I have a dream…
But the dream is a nightmare. You are here, and you can’t wake up. Critical race theory is a night terror and you’re pinned the bed hoping your limbs start working again. The color of your skin trumps the content of your character.
I’ve been thinking a lot about how to challenge bad ideas and although it’s a cliche, we need to start countering bad ideas with good ones. Many of us face the woke stasi at work and because we’re decent people we keep our heads down. We let them have their struggle sessions and go back to doing our jobs – you know, what we’re there for.
But the cold hard truth is that they’ll never stop. Ever.
Recently I wrote a letter to my boss letting her know that I won’t be attending any more ‘voluntary’ sessions and you know what happened? Nothing. She told me I didn’t have to – and then we had a meeting on racial microagressions the following month. I felt good for a moment but the SJW train just keeps rolling on.
And that got me thinking. If the JEDIs (they don’t like SJW anymore – JEDI is way cooler) are ok presenting politics at work why aren’t we? Are we afraid we’ll suffer some negative consequences for proposing alternate points of view? Probably.
We need to get over that fear. They’re using it to their advantage, creating a culture where bad ideas can’t be criticized.
It’s not enough to opt out or write a SWL (strongly worded letter). We need to propose struggle sessions that take apart critical race theory, show microagressions are simply the result of demand outstripping supply, and that power dynamics aren’t the root of all interactions.
Shorter MJ: post modernism and neomarxim can suck my dick.
Counterweight is an organization started by Helen Pluckrose to counter the bad ideas presented as ‘science’. The resources are good and can provide an answer to the question, ‘where do I start?’
Note: the struggle sessions aren’t being pushed by my boss but she’s complicit because she ‘asks’ her employees to attend. I give her the benefit of the doubt – she has no idea what she’s talking about and doesn’t realize she looks like a fucking idiot, as do all of the leadership, when they push this stuff.
My next steps are to find out who identifies and creates/buys the struggle session content and have them work on opposing points of view. If he or she balks, I’ll fire them as soon as I can. I expect my project to take 6 months. I’ll give you regular updates.
Shortest MJ: War.
Well here we are in silly season again where the corporate media tell us that a 70 year old woman who shops at Forvever 21 is a fashion icon.
Do they ever get tired of carrying water for the loser left and their late middle aged, childless, over the hill bosses?
Spoiler: no, they don’t.
What makes me laugh is that they had an actual fashion icon, a model, and a truly beautifully exotic woman in the whitehouse for 4 years and they decided she was ugly, didn’t know how to dress, and was pedestrian. If you stretch it back an administration the garbage media told us that a mannish linebacker who shops at J Crew (so white!) was the black Helen of Troy. What a joke. Jill and Michelle Obama are slobs. Melania is Aphrodite reborn.
Well window lickers it’s time for summer. Down here in the SOUTH (filled with racists, you are issued a hood at the Georgia border) the weather is getting a bit warmer and we are bidding adieu to old man winterspring. Notice how I worked in a reference to de Fuhrer PBUH by using German in that last sentence? That’s how racist we are down here. We speak German, hate cold weather, and are super friendly. I literally have no idea what any of this means. I’m just typing whatever pops into my grey mush.
So, it’s time for sidewalk chalk! A time honored tradition where people go outside with their kids, pretend to hear the phone ring, go back inside to make a drink, then go back outside in about 15 or 20 minutes to make sure the kiddos are still in one piece. While most kids fit more into the impressionist or modern art category, I think I’ve found some rather clever uses of sidewalk chalk for us to enjoy. These fun little pieces of temporary art all use the cracks to make something fun and whimsical.
You know what I find really odd about the Stacey Abrams phenomenon? Nothing. I find nothing odd or interesting about it.
She’s a person that claimed, without evidence, that she won the 2018 gubernatorial election in Georgia and along with her media allies, spread the claim far and wide in the run up to the 2020 presidential election.
They lied repeatedly for political gain and no one cared. I did a bit of research about her claim and only USA Today had the courage to run a fact check rating the claim ‘partly false’. They were so brave that they fact checked an anonymous Twitter account and made sure that even though there was actually no evidence of fraud or cheating in 2018 and that she’s been lying for 2 years about it, to give her a 500 word tongue bath for registering 800K new voters. As if that matters. Something is true or not. It isn’t ‘partly false’ because you go girl! or whatever. It’s either a lie or it isn’t.
The sad reality is that her story is totally normal now. She’s a loser that lies without hesitation because she can. Everyone around her lies to keep the lie rolling, and normal people that question the lie are called out for not lying enough or squinting hard enough to see that the lie is ok because she’s…you know. And you have to treat…you know…people differently because those other people that treat…you know people equally are probably racist.
The same narrative is used for almost everything now. It’s all the same. It’s all lies. Happy Monday!
My grandma’s favorite song. She passed before I ever got to really know her, but rumor has it she was kind of an amazing gal. My mom gets teary eyes when she hears it.
My family is from the Ozarks in Missouri and my grandma insisted the family move to California so they wouldn’t be redneck. Never-mind the fact that their front yard was full of shot gun shells from shooting at squirrels (I used to walk around and collect them for whatever reason) and dead crows hung from the trees because they thought it’d scare the crows from eating their crops. When their house caught fire and burnt down, they rebuilt it with a wood burning cook-stove again. No modern appliances needed, thank you very much. These “rednecks” would give you the shirt off their backs if you showed up at their house. Unexpected visitors would get a full meal. I’d watch them pull out a metal coffee can, spoon some bacon grease out of it, put it in a cast iron skillet and cook you a fine breakfast, with fresh made corn bread to boot.
Farm people are a tough breed. I remember in my grandpa’s end days he lived with us and he fell….hard. He broke some ribs and his leg. My mom asked him if he wanted some cornbread before she called the ambulance. Old guy insisted on having fresh made cornbread from scratch before the ambulance was called because he knew the food would suck at the hospital.
Sometimes my grandpa would feed the hogs day old donuts and I can remember my cousins and I running out to the trough to get to them before the hogs did….why? Cuz chocolate. STFU THEY WERE ON TOP, OK?
I always thought this was a neat little newspaper article about my grandma’s parents.
I dunno, I guess I’m just waxing nostalgic today.
Romy’s song she put in chat deserves some love.
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