Pink Floyd, Relics 1973
Update: I had been mulling this post for a few weeks now. Writing here and there. Thinking. Then, in one fell swoop, I accidentally published the drivel without much proofreading and derailed my entire train of thought, thus forcing me to declare "Uncle" to myself. Enjoy!
A few weeks back, a silly argument on Facebook about Evolution circled down the drain when one party showed a hand at ignorance and stupidity, then got rude towards the person's Facebook page on which they were posting. I was pretty irritated with the whole exchange, in particular when the "pro"-science folks were accused of "being emotionally attached to science" in regard to a topic that is pretty clear-cut, folks. As Kara said, "being pro-Evolution is like being pro-gravity."
Perhaps, this fervent belief in Evolution is why I have all-too-often been attracted to men of foreign extraction. My unconscious hope that in co-mingling our genetic matter, superior strands would rise above the others and the result would be a premium specimen? A hope for mankind, hence my vigorous defense of which to many is "just a theory"? No?
When I was upset about the exchange, my mom asked "Why does it matter? Why do you get so upset?" I did not have an answer for her at the time, but I have thought a lot about it since (see, Mom! I actually listen.)
What is the alternative? To stay quiet? Then, later Kara wrote about her big mouth. Gentle Reader, she does not lie. Kara's mouth is ginormous.
Anyway, I had some grand statement (I think) on how we all have a voice that must not be cheapened by others or by fright and then I was going to end with a swelling note that would make you all cry and rend your t-shirts but instead I totally suck ass as a writer which explains why my Tweets are only $5 a pop and if you have visited your feed reader lately, it is blatantly obvious why my trust capital is worth $0 and why Mom Central dissed me at BlogHer 09.
A fashionista is still better than a Sandinista.