Lila Rose is doing the Lord’s work. Pro-life advocates have known that sex-selective abortions were inevitable, but getting proof that it is indeed going on is priceless. It changes the debate.
Is sex-selective abortion any different (or more egregious) than aborting a healthy child who may or may not be a Down Syndrome kid? Or, as has been documented in the UK, aborting a baby with a cleft palate?
Abortion on demand is a societal sickness. We’re talking about children here. The children we have are the children we are given — by God, or Gaia, or the Universe, whatever. Every single life is as important as the next, and every life should be given the chance to take its course.
As a species, we are not equipped with foresight that informs us which life is worthy and which life is wasted. Water must find its own level; life is much the same.
I might not really care what Meghan McCain has to say on any given subject — she’s an intellectual lightweight — but calling her fat and generally disrespecting her is so lame. Of course, Meghan has chosen life in the public eye, so complaining about cyber-psychos harassing her is pretty lame too.
Just ignore her and she might go away. It’s that easy.
So it’s been awhile, yes? I have been fully engulfed by the most insidious ennui I have ever encountered. Why care about things one cannot change? I just can’t be bothered at this point. I’ve been listening to music, reading sad books about wistfulness and whatnot, misting up as I finish the entire Lord of the Rings series for the millionth time. There is no point to continuing the fight. We are all less than ineffectual; we are fireflies in the void. We haven’t done the impossible, dear ones, the impossible has done us.
Never fear! I am not depressed; it’s just this time of year that brings me down. June to September are the hardest months for me, for reasons I’ve explained before. As Anne Sexton writes, “It is June; I am tired of being brave.” I’m not sure what I want right now, so I will avoid making any sweeping pronouncements or life-altering decisions. I will strive to be present more often, and to at least pretend to care about things I cannot, will not ever change.
I am cheerfully apathetic, if such a thing is possible. I am happily devoid of purpose, distracted from distraction by distraction. Which is sometimes a very nice place to be. Or perhaps I’m waking from a dream of importance or meaning. Perhaps life will begin now.
Don’t even try to tell me that forward-thinking progressives don’t secretly mourn the demise of eugenics as a socially acceptable soft science. Statistically speaking, what is the racial makeup of your average crackhead in North Carolina, where this program originates?
Yeah. Chew on that for a second.
People of color, Progressives are the collective Man trying to keep you down. They always have been, but they’re just a lot sneakier about it now.
Now, I thought this quote, from a bioethicist was kinda weird. Perhaps it was just awkward wording on his part.
‘Pregnancy and addiction are terrible problems,’ he said. ‘But they’re not going to get solved by throwing a Band-Aid of $300 incentives to the poorest women with these problems.’
Oh, yeah, they pay crackheads $300 to get sterilized. But I’m wondering what Mr. Bioethicist mean by pregnancy being a terrible problem. Maybe he meant that pregnancy plus addiction is a terrible problem… but that’s not what he said.
Pregnancy is not an illness, addiction is. Treat the addiction, don’t pay crackheads to get sterilized so that they can continue destroying their lives without fear of consequences.
This woman running the program in North Carolina can say she’s not racist, and that may technically be true, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t a classist. She doesn’t believe that poor or “mental defectives” should be allowed to breed. The fact that so many of her target audience are minorities is just a happy accident, I’m guessing.
Stupid Tim Lebbon and his stupid awesomeness. I got sucked into his Noreela series recently. I’m not usually into fantasy, but Lebbon is a fantastic writer. I’d read pretty much anything he put his name to. He’s very good at atmosphere, creating worlds that stay with you for days, even years after you’ve closed the book. Echo City is one book I’ve never been able to shake. It’s equal parts beautiful and haunting, deeply sad and yet surprisingly hopeful.
Good things lie hidden in his dark pages. I highly recommend visiting the worlds he’s created.
Make no mistake, Arizona, the federal government is waging war against your sovereignty. Sheriff Joe has disregarded the will of Our Dear Leader, and he will not be forgiven. Your fiery governor, Miss Jan, has too crossed this administration one time too many, and she must be punished. Obama is small and petty and doubt not that he will make her, Sheriff Joe, and all yall gonna pay.
Watching this attack from across state lines is killing me. I’m coming home sooner or later, and then, watch out.
This is achingly beautiful. Lacey Buchanan loves her son, Christian, fiercely. She was encouraged to abort him, on account of his severe cleft palate, but she refused and was rewarded with a son who fills her life with joy. It is wonderful to see a mom celebrating the life of a child the world considers deformed, imperfect, worthless.
Miss Lacey knows that all life is precious, and Christian is perfect to her. Thank God for people like this.
To all my gay and lesbian friends, just know that this president and the Democrat party as a whole think you are stupid. They think you are single issue voters, that symbolism matters more to you than having a job, paying your bills, being able to afford gas for your car or planning a future for your children. Dividing us as countrymen is the gameplan. Don’t fall for it. I know that this seems like a victory, symbolic or otherwise, but at what cost? Is he worth it?
Are you better off than you were four years ago?
As for Obama, his insincerity, posturing and inconsistency sickens me.
Honestly, I think Hillary looks rather pretty in her natural state. Her hair is the right color for her, her skintone is even, considering her age, and she smiles more as Secretary of State, an expression that vastly improves her appearance. I think Hill has taken this unexpected and unwanted fate with grace and class. I still don’t think much of her, politically speaking, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t say something nice about her.
…I didn’t fail to note that MCA has died. I was stunned — stunned — by the news. I vaguely remember hearing that he was ill, but I never in a million years thought he would die. He was too young. He was MCA. I mean, come on.
But he’s gone and I’m not all that sure what we’re going to do without him. The Beastie Boys were pioneers and we all owe them a debt of gratitude for making badass music. Their music is woven throughout the memories of my adolescence.
I’m going to miss you, MCA. We all are.
There is a war on women. It’s not about birth control or imaginary sexism, it’s about real sexism, about the real fight for actual control of every part of a woman’s body. Girls as young as 10 are being mutilated, cut and sewn back together to keep them “pure.”
This story is not new, but it is bears repeating until feminists and lawmakers throughout the First World pay attention and start making some real noise. Girls in the West should never be subjected to this barbarism.
One of the First Worlders who is actively fighting for women is writer Ruth Rendell, who has addressed the issue in her latest novel. She also campaigns for an end to the practice in the UK. Assimilation, education and awareness are all weapons against this horrific practice.
It’s estimated that at least 100,000 women have been mutilated in the UK alone. Isn’t that number awfully high for a First World country? I was joking with a friend of mine the other day about First World housewife problems, but I realised while reading this article that if we continue to ignore these things, First World problems may end up looking a lot more like Third World problems.
So, I don’t know if you can tell from my crappy photo, but I’ve got high cheekbones. I tan easily. I have to buy foundation with yellow or golden undertones. I don’t freckle. There is no red in my hair whatsoever. Maybe I’m Native American. I grew up in a church that had a significant percentage of senior citizens in its congregation, and I can’t even count the number of times I was told that I might have some “Indian blood” in me. (Never mind that I am naturally blond and have green eyes.)
Did I tick the Native American box when I applied to colleges? When I fill out job applications? I don’t know what my genetic lineage is; I was adopted. I could say I was South African, Asian, Russian, Swedish, Canadian for God’s sake — but that would be lying. I can’t even claim my adoptive family’s heritage in good conscience. It even feels like lying, that itchy, dirty feeling of falsity, of taking on another’s life.
So how can Elizabeth Warren be excused for lying about her heritage? It’s a sickness, this obsession with ethnic groups and classes, seeing people as faceless members of a group instead of the individuals that they are. It further divides people, which I suppose is the point, politically speaking. Divide and conquer. Pit groups and classes against each other so they’re too busy to realize they’re getting played.
I’m tired of this BS. It’s time to jettison the whole lot of them. The Left offers nothing but drudgery, further balkanization and cradle-to-grave welfare. Throw the bums out. It should be obvious by now that if they’re breathing, they’re lying.
So recently I started watching the first season of The Killing, an AMC remake of a critically-acclaimed Danish television show. Initially, I intended to watch the original series first, as I did with The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo — you’ll always be my Lisbeth, Noomi! — but it was easier and more convenient to watch the show that was already in my Netflix queue than it would be to track down a copy of the English-subtitled original. (I don’t speak Danish. Yet.)
I’m hooked. Duh.
I’ve always loved Michelle Forbes, and her performance in this series is exquisite. Mirielle Enos is fantastic, and I really want to know where the hell Joel Kinnaman has been all my life. WTF? Well over 6 feet, all lanky and broad-shouldered with that weird but endearing mustache (a kiss without a mustache is like an egg without salt, remember). And that voice. Low — like subsonic, chain-smoking, bedroom low — and strangely intimate. His character, Holder, reminds me of someone I knew but I can’t place it, some now forgotten tweeker from my shadowy past or something. Holder is sympathetic and surprising, with that slow-burn core of anger that seems to speak to me.
Some of that.
Anyway, I’m almost done with the first season and the second season is going to live on my DVR for awhile until I can get to it. I’ve recommended it to my cousin, with whom I share a love for good, sometimes inappropriate, offbeat tv. My cousin with the fancy-ass law degree. I remember when that kid was born, and now we’re friends, not just family. Weird.