News of the Cyber Intelligence Sharing and Protection Act

*Latest on the Cyber Intelligence Sharing and Protection Act*
(In the last 8ish hours as of this post)

CISPA PASSES COMMITTE WILL HEAD TO HOUSE FLOOR FOR A VOTE

http://mobile.theverge.com/2013/4/10/4210788/cispa-passes-committee-again

AMENDED CISPA MOVES TO HOUSE AFTER CLOSED-DOOR VOTE http://rt.com/usa/amended-cispa-house-vote-660/

REDDIT CO-FOUNDER SHARPENS KNIFE FOR CISPA FIGHT

http://rt.com/usa/amended-cispa-house-vote-660/

out with the old, in with the spew

Hello. It’s me.

After 2012, I am a little worse for wear. It’s not like 2011, when I could confidently stand up and say “well, THAT sucked!” 2012 was an insidious little thing that came in sheep’s clothing and ended up biting me in the ass at the last minute as surely as 2011 tried to do it in its sneaky fashion – which is a laugh. There was, after all, nothing sneaky about 2011′s rough, stupid ways. I saw right through it. 2012 was far more slippery and I trusted it to be a different and shiny ray of hope. In a way, it was.

I couldn’t get a read on this year. I think I aged during it. It said “nuh-uh, sister,” reminded me that I would be turning 40 during the Bad-Bad number year and that I’d better purchase some eye cream for my frickkin SOUL, and smacked me up the back of the head with the wet fish of Morality. Even though 2012 itself has been off in the coat closet doing god-knows-what with you-know-whooooooo. It blames me for all of it.

I’ve told 2013 that I expect better behavior from it than its big slutty brother has displayed. But already the baby this year begins as has thrown its Cheerios onto the kitchen floor and smeared paint into the Persian rug. Nice.

The only thing to do about this is to realize that starting the year out with excessive metaphors is going to get us nowhere. So I’m gonna go make lists. And by that I mean the old school kind, that tell me what to do and how to do it. Because sitting here listening to this impudent and squirchy rain is not doin’ it for me.

national. treasure.

what is it, exactly?
tell us.
write it down in a list.

WHO?
Who asked you to do that?
Are you saying *I* did?
What do you
mean
by THAT?

What
do you do?

well
everyone
does that

what else can you do
what are you doing
who told you to?
who wants you?
who even cares?
blah
blah
blah

(nobody says that!)
(tell us……

….who
said it.

)

and

what?

uh.

WHY are you…
exactly?

Who Said I’m Dead

I wrote a songfight song once to a title called ‘Who Said I’m Dead.’ There’s a video that I perform in my living room..about a year ago.

I wrote this song about a…I don’t want to call her a frenemy. But she wasn’t MY enemy. To say we were enemies is giving too much credit. We’d never even been Facebook friends ever, is how far back this goes.

My point of this is not to dwell, but to look back. When we have someone who hates us, or who is Jealous of us…this does not have to be a sharp blow to the heart. We don’t have to fix it even. We can learn from it. It can serve us.

This person, I found out, said something about me that got my back up. I should have looked a little further into it.

Because it was true.

It wasn’t true for the reasons SHE thought, but for more fundamental, core reasons that were important to me.

A claim had been made that, in a nutshell, I was just replacing the Old Things in my life with my new choices. I was incapable of real change, real growth. I could only try to copy the life denied me by her rules excluding me from their world – copy it poorly by using new people to replace my old.

This did turn out to be true. I even had warning signs in my new life that things were going in the same direction. Choices that smelled like old mistakes I was making. Old behaviors toward me that smacked of narcissism and self absorption. Little voices popping up and saying “are you really going to do THAT?!? Isn’t THAT just like THIS?!?” and looking at aftermath and wrap-up of the situation and how dead on identical it is to other situations after-the-fact.

And I so hate being the I-told-you-so-er. But I SO always am!!

The funny thing about all this is that even after I “move on,” I don’t burn a bridge. I keep a door open. I think the best of people.

And it’s so funny, because I am reminded, sometimes very inconveniently, that people come in pods. And that unfortunately, they come out of their pods only when they feel you are worth their time and attention.

I got this hammered home to me that I’ve been forgotten, not paid attention to by some near and dear to me, and it’s hard. One of my favorite lines I’ve ever written is “when you leave a room with me in it / you turn out the light.” I think I’ve talked about this before.

I was glad I worked on my Nur Ein instead of going to my 20th reunion.

In the future, I hope I’ll be preoccupied, naturally, when I’m “supposed” to have been waiting with baited breath for others who didn’t have time for me before to suddenly need me to be part of their set of numbers. And not even to be vindictive. Just because I’ve got a life.

It’s possible to be firm but classy, even in the face of bitter, inappropriate sarcasm – as though you did the pushing away in each growing-apart-relationship. And aren’t relationships more complicated? Don’t they require more truth, more honest-loving-scrutiny? Less shaming than is heaped upon the complicated ones we move through in these times…?

In my experience, people find it terribly exhausting to show the intimate best of themselves to more than a tiny handful of people for any good length of quality time – and think it’s okay to lob the cliff notes version around in our forward-it-on society. Intimacy is called upon when needs are had, appropriateness and boundaries are enforced when the time is over. Family is fluid. Blood is thicker than mayonaise unless we’re having jello shots.

I’m just riffing here…

I guess I do let it get to me sometimes.

I like to have a pie made for me. Not store bought. I can tell the difference. I want to open the letter. I want to hold the fabric of it, eat the cupcake, remember what it tasted like, turn those pages in my hands.

I’m just more tactile I guess. Only an investment in a friendship for me, thanks I like my love undiluted, and off the microscope slide.

Swimming Pools. Movie Stars.

“i hate the swimming pool,” you say
disdainfully to me
as I’m sitting on the front porch swing,
thinking casually all my random thoughts
…so I, surprised, pull from my time
to validate your entry
to my peace of mind.

i notice, then, that you are wearing
Swimming Trunks!
i open up my yap
to comment to this fact …
but pause …
(We know how You get
concerning
Things Like That! -)

so I
projected what you’d say
by remembering our past
like when you’d call a toad a road
or … label a spade a jack
or say Nobody Died
when all the flags fly at half mast.

Instead
(triumphant at my foresight),
I say,
“perhaps…don’t go in swimming!”

I settle back…so satisfied…

You’re indignant.
You ignore my carefully thought out suggestion.
(…usually you DO respond to Everything I say………..)

The front porch is a prison.

I walk to clear my mind.

…alone though all the garden
remembering greener times

Then I hear some revelry
and see through eyes (deceiving me?)
a pair of carefree …Business Trunks
-cavorting through a Concrete Sea.
(with Mermaids in Attendance).

(i wondered why I bothered, once again to split the difference)

You look at me like chocolate cake
You say “come in! the water’s fine!”
I say, “no thanks. My ship awaits.
The wormhole closes half-past-nine…”

**************************************

I put this photo in because I am squinkily looking askance at something (yes, I had to spell check that. don’t judge). Also, I have lost my Red Glasses, so hopefully if I post something with them on that is putting out into the Universe and the Lost Item-Finder Goblins that I would like them Relocated Post-Haste-o.

spring cleaning: pt2

1. rain. irony.
2. define irony. I myself am too busy working. I own 2-3 early Alanis albums and read the Oatmeal so keep that in mind. or, you know. don’t.
3. GAH, I hate the cold. Captain Suck-It has gleeked upon my sundress.
4. It’s time for French toast. It’s not made by the French, it’s made on Large Bread from Texas and is delicious.
5. I’m craving seafood tonight and I want it in the form of tacos.

a day of Friendly reminders

1. NOTE TO SELF: you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. I don’t know who the dog is in this scenario, but looking back I’m remembering I’ve been called bitch, and stupid, and worse
2. NOTE TO SELF: always remember that you are Unique. Just like everybody else.
3. It’s going to take something a LOT more

EPIC

to convince me to even respond to the existence of a person who regularly makes me feel like a bloodspot on a dirty road.
4. I am furious
5. I’m so furious right now I’m blogging about it. I’m months of pent of rage furious added to years of pent up rage furious.

I don’t want to go into it…

6. I’m so sad. I can’t even process it.
7. I’ll be around for things I need to be around for, but I have obviously not been doing well and it’s time for me to sort through some stuff before I end up someplace crazy.

Now it’s affecting my work.

[ ]

DON’T READ THIS BLOG ENTRY.

YOU’LL BE DETAINED INDEFINATELY. WITHOUT TRIAL. THIS IS SERIOUS, PEEPS. NO KIDDING.

I DON’T KNOW HOW TO BLACK OUT MY SITES. I do not even have wordpress installed on my computer and do not know the ins-and-outs of plug-ins-ley blogging yet. I only get up here and bust ‘tude. In fact, skip ahead, you are already too entertained by this, and should be learning, not loafing.

THE GUV‘MENT* (by which I mean The Government .. you know the one, people … the one we talk about in International Hushed Whispers… could seriously mess things up for Modern Society if perhaps we don’t get cracking, it seems.

I’ve been making myself crazed reading about this as I have been making mistakes and going to all my Readily Available Plethora of Social Networks to Complain about my Audio Engineering Fails in the Vain Attempts to finish my Gift of Music entry for Song Fight!

But since I was a young Complainer, I have known that things were Somewhat More than Awry … Oh yes, Somewhattishly More than Awry, My Fine Feathered, Fun-loving Fellows and Fello-ettes

Since the early 90s. Gentlemen callers and other fun folks of acquaintance have said to me many a fine day “oh how CUTE! A Conspiracy Theorist!” Well, no more! We are ALL cute! And we are ALL connected, because soon, perhaps we will all be connected by a series of adjoining cells. Oh, you say that you are not an American? Well, we have proven time and time again-sly that we have the ability to come and get all nucular all up in YOUR nachos too. Occupy THAT, suckahs!!!!
#mirth #butnotreally #arewestillallowedtoHashtagIt?

(this is actually not Laughing Magma)…

Okay, I’M GONNA MAKE MUSIC NOW. THAT’S WHAT I KNOW HOW TO DO. But in pre-conclusion, I KNOW HOW TO LINK.
…SO LOOK AT SOME OF THIS STUFF

*THE WIKIPEDIA THING
*AGHGHGHG. NO CHEEZBURGERS TODAY!

Lifehacker’s position.

Jules was amused this morning by laughing squid’s twitter-y observations.

…Twitter and Facebook; search engine-y stuff

You think I’d be finishing my homework today, with the info-wars*… speaking of THAT :S
just because you’re paranoid ….

that’s all for now. I’m off the interwebz.

just remember that I l@^x you guys…………………..

i’m a loser baby, so why don’tcha kill me…

when you are a weak person in many ways, what do you do?

what do you do when you are easily distracted, when you have problems and there are things that get to you? when you can’t handle your anger and you are so consumed sometimes that you can’t really solve your problems and are distracted from what you have to do?

in my experience, denying the problem and trying to live with it in a calm fashion as though it does not exist doesn’t really help. reducing a mountain down to a small dot is not really possible. it is not possible to play hopscotch over Mount Everest.

It is possible, however, to move back home and admit that you are not a mountain climber and that it is more appropriate to play hopscotch on your driveway. It’s easier to navigate a bit of a slope, or a flat surface if you have grown up and moved away from your childhood home in this ridiculous metaphor.

It’s important to know that you don’t really have a duty to anyone but yourself. In a way, you almost don’t really have a duty to your family – no, not even your children. Your duty to your children is to remain sane for them so if they drive you crazy figure out what to do within your limitations so that you can be there for them in the way that is appropriate for your situation. I had a discussion with a good mom once and that was the conclusion that was arrived at. I’m not a mom – so that sounded good to me. It seemed like an appropriate way to apply boundaries.

If you’re a weak-boundaried person, perhaps you are NOT weak. Maybe it’s like a muscle. Maybe you shouldn’t be tasked to carry such a heavy load. Maybe it’s not really your problem. Maybe you should only ask yourself to deal with what you can deal with at the time you can deal with it.

I myself think that I have been dealing, emotionally, with too much. I have been taking on responsibilities, emotionally, that are not mine. I have been adopting roles that I should not have to play. I have not been enjoying liberties that I should get to indulge in. I often suffer in secret silence. I do not talk about being sick very much, and take time to myself to heal. I do not discuss rejection, because I am too proud. I suffer the proximity of those who have hurt me, and I have done this all my life. I should be allowed to apply distance and not have to show up when I think that doing so would shame me.

I’d like to hear an honest speech of defeat, and if I were a politician, I would give one. I don’t know what I would call my political party – and that is a subject for a far denser blog anyhow that I’m going to have to grow a different Sort of Courage to write; which will take time – but the tone of my speech would contain:

1. I worked REALLY hard to get here and I sunk ALL my hopes into this race.
2. I have very little agreement with my opponent and am feeling pretty jealous and bitter right now. Giving this speech is hard and it’s hard not to cry. I’ll do all I can to help, of course, and I will be as nice as pie and try to be gracious – but damn! I’d like to kick the proverbial rock and sure pout a little bit!
3. If at all possible and if I have the strength, I’m going to keep trying to achieve my goals.
4. It sure is embarrassing to lose when you try so hard.
5. All the mean things that people said about me hurt my feelings, because I like validation as much as the next guy. It’s really HARD to turn the other cheek.
6. “huh, huh. I said cheek…hehehehehe” {no, I wouldn’t say that. this is probably why I wouldn’t entertain a career in politics though. i am a child}
7. There’s lots of other stuff I’d probably say about my honest feelings. I’d try to put myself in the best light possible of course, but I might be honest about needing to get what I want.

Point is, for a while, I’d go away to lick my wounds, and not hang around the white house, or the mansion, or the place of office, or whatever – and torture myself while all the Fun was going down. Because I don’t think I’d be able to plan my next attack very effectively.

That’s just really not how I roll. I’m quite the sore loser.

Kick a rock.

The Authorities Assess the Terrible Outcome

This poem is very dramatic. It’s like a cross between the violence you feel at rejection, high school like hormones (or hell, just being a woman), being moody, CSI or Mulder and Scully, and Mistakes Were Made….

The Authorities Assess the Terrible Outcome

“There’s a floppy ‘v’ on the floor, next to a smashed
- and reshaped – ‘e’,”
the detective said. His partner quietly looked up at him
almost accusingly.

“I notice,” she said slowly
that the ‘you’ has lain as if to be unnoticed
- just there -
underneath the bed
on an edge of nightshirt sticking out
quite sadly
for awhile.

He looked a little frightened then,
her partner; as though she was accusing him
of some false crime. He studied her in the bedroom door
watched her mouth form the perfect “o”
matching the sick red symbol at the bedhead
and they wrote in notebooks
of the “L” shaped slash of blood upon the floor

He touched her shoulder then
and the she stepped away like it had burned
he barely heard her whisper
“I wonder, which one did it?
I wonder which one just couldn’t say it anymore..”