Windows - that explains it!

Yes, I know this particular strip was published several years ago, but I think it's funny.

Now I can't be annoyed if someone thinks I'm a racist because of the color of my skin???

Becky C., who usually has spot on analysis for politics and the like, really makes a heinous statement in Boss Clinton and the Racial Gambit:

Blacks, like Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson ... assume there is racism, until proven otherwise. And there is certainly a very valid reason for their assumption, and the fact that a lot of whites are irritated by the attitude proves it. (Emphasis mine)

Now let me get this straight, Becky. If Al Sharpton assumes I am a racist due to the color of my skin, and I feel this assumption is unfair, and feel the slightest bit peeved by it, my annoyance at this proves that I am a racist? What else could we prove through this method?

Am I proven to be a misogynist because I dislike when women think I am a misogynist because I am the proud owner of a penis? Or could we prove Rev. Sharpton a racist by my assuming he hates white people because he's black, then having him express dismay at me for making a racist assumption?

No, the only things the above would prove is I am annoyed when people assume I am racist, dislike when women assume I am misogynistic, and Al Sharpton would become dismayed for assuming he's racist.

I have proven though, Becky needs a beginning course in logic.

Alone, for real

I truly am alone now.

I have felt  isolated  for most of my life.

Yesterday, my father called and asked for my help. He asked me to leave work early, and come help with the kids. My mother already had been at the hospital with Mothra for 24 hours when he had called. He couldn't be with her; there is no way to safely bring a near 3 year old with bronchitis into a hospital room with a 6 month old with pneumonia.

Hell, most of the time,  I  isolated myself.

I have always despised social situations.

I haven't been writing this blog for you to know the gravity of this request. My parents, as a rule, don't ask me for help. They certainly don't ask me to leave work early to profer my help. Yet that's what happened yesterday.

At parties,  I  am all too happy to stand on the side and watch others have fun.

I, up until now, have had only the perception of alone.

My parents have been the only two people in my life in whom I trust enough to share my emotional troubles. My friends are emotionally stunted, and have problems of their own. I am their rock, not the other way 'round. I fear breaking them if add my issues to theirs.

I have never actually been alone.

My penchant for  vicariously living  may be why I take to the parenting thing so easily.

My parents are getting old. They are less capable, both physically and mentally of taking care of two kids than they think, and than I thought. I will soon, be unable to unburden my demons onto my parents, lest they break. That day may be sooner than I think, and is likely sooner than I hope.

I will be alone soon.

Godzilla & Mothra are both sick. Godzilla has bronchitis, and Mothra is in the hospital with pneumonia. This is God's way of saying, "D-Rock, you thought you were powerless before... wait 'til you see this." Kids shouldn't be allowed to be sick. It's just wrong.

For those of you without kids: imagine you just got as a gift: a top of the line BluRay player, complete with Bose surround sound system and 40" plasma screen. Now after, using the best of your new system's capabilities for a few months, suddenly the only thing will play is BioDome. In mono. And the disc has scratches on it. And you think the person who gave you all this cool stuff is going to take it away because you took lousy care of it, but you know you took great care of it, including using fiber optics instead of regular cable, cleaning the dust off everyday, and turning it off at night at a decent hour. Okay, so you didn't clean the dust of every day, but that wouldn't make it break, would it? It's not like you took a hammer to it or dropped it in a swimming pool. But this is a precision instrument. Maybe a little dust could hamper performance. So you call up that techie friend of yours, Doc. Doc looks at your setup and says, "looks like you've got a little Pauly Shore infection." He pulls out a screwdriver. Well, you're pretty sure it's a screwdriver, but you've never seen one like this before. He turns one of the screws on the sound system a half a turn clockwise, and the stereo sound returns. He hands you the screwdriver and tells you to turn one screw a quarter turn clockwise twice a day for the next ten days, and everything will be fine. After that, what's left of the screwdriver will be useless, so don't try to use it anymore, but don't use it any less than that either.

Doc never asked if your stuff got dusted every day, if you used cable, or what time you shut it off each day. This all seemed very normal to him, like Pauly Shore is on every new TV in world once in a while.