics(3) has driven most Americans into debt and dishonor(4), and the very idea that Internet providers have a right to choose the future of ideas based on ability to pay is a demonstration of where such backward thinking has brought us. Congress can change the future, any time they wish. They just choose not to.

I am writing to you, then, MoveOn, to ask you to do what you do best: tell people their hopes and dreams are on the line, and it is up to them to make sure their elected representatives actually represent. If we want universal health care, we are going to have to demand it, louder than all the corporate interests and “Socialism Sucks!” naysayers who are making them wonder about the longevity of their appointment. If they supported the bill which makes the difference between life and death for the children of hard working, low income American families…they will be reelected, with or without the help of the insurance and pharmaceutical industries. If we want clean energy and energy independence, we are going to have to write them, call them, show up at their offices with statements, arguments, and petitions until they realize that voting for funding which leads to less pollution, more financial security, and higher employment rates will get them reelected even without the support of fossil fuel dependent corporations which are desperately trying to cling to the pipe dreams of their youth. We can insist upon Net Neutrality, so that the Internet remains a place where every idea has a chance of being heard. For that matter, we can go further and ensure equal rights for homosexuals, abolish no-victim crimes, and end a few unnecessary military engagements. We can release some innocent men from Guantanamo, ditch the Patriot Act, and make sure that no President can ever, ever again take such unwarranted liberties with our Constitution as the last one did(5). Just this once, we don’t have to compromise. We can make change happen.

And we must, because time is disappearing beneath us. If the current administration, the current Congress, continue to do nothing for the next year, we will lose the power to enact the changes we so desperately need. The Democratic majority will be lost in the next mid-term election, the Presidency two years after that. While action may risk failure, inaction guarantees it.

So please, use your influence, your ability to pull people together, to remind us all that our work is not even half done. We have one good chance, right now, to change our lives for the better. Please don’t let it slip away.

Thank You,

Celestina Adams

Notes:
(1) Yes, I just referenced Wikipedia. Because it’s often accurate. And when it’s not, it is at least more amusing than Fox News.

(2) Just gotta mention this part While seventy three percent of Democrats favor a tax increase to fund coverage, only twenty-nine percent of Republicans back such a move. Seriously, guys, this makes you look like a bunch of assholes. I know you probably have your reasons…but you probably need someone saner than Glen Beck to try to vouch for you at this point.

(3) One of the weirdest things that has happened in my lifetime is the idolization of Reagan. I know this is likely to get me crucified, but seriously people…he was a pathetic actor, and his Presidential highlights were largely based around watching Nancy throw her voice to cover his increasingly slurred/sugar-high gibberings. He was never, ever a “great” President. Get over it.

(4) New Appalachian farewell blessing: “May the wind be always at your back, and the repo man always under your heel…”

(5) Want to argue that point? Be my guest…

photo by mogmismo

Once upon a time, The Husband and I sat on a grassy hill in summer, looking out over miles of forest and fields, holding hands and talking about…politics. We were specifically discussing the American plans (at that time they were only plans) to build a big ol’ fence to keep the Mexicans out. The concept, to both of us, was patently idiotic. Whatever your take on Hispanic immigrants in the ‘States, it is easily apparent that building a chain link fence isn’t going to do much but piss them off. So after a few moments’ rant, we began discussing other walls throughout history. The Great Wall of China, the Berlin Wall, Hadrian’s Wall…and how they were all failed attempts at protection and, ultimately, separation of people who weren’t really that different. We talked about all the many ways that people try to draw lines, create Others, and the animal instinct to seek security through being part of a pack. We talked about a lot of things, but somewhere in the discussion we came up with an Idea. The Husband is a photographer, and I have a certain fondness for writing. The Idea was that we could travel the world, visiting all these walls (both ancient and modern), researching their history and talking to the people who lived around them. The Husband could photograph these walls and these people, and I could write about their stories. At the end of it all, we would make a book, and who knows? Perhaps people would read the book and some of them would decide that walls weren’t the solution. Perhaps some of them would even start to look for other ways to approach the difficulties we all face.

Unfortunately, we were broke (as we usually are), and so the idea got put on the shelf along with many other dreams that would be nice, some day…

The other part of the frame for my story takes place a couple of years later, just a few months ago. I was sitting in a coffee shop, chatting online with some dear friends in Australia. The topic was what you would really do, if you could live your life any way you want. And they weren’t quite sure at the time, but I had some definite notions. I wanted to write and to travel. I wanted a lot of things, actually, but at the center of it all was that. And from that conversation came the idea that, if only we could all figure out what we really wanted, we could be allies in helping every one of us to get there.

And then, one day about a week ago, I came home to discover that while I was gone The Husband had signed up for a contest. It’s a photography contest, wherein a $50,000 prize will be given to one person to go do the photography shoot of their dreams. And the idea he entered was…The Idea. The problem was that, to even get to the final round of judging, you had to be in the top 20 “popular” votes, meaning roughly that you had to have a hell of a lot of people show up on the site and vote your project up. And so I emailed a few people, and we went up a few points…and the other top contenders climbed higher and higher. And so I went through my address book again, adding a few more. And again we went up a few more votes, while others climbed steadily higher. Finally I just started emailing everyone I could think of, spammed my Facebook friend’s list, started begging my Mom to send it on to all those people she sends forwards of cutesy animals with their heads in the toilet. And we’re still barely hanging on to 20th place…but I started to realize something. These people, some of whom I hadn’t even spoken to in a year, were turning out to do a little bit to help. Some of them were doing even more, sending our plea on to all their friends, writing articles, helping to film a promotional video for Youtube… and for about the millionth time in my life, I found myself thoroughly humbled.

See, a few minutes to show up on a website and vote doesn’t actually cost any one person a lot, but no one has to do it. And it’s easy not to. There have been many, many times where I got some sort of “please take just a minute to…” email in my inbox, and dismissed it without even really reading it. I’m sitting here now, though, realizing that for whatever reason, a truly amazing number of people looked at my email and decided to lend a hand. It was ten minutes (I said in my email it would be five, but one respondent corrected me) to them…and each one left me feeling truly grateful, just a little closer to something I so desperately wanted. And I thought back to my conversation with my friends in Australia, and I realized this doesn’t have to be a pact among just a few people. We can, each one of us, pick something we really, really want, and then all help each other try to get there.

Today I spoke with a friend online to whom I haven’t really talked in a while. He was having a bad day. Not the end of the world, but with some real problems and no idea how to fix them. As we talked, I realized that there was something I could do, something that would get him a little closer to what he Really Wants To Do. So I just said I would. It’s as simple as that. We can all do whatever is in front of us, whatever is in our power, every chance we get, and know that maybe we are all helping each other get somewhere. It doesn’t have to be every man for himself. It doesn’t have to be sink or swim. We can all of us give whatever we can in any moment to help everyone else we care about get just a little closer to the life they really want. We can all be allies, well before all those walls come down. All it takes is just a little more.

So what I really wanted to say is thanks. To every person who took five ten minutes and tried to help me get a little closer to what I Really Want To Do, thank you. Whether or not we win this contest, you, bit by bit, gave me something more. I hope that when you see your chance you will let me know how I can help. Because you reminded me about what is really important…and you somehow gave me something to write about.

And…ok, yeah. I’m not so altruistic as to not add a plea here for my own cause. If you want to help The Husband and I be able to write our book, please go to our site and follow the instructions to cast your vote. It means a lot to me, and every single vote and comment creates a wave of excitement in our house that I wish you could see.

Nevertheless, here is one more to consider. Recently, the Duchess of York went with a reporter to investigate orphanages in Turkey. The situation they found was appalling, beyond anything we can even imagine accepting in the United States. Kids tied, boxed, ignored. Adults who never get to leave and thus spend their lives tied to the furniture. Infants tearing off their own ears to escape the pain caused by neglectful practices. There’s a documentary about the trip coming out on Thursday, but more importantly Fergie is trying to raise money to help build better institutions in Turkey and elsewhere. No one would willingly choose to warehouse children in this manner, but a lack of funding enforces a standard of apathy.

If you can help, please do, whether it is through making donations or simply continuing to spread the world. No matter what country we claim as home, all the children of this world have to grow up together. The least we can do is work to give them a chance at a real life.

Thanks to Robin over at Vabolium.com for being the first to bring my attention to this issue.

Yesterday I found myself explaining a curious thing to my son. He was wondering why H.P. Lovecraft wasn’t the most famous horror-writer ever, and I explained that he was a little too “out there” to ever garner a larger readership, until recently (admittedly, I suspect his readership is still not huge, but it’s growing). My son asked me why more people were reading him now. And so I told the tale of How Geeks Took Over The World.

Long ago, I told my son, when I was growing up, Geeks were forced to desperately cling to the lowest rung of the social strata.  “Really?” my son asked, horror showing plainly on his face.   Yes my love, I told him, it was a very hard time to be a Geek.  And I reminded him of several nightmarish episodes from my youth.  I then proceeded to explain to him how we took over.  How, with the advent of the Internet and computer games, suddenly we were the ones holding the keys to the kingdom.  You see, I continued, no one but the Geeks had ever bothered to learn how to write computer programs or play with hardware.  And so they found themselves coming to Us.

After that, I went on, it wasn’t long before it was “cool” to be a Geek.  And then the ex-jocks and cheerleaders and prom queens and kings and all their minions traded in their jerseys for some plaid, button-up shirts and Chucks and started talking about sci-fi and roleplaying games and comic books and physics.  And some of them even started reading H.P. Lovecraft.

My little son’s faced glowed as he gazed adoringly upon the mother who had fought so hard to bring the world to what it is today (or at least, I like to remember it that way).  But then his little brow crinkled, and he asked in a worried voice,” But Mommy, how do we tell the Real Geeks from the Fake Geeks, now?”

Simple, I replied.  Real Geeks would never use Internet Explorer.

And that, my dear readers, is what I have come to you to say today.  Please, please, for the love of all that is holy, do not use Internet Explorer.  It’s not cool.  The Real Geeks laugh at you behind your back for using it, when they are not cursing you for making their day jobs as programmers ten thousand times more difficult.

If browsers were cars, IE would be a moped.  If browsers were wine, IE would be Night Train.  If browsers were hot dates, IE has herpes.  If browsers were…well, you get the idea.

So there’s the tip of the day from one who knows.  If you want to be one of the “in-crowd”, ditch that lousy-ass browser.  You’ll be glad you did, and so will we.

1) How come it’s crazy when Middle Eastern religions say women have to cover up, but it’s OK when we do it here? It’s because it’s different bits, isn’t it?
2) How come Western culture is so sexually promiscuous, and yet a nipple is still headlining news?
3) How come anyone still cares about Britney Spears? [Note: you must follow above pattern of searches to understand this question]
4)Why does a search for men in burkhas turn up mostly naked women?

Perhaps they are not deep questions, but I sort of think they are.

We Start At Birth

Various politicians have taken flack for proposing a particular age or grade where sex ed should begin. And rightly so. We should not wait until some completely arbitrary point in a child’s life to begin addressing the many topics which fall under the heading “sex ed”. From the moment a child realizes that he has hands, and then proceeds to use those hands to explore his own body, he is already experiencing the beginning stages of “sex ed”. From the moment a baby learns to focus her eyes and begins to observe our attitudes about our bodies and about sex, she is forming the platform upon which she will model her own behaviours. Every single parent is engaged in “sex ed”, whether they like it or not.

“Sex ed”, as formally taught, usually begins with a discussion of the various parts of both the male and female bodies, and the proper names for all their parts. Any child entering kindergarten who can name his fingers and toes but still refers to his penis as a “willy” is at a disadvantage. We don’t call our noses “nibnibs” or our bellybuttons “potholes”. In assigning cutsey names to sexual organs we are not protecting our children from the evils of the world, we are merely setting up an assumption that there is something dirty or wrong about those body parts. So let’s begin “sex ed” at home, without embarrassment, by simply naming all body parts with equal honesty.

By the time a child is five, they have already learned much by watching and imitating their parents. They have the foundation of sex roles and sexual attitudes already instilled within them. Parents continue “sex ed” in their demonstration of their attitudes to these issues. If the mother consistently capitulates to an overbearing father, the child learns that women are submissive (and yes, that can very well affect their sexual interactions later). If the father carries a burden of shame and weakly acquiesces to the mother’s every whim, then the child learns that women are the powerful ones, and men can only follow. If the parents make it a point to never be naked in front of a child, then the child learns that the body is something shameful, best kept secret. These are deeply ingrained attitudes in every person, but each parent owes it to their child to overcome them to the best of their ability, so that they are not passed on to the next generation.

Where Do Babies Come From?

Every parent is asked this question, generally well before their child is of age to enter kindergarten. Sadly, it is at this crucial juncture that many of even the most well-intentioned parents falter. Clearly, “storks” are not the answer, and “from love” is neither wholly accurate nor complete. We tell ourselves they are too young to understand, and yet we are perfectly comfortable explaining other complex human interactions or bodily functions. Our unease comes not from what the child can accept, but from our own discomfort discussing something we have been taught was dirty. And yet, if we want our children to grow up to be responsible about their sexuality, it is our own unease and irrational prejudice we must overcome.

Along with explaining the mechanism of sex, children are interested in (and deserve to know) the actual process of birth, their own and others. At this time, most people either tape the birth of their children or know someone who did. At the very least, there are plenty of still pictures and videos of birth on the internet. Children should see precisely how they came into the world and, if at all possible, attend at least one actual birth as they grow up. Whether male or female, they benefit greatly from understanding the drama, pain, and joy that go along with bringing a new life into the world.

Growing Up Knowing

As children get older, they become concerned with more than the simple mechanics of sexual intercourse, and they watch us for clues to how to approach it. Are we open and comfortable talking about sex? Can they approach us with their questions without fear of judgment? How do we relate over the topic of sex with other adults? Is it a part of life, just like eating and drinking and laughing? Or is it something never discussed in front of the children? If we take an open, honest approach then the children absorb much of what they need to know as they go along.

Take, for example, the issue of birth control. Much has been made of whether children should be taught about birth control in “sex ed” or whether the programs should focus on “abstinence only” instruction. Let’s be honest, here (after all, we’re adults, right?). No matter what your personal beliefs about when and how sex is appropriate, no matter how openly and comfortably you discuss your opinions with and in front of your children, hormones and curiosity are a potent mix. Unless you keep your child locked in a closet throughout their teenage years you simply cannot guarantee that they will not have sex before they are ready to raise a child of their own. And should your little one choose to play when you’re away, the last thing you want is to have them coming to you at thirteen with the announcement that they are about to embark on the wondrous adventure of parenthood for themself.

As to arguments that teaching kids about birth control encourages them to have sex, let us consider whether not teaching them about birth control discourages them to have sex? Have “abstinence only” programs reduced teen pregnancy? Clearly not. So ask yourself whether you would rather have your child engaging in sex with or without protection, at whatever point they decide to go there. It’s really that simple.

Assuming you have been honest with your child about sex, and assuming they have plenty of exposure to videos of live births and time with annoying smaller children, they are probably well-prepped to understand the importance of birth control. At what age should one approach the topic? The earlier the better, preferably the first time you explain to your child what sex is. “This is how babies get here, but sometimes people have sex when they don’t want babies, and so there are various means for avoiding pregnancy,” is a good start. From there, it tends to just flow in with the rest of the conversation. We, as adults, talk about birth control fairly often. We even see cars with blown up condoms attached to the bumper pulling away from weddings. It’s really not such a difficult thing to include our children in these conversations, and the more comfortable they see we are with the topic, the more likely they are to approach us with questions which may prevent a tragedy later on.

Sex Ed In The Classroom

As much as every child would benefit from being raised in a healthy sexual climate, we must also recognize that not all parents are up to the task. Right now, and for the forseeable future, many children will enter the school system knowing no more about sex than they do about advanced calculus. As the whole ostensible reason for a public education system is that society as a whole benefits when its members are educated, so also society as a whole benefits when each member is educated about sex and reproductive responsibility. So yes, the schools should teach sex ed. Beginning in kindergarten.

It’s a simple thing to include the reproductive system as we talk to kindergartners about their bodies. It’s really not so hard to discuss what sexual intercourse is. There is no reason in the world that children should not see videos of birth in school. And really, what is the problem with talking about contraception in the school system? It does not undermine any moral guidance you may give your child at home to have them hear that, at such time as they ever decide to have sex, here is how you go about preventing pregnancy. It’s a practical thing, a life skill. It’s not in any way akin to telling kids it is acceptable to kill, steal, or eat their younger siblings. Like so many things, giving our kids an understanding of contraception is handing them a tool which they can then employ at whatever point they choose.

So yes, let us have sex ed in school. Real sex ed, sex ed that actually educates. Let us have it in our schools and in our homes and anywhere else it might come up. Let’s not wait until our kids are teenagers and 22 out of every 1,000 girls are pregnant. It’s time we got past our fear of what giving kids the facts may do, and focused on what our policy of ignorance has created.

Our experiments began at 4:30 pm on March 22, 2008. All bunnies were given a letter by which they could be distinguished, painted on their little sugary bellies with green food coloring by my obliging son. Only one pack was lettered, as the other was actually destined to be consumed (possibly), in a new and ingenious manner (which will be detailed later). Pack one eventually held twelve yellow bunnies, their bellies proudly displaying letters “A” through “L”. I like to think they volunteered for the experiment, and in those moments before the first bunny met a horrible end they were probably thinking how brave and proud they felt. You could see it on their stupid little faces.

Bunny A, it was decided, would be destroyed by suffocation. Hence, he was sealed in a Ziplock bag and left to slowly wither. Now, I know what you are going to say: Peeps don’t breathe!! Yes, that occurred to us as well. But the simple fact is that Peeps are an unusual lifeform (I am not even sure they are carbon-based) and while no respiration is apparent to the naked eye, we felt we could not discount the possibility, and besides we thought it would be a lot of fun to watch them turn from yellow to blue. Therefore, Bunny A was set aside, and we shall return to him throughout this narrative.

Bunny B was destined to meet a much quicker and more dramatic end. It was decided that his doom would be melting by magnifying glass. As you can see from the pic to the right, we originally used a small, child’s magnifying glass in an attempt to burn a hole through Bunny B’s head. This, however, quickly proved unsatisfying (as we are BIG fans of immediate gratification (IG) around here), and we switched to a new and better tool (see next pic).

Celestina and Son, engaged in Peep torture

IG factor: 10
Destructive Power: 10
Overall Method Rating: 10

Update: Bunny A shows no signs of distress. /Update
High on the success (or possibly the fumes) of Bunny B’s demise, we set out to do something entirely different with Bunny C. Bunny C, meet Corrosive Substance X (in this case, a serious dose of some of those “Scrubbing Bubbles” we love to let clean our showers). Sadly for Instant Gratification, Scrubbing Bubbles do not eat marshmallow as quickly as they eat mildew. They do, however, eventually take their toll. It took the better part of an hour, but eventually the Bubbles had eaten away Bunny C’s yellow coat (revealing his true Aryan nature), and then proceeded to whittle away at the rest of him. I am pretty sure that had we left him alone with the Scrubbing Bubbles long enough, they could have managed to completely dissolve him overnight, but the fumes were driving me crazy and while I am fine with dissolving bunnies, I draw the line at giving myself a headache over it. Fuck Bunny C. He can finish dissolving in the trash.

IG factor: 2
Destructive Power: 5
Overall Method Rating: 3

Update: Bunny A shows no signs of distress. /Update

On to Bunny D, whose exit was at least as satisfying as Bunny B. Bunny D was destined to be burned at the stake. It may seem a little overly dramatic, but I am here to tell you that if you have never burned anyone at the stake before, it really can’t be dramatic enough. First, of course, was the matter of finding an appropriately sized stake. Popsicle sticks are ideally sized for burning Peeps, as it turns out. Wedged into a blob of modeling clay for stability (mustn’t have the bunny’s agonized writhing tip over the stake and end the show early), and with Bunny D securely tied around the ears and throat by twine, I felt we were as prepared as we could possibly be. My son had the job of building the pile of twigs and dried leaves which would take Bunny D out, but upon seeing his arrangement it occurred to me that the last thing I wanted to do was spend five minutes burning my fingers with my lighter while waiting for the damned twigs to catch. The whole thing was therefore doused with lighter fluid before ignition. And then the moment of truth, when the first lick of flame touched the pyre…and yes, it was everything we had hoped for. The bunny didn’t so much howl in pain as slump in miserable defeat, it’s foul guts burbling out through it’s charred flesh. The whole thing was over in just a couple of minutes (luckily for Bunny D), but was definitely one of our greatest successes, for both IG factor and aesthetic appeal.

IG Factor: 10
Destructive Power: 10
Overall Method Rating: 10

Update: Bunny A shows no signs of distress. /Update

Bunny E was subjected to a special tool we had picked up particularly for the purpose of bunny torture experimentation. It was a small hand pump designed to be used for inflating balloons of some sort. My son was quite sure that we could blow up bunnies with it. I figured the bunnies were too porus, but I was willing to give it a shot. Therefore, Bunny E had the pump inserted into his…er…hindquarters, and we proceeded to attempt to inflate him. Much to my surprise, he actually did inflate somewhat. Unfortunately, Peep bunnies turn out to not be as flexible as you would think, and he also popped very quickly, and so rather than a bunny exploded in dramatic fashion, we wound up with a slightly imploded looking bunny full of holes. Lots of holes.

IG Factor: 5
Destructive Power: 2
Overall Method Rating: 3

Update: Bunny A shows no signs of distress. /Update

Bunny F met his end using more sophisticated technology: the food processor.

Seeing his little yellow face peering out throgh the side of the container, I almost had a stab of pity. Almost. And then I turned it on, and laughed and laughed. End result: many mangled bits, but best of all, you could still sort of see his face on one of them.

IG Factor: 10
Destructive Power: 9
Overall Method Rating: 9.5

Update: Bunny A shows no signs of distress. Goddammit. Not even a shade of green. /Update

With Bunny G we decided to fall back on an ages-old crowd pleaser: the power of acids and bases (we homeschool, remember…I don’t know how many damned times I have mixed acids and bases for the amusement of innocent children). I hollowed out Bunny G as best I could and then, using a funnel, filled his little butt with baking soda. Once he was as packed as I could make him, we proceeded to drop him into a jar of vinegar. The results were…not what we had hoped for. He sort of putted around the jar for a while, propelled on a stream of his own chemical reaction, but then he just fizzled and laid there, despite my son’s many insistences that we shake him up again. I suppose the vinegar might eventually have dissolved him, but one can only take looking at a smug Peep for so long.

IG Factor: 1 (sooo not worth your effort, and hollowing marshmallows is hard work)
Destructive Power: 1 (as in, really kind of not)
Overall Method Rating: 1 (this is generous, because it makes me feel better to say the damned bunny didn’t win)

Update: Bunny A shows no signs of distress. #$%$%&&!!! /Update

Undaunted, however, we moved on to Bunny H, who we decided would be squished flat. What does it take to squish a Peep flat, you might wonder. Surely you have noticed their resiliency. You can drop them from thirty feet and they just insolently bounce. You can squish them in your hands, and they just rebound. We decided that we would settle for nothing less than flat. We began with a hardbound copy of the adventures of King Arthur (protected from bunny goo by a piece of cardboard). This had very little effect. We then proceeded to add a hardbound copy of Robert Heinlein’s Outward Bound, and then both volumes of the OED. My son noted this was a heavy dose of knowledge (proving that bad, geeky puns are a genetic failing). The eventual weight piled on Bunny H was 25 pounds, and not only was he not flat, but he began to reform himself the moment the weights were removed. Clearly, this would not do. He was inspiring the other bunnies. They were regaining hope, and we could hear the squeaky refrains of “Nobody Knows” drifting from the Peep box. In a moment of desperation, we did the only thing we could think of: we took the little bastard outside and ran him over. There was no popping back from that. The remaining Peeps were sufficiently cowed, and more importantly shut the fuck up.

IG Factor: 5 (it takes a long time to squish a Peep)
Destructive Power: 5 (assuming you don’t freak out and use the car)
Overall Method Rating: 6 (I’m upping this a bit, as I feel that we probably could have used bricks or something and made a better go of it…but then again, you have no idea how madness feels until you hear four tiny Peeps singing in solidarity.)

Update: Bunny A shows no signs of distress. Yeah, I know. /Update
With Bunny I, then, we returned to a variant of the most satisfying of our experiments thus far: fire. With a fondue fork and a propane torch, we proceeded to roast the bunny ’till boils popped out all over his body and finally he fell (stretchy tendrils trailing marshmallowy goodness) to the asphault. The neighbors were looking out their window for this one (at least in my imagination), but no one deigned to save the bunny, so they are now as guilty as I. I will remind them of this the nest time they bitch about my unmowed lawn…

IG Factor: 10 (this is as instant as it gets)
Destructive Power: 10 (see above)
Overall Method Rating: 9 (Dropped a point, just ‘cuz it was over too quickly. I mean, IG is one thing, but Bunny I didn’t even stick it out 10 seconds. Where’s the fun in that?)

Update: Bunny A shows no signs of distress. Of course he doesn’t. He’s made of marshmallow. He doesn’t breathe. /Update
Carrying on with spreading the culpability as widely as possible, for Bunny J I enlisted the help of two very willing assistants: Lelu and Kadoonis, our dogs. They were quite willing to help. Holding Bunny J between them, I had visions of his little body stretching out in slow motion as each dog took an end and pulled away from the other. Naturally (given the “snarf now, barf later” inclination of dogs), this did not happen. Each dog grabbed a side and bit it off in less than a heartbeat, and Bunny J met the quickest end of any of our subjects (each side being subsequently swallowed in the rest of that heartbeat). I was a little annoyed by the dogs’ lack of style, but they didn’t seem to give a fuck. They rarely do.

IG Factor: 10 (Did I say that propane was as instant as it gets? I lied.)
Destructive Power: 10.5 (there was one crumb remaining. I had to risk my arm to get it.)
Overall Method Rating: 10 (I guess. If you just want to fuck something up, there’s nothing better than dogs. Aesthetics suffer a bit, though.)

Update: Bunny A shows no signs of distress. Is it me? Did I do something wrong? Why isn’t he suffering? /Update
Bunny K was our biggest failure. We wanted to electrocute him. We really did. But my co-conspirator (read: much more sensible husband) was reluctant to carry out my plan, which involved running a copper wire through Bunny K’s head and connecting each end to the car battery charger. He suggested a 9-volt battery. Which I obligingly bought, and which did nothing. Nothing. At all. Diddly-squat. Bunny-fucking-K survived. He would have been toast if I had had my way with him, but whatever. I’m not bitter, or anything.

IG Factor: 0 (seriously, marshmallow does not conduct)
Destructive Power: 0 (not even a little bit of melting)
Overall Method Rating: 0 (Just don’t bother. Unless you have a battery charger, which I swear would have worked.)

Please note: Mr. Interference also took all these pictures.  Which are brilliant, and none of this would have been nearly as impressive without his efforts.  He still bears responsibility for the survival of Bunny K, though.  He also, possibly, bears responsibility for my survival, which is a matter I will leave between him and his conscience.

Update: Bunny A shows no signs of distress. Yeah, because there’s a hole in the goddamned bag. Of course. This is why we need better science funding. Assholes. /Update
Bunny L. Not satisfied with the slow progress of Bunny C, I decided a trip to the grocery store was in order to obtain more toxic substances than I normally ever allow in my house. I bought some off-brand version of Drain-O. I figured, there’s nothing out there I can purchase without winding up on some damned list more evil than Drain-O. Upon arriving home (with a bottle of Scotch for me and some rum for my stalwart spouse, because science is hard work), we filled a small glass jar with the evil substance and lowered Bunny L into it by a rope tied around his ear. The results were disappointing. I mean, this shit is supposed to eat through whatever you can fit down your drain, right? Quickly, one presumes. But no…Bunny L lingered. And lingered. And lingered. Until it got a little ridicuous. Until we had thrown all the other damned bunnies away, and put a lid on his damned jar, because we couldn’t quite accept that he was not yet dead. His howls will haunt my nightmares, and apparently my waking life as well, because despite drain-clog-removal claims apparently you cannot really dissolve marshmallow with drain de-cloggers. Why? I don’t know. Perhaps Peeps are immune to such things. Perhaps, if you want to build a cataclysm-resistant house, you should build it out of Peeps. Perhaps they are protected by God (who is currently not talking to me, so he didn’t respond to my calls). Fuck if I know. All I can tell you is that, if you want to kill a Peep, don’t bother with the corrosive substances. The goddamned Peeps have a saving throw you can’t beat.

IG Factor: nonexistent
Destructive Power: small enough to make you scared
Overall Method Rating: Just don’t. Seriously. It makes you wish you were made of marshmallow, which is never a good thing.

Summary

After trying many different methods of disposing of Peeps, I have to conclude that fire is always the best. They are remarkably resistant to chemical dissolution, squishing, and pretty much anything else you can throw at them. Fire, however, is their Achilles’ heel, their Kryptonite, their Necronomicon. In other words, if you want to kill a Peep, fire is the one damned thing they cannot resist. They do exhibit a remarkable degree of solidarity, possibly resulting from the fact that they are joined at the hip from their inception on, but it is important not to let them intimidate you. There is something in their brown little eyes that wants to make you feel guilty, but you must remember that they are marshmallow, and you are human. It is true that one day we may reach a point of enlightenment where we recognize that just because a creature is made of marshmallow, rather than carbon-based flesh, that is no indication of intelligence or feeling. But so far we have not reached that point, so all of you stalwart experimenters should stand firm in the knowledge that you only know what you know, and what you know is that science is fun.
Oh, and always check your damned equipment for holes.

About that other pack…

Oh, right. The other pack. Yep. Tomorrow. I promise. Gotta sober up, first…