Bah.

Oh, wait, Christmas, right? Hold on, I got something here, just, y'know, gimme a minute...

So, um, yeah, everyone's busy. We all got stuff goin' on, and haven't had that much of a chance to get on here and say silly things about your Mom's drinking habits or ask if your brother's been in my garage sleeping off his latest meth binge, because if he is, it's cool, just ask him next time to leave my tools alone, okay? Thanks.

Anyway. Christmas.  So.

The Little Miss' mother and I sometimes disagree about things, and holidays sometimes fall into that conversation, but no matter how we feel about these things, we both tend to agree that the focus during these times is not supposed to be on the holiday, but the company we keep during the holiday. I mean, it's what MY parents tried to drum into my skull when I was a kid, although they had a much harder time with it, I'm sure, seeing as I was completely smitten with the idea of PRESENTS. (More specifically: you guys gave JEFF the G.I. Joe Tank? JEFF? The kid who kept eating the heads off of my Star Wars figures? Christmas sucks, FOREVER.)

Point being: we're not in too much of a rush to spoil Hazel and teach her that Christmas is day when you get stuff.

That being said, watching Hazel open her presents fills one with an almost indescribable joy. She's just, y'know, happy, and what's more, she seems to really enjoy sharing this happiness with everyone she's around, and that can't be a bad thing. To that end: lately, daily, even, I've been coming into Beano to find that someone or other has dropped off a gift for Hazel, and my first thought is always, 'hey, where's MINE?', because, y'know, I'm SELFISH, but it doesn't take long for me to dismiss that thought and just be really grateful. So, this is me saying to all of you: thank you. It's not the that the gifts help make my daughter a better person, it's that your generosity shows through, making this season a little more (dare I say it) magical.

No, really: thanks. To everyone.

Except for Kimmy.

Now I must go to work, but here are a few random links for y'all that might or might not have anything to do with Christmas:

1. PJ Harvey, 'The Last Living Rose': yes, please.

2. You might have seen this already, but it deserves repeating: Ricky Gervais on why he's an athiest.

3. I'm not sure if Eskmo's music is anything to crow about, but this video seems to calm me down.

4. Common sense in Missoula: a jury refuses to convict over a sixteenth of an ounce of marijuana.

5. Susannah Breslin on, simply put, why you shouldn't kill yourself.

6. Ohheyanewblog: co-worker/minion Tiffany and her friend Sarah showcase their mad skills daily.

7. Also: since someone seems to have killed The Straw, Josh decided to give us all a new venue through which we can vent our weird little thoughts. There hasn't been much activity lately, seeing how everyone's doing seasonal stuff, but it's still a lot of fun: The Actual Writer's Guild Of Canada.

Oh, man, I stink. Gotta shower and stuff. MERRY DAY OF EATING TURKEY AND WONDERING WHY YOU GOT ARGYLE SOCKS IN YOUR STOCKING!

Well, That Wasn't Creepy At ALL.

Okay, so, go to the site Dangerous Minds, and watch the video posted there. It's cool, I'll wait.

Back? Fucked up, no? Yeah. YEAH.

I mean, here's the thing: we all engage with pornography in some way or another. You can deny it all you want, I won't call you on it, because, hey, that's your deal, not mine, but I know where you're coming from, because I spent more than enough of my life thinking it was wrong, that I was somehow a pervert or worse, simply because I sometimes found it enjoyable to watch other people have sex. I don't feel that way any more, but, y'know, there's a time and a place, and OH MY GOD THAT PLACE IS NOT WITH YOUR CHILD.

Sorry. That one got outta me before I could stifle it. Anyway: there's part of me that starts to sympathize with this guy, because he's obviously gotta believe that what he's doing (making 'adult entertainment') is not only not a bad thing, but in fact is a good thing, so that he can wake up every day and go to the office and do it. Make the movies. Hire a cast and crew, find a location, shoot it, edit it, arrange for distribution, do PR and whatnot - I'm guessing here, because I haven't yet produced my own porn so I don't know exactly what goes into it, although it might make it's way onto my very own Bucket List, so yes, I'm accepting resumes...okay, enough. Point: he can't do all of these things if he thinks he's ruining lives and reinforcing negative stereotypes in regards to sexual dominance and gender politics (I don't know what any of those words mean, I just made them up).

He can't do all of these things if he thinks he's a monster. Which, y'know, he isn't. He might be deluded, misguided, completely inappropriate, hell, FUCKED-UP, but he's not the Most Evil Person In The World (that title belongs the guy who delivers my papers, a person who, despite my many requests to have the paper deposited in my mailbox, continues to pitch it into the deepest snowbank he can find). He's a guy who thinks he's found his calling, which is to provide the rest of us with the means to get off through the wonders of technology. Even if it means using his step-daughter in his movies.

Which is where my sympathy dries up. Because as much as I know that my own daughter will one day grow up and do...things which will no doubt make me uncomfortable were I to know of them, it will be none of my fucking business. My job isn't to dictate her sexuality, or to enforce certain gender roles upon her, or even to guide her towards what I think a safe or enjoyable lifestyle might be. My job is a) to make sure she knows that she is safe and loved, b) to make sure she knows she has the right to be happy and treated with respect, and c) to hopefully let her see that she has a responsibility to treat everyone else the same way. And, well, d) to make sure she knows damned well that Han fired first. 

That's it. Well, and the whole feeding and caring thing, and brushing her teeth and getting her to poop in the toilet and not on the sidewalk, but beyond that, I have no right getting involved. And I don't want to sit in judgement of anyone, because I've learned so many times from personal experience that it always comes back to bite you in the ass, so instead of saying that I consider this man's behaviour as reprehensible and as abusive as, say, outright beating your child, I'll say this: if any of you ever hear of me doing something as damaging as this to my own child, you have my permission to put two bullets in my head and dump me in the river.

Now I must go, because apparently we have to play a game where we shoot volcanoes out of one hand and numbers out of the other. It's like Cops & Robbers, but with SCIENCE.

Yeah, Um, No.

So, everyone's heard by now about all the examples of redonkulous abuse of (supposed) authority being committed by the TSA (or the Transportation Security Administration, for those who are confusing airport security with a group of middle-aged super-heroes), ranging from the mildly awkward to the downright humiliating to the fucking outrageous. I think it's safe to say that everyone's of the same opinion, that you won't catch terrorists by groping everybody's nether regions and making air travel as appealing as a visit to the gynecologist/proctologist.

How's YOUR colon, by the way?

(Of course, some might go so far as to say that these tactics have very little to do with 'catching terrorists' and more to do with conditioning a populace towards acceptance of an atmosphere where civil liberties are suspended at the mere mention of a 'foreign' name or a glimpse of slightly darker shade of skin, because, y'know, it might be said that it's easier to influence and/or control people when they're too afraid to think straight, right? But who would posit something like that? Certainly not me. Anyway:)

TSA regional security director James Marchand just took this stupidity one step further, by saying that you might want to tell your kids that they should pretend that these pat-downs are just a game, despite the fact that "...telling a child that they are engaging in a game is "one of the most common ways" that sexual predators use to convince children to engage in inappropriate contact."

Don't get me wrong: no one's saying that the people who do this undoubtedly reviled job are child molesters looking to cop a feel. Most of these people are just doing their jobs, and probably hating it, and wishing that they were anywhere else instead of knuckle-deep in your unmentionables. What I'm saying is this: 

You're not touching my kid. 

I don't care who you are, or what your justifications might be. You're not touching her. I realize that I'm being slightly paranoid; our flight next week is only domestic, and I haven't heard of any of these things happening here in Canada, so there's very little chance that the Little Miss and I will get caught up in any of this, but I must reiterate: I will find any alternate mode of transportation, even if I have to drive a goddamned horse and cart across the mountains in winter, before I let you grope my daughter.

Just sayin'.

Jerks.