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03 August 2017 @ 08:04 am
I was just coming to terms with the loss of June Foray last week, then I'd just learned this morning that Rapid T Rabbit has died.

Who is going to fill the void these people leave behind? :(

28 July 2017 @ 09:20 pm
...they want to fit in with fun fuzzy friends, study finds


Go on, admit it.

If you’ve ever given a second thought to furries – largely known to the public as people who dress up in giant animal costumes – you might have thought of them as freaks or wondered whether their costumes are some kind of kinky, freaky, fetish thing.

Perhaps the media put those thoughts in your head.

But after spending more than a decade studying the furry subculture, an international team of social scientists has concluded furries are not so different from the rest of us.

Researchers found that members of this “geeky, nerdy subculture” aren’t simply indulging in fantasy. They’re forging lifelong friendships and building a social support system in a community where they are not judged for having an unconventional interest, researchers found.

Furries are passionate, like sports fans, but with get-ups a lot more elaborate than jerseys and face paint. They find one another primarily online through furry forums or message groups where they talk and exchange information like other fan groups do.

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The link.
24 June 2017 @ 10:51 am
An interesting little article written last October:


I wondered why I occasionally kept getting likes on that old tweet.
18 June 2017 @ 01:09 pm
Hi. I know I should be posting something inspirational about dads today, but I've kind of gotten out of the LJ habit--I mostly live on Twitter these days. I know there aren't many who check in here anymore, and anyway, I'm just not feeling it.

My Dad is of course still around and my Mom too, and they're together and still able to live in their own house for the time being. My Dad has been an immense help to her with her recent several months between hospital and therapy. He's almost never left her side. And now they're both back home in a place where the world seems more familiar, regardless if it's the best place for either of them. But who's to decide, as long as they're happy?

I think of how my own body seems to be failing over one issue or another, and have come to realize that I probably didn't get very many longevity genes from either one of them. Time will tell.

I just wish we hadn't grown so far apart in ideologies--political differences that I would be glad to just leave out of our conversations forever, but that Mom especially in her increased stubbornness wants to revisit and clash over, in infinitum. Thankfully they at least have the presence of mind to not delve into such things during our Friday phone calls.

I wish I could have the depth of feeling for my parents that I know many others have, or say they have. If it was just ideological differences, that would be easy to overlook. But it's more about them not wanting to take an interest in much of anything that is important to me or my wife, it's them tainting an otherwise amicable visit over Mom preaching to me about Trump and how much of God's messenger he is, then before I can open my mouth stating that they don't want to hear anything from me about how I might disagree. Gawd, when I think back of how much they hated Obama then accused us of liking him in spite of how supposedly evil he was. She will never realize how much she has permanently poisoned our relationship in their twilight years, and it's difficult to forgive Dad for letting her rant on about things, doing nothing to stop her or to try to interject any form of moderation which might not let a visit end on such an incredibly sour note.

Then I remember how old they both are, that Mom especially has been through so much, that they didn't used to be this way, and that Dad by himself can be a pretty sweet person although increasingly vulnerable and prone to despair. I still love them too much to ever tell them that I've become an atheist. It would absolutely devastate them. I know that honesty is the best policy, but there is also something to be said for being merciful and saving them the pain of knowing something that they simply don't have the capacity to understand, something that would kill them from the inside.

In my own complicated way I still love them. I'm still thankful for my Mom and my Dad, for raising me right, for being there in every stage of my life. My streak of individuality and not being afraid to follow my dreams and work toward them--that came from them. They were always there to encourage me in whatever I wanted to try, even when I was still so unsure of what I wanted to pursue.

There is no perfect Dad. But there are the ones in our lives, our parents, our friends, our loves, who having been there have helped to shape our lives and our memories and have made us the people we are.
by Pastor John Pavlovitz

I remember the day after the Election, a friend of mine who happens to be white, remarked on social media that he “finally wasn’t embarrassed of America and our President.”

I sprained my eyes rolling them and they have never fully recovered.

Since then I’ve heard this sentiment echoed by more white folks than I can count, especially in recent months; supposed relief at once again having a leader who instills pride.

Since I don’t have the time to ask each of the[m] individually, I’ll ask here:

So, you were embarrassed for the past 8 years, huh?


What exactly were you embarrassed by?

Were you embarrassed by his lone and enduring twenty-five year marriage to a strong woman he’s never ceased to publicly praise, respect, or cherish?

Were you embarrassed by the way he lovingly and sweetly parented and protected his daughters?

Were you embarrassed by his Columbia University degree in Political Science or his graduating magna cum laude from Harvard Law School?

Maybe you were embarrassed by his white American and Black Kenyan parents, or the diversity he was raised in as normal?

Were you embarrassed by his eloquence, his quick wit, his easy humor, his seeming comfort meeting with both world leaders and street cleaners; by his bright smile or his sense of empathy or his steadiness—perhaps by his lack of personal scandals or verbal gaffes or impulsive tirades?

No. Of course you weren’t.

Honestly, I don’t believe you were ever embarrassed. That word implies an association that brings ridicule, one that makes you ashamed by association, and if that’s something you claim to have experienced over the past eight years by having Barack Obama representing you in the world—I’m going to suggest you rethink your word choice.

You weren’t “embarrassed” by Barack Obama.
You were threatened by him.
You were offended by him.
You were challenged by him.
You were enraged by him.

But I don’t believe it had anything to do with his resume or his experience or his character or his conduct in office—because you seem fully proud right now to be associated with a three-time married, serial adulterer and confessed predator; a man whose election and business dealings and relationships are riddled with controversy and malfeasance. You’re perfectly fine being represented by a bullying, obnoxious, genitalia-grabbing, Tweet-ranting, Prime Minister-shoving charlatan who’s managed to offended [sp] all our allies in a few short months. And you’re okay with him putting on religious faith like a rented, dusty, ill-fitting tuxedo and immediately tossing it in the garbage when he’s finished with it.

None of that you’re embarrassed of? I wonder how that works.

Actually, I’m afraid I have an idea. I hope I’m wrong.

Listen, you’re perfectly within your rights to have disagreed with Barack Obama’s policies or to have taken issue with his tactics. No one’s claiming he was a flawless politician or a perfect human being. But somehow I don’t think that’s what we’re talking about here. I think the thing President Obama did that really upset you, white friend—was having a complexion that was far darker than you were ever comfortable with. I think the President we have now feels much better.

Because objectively speaking, if what’s happening in our country right now doesn’t cause you great shame and doesn’t induce the continual meeting of your palm to your face—I don’t believe embarrassment is ever something you struggle with.

No, if you claimed to be “embarrassed” by Barack Obama but you’re not embarrassed by Donald Trump—I’m going to strongly suggest it was largely a pigmentation issue.

And as an American and a Christian committed to diversity and equality and to the liberty at the heart of this nation—that, embarrasses me.