Roots

My pastor is talking about a deep human need to know where we came from. Adopted children often seek their birth parents. People set up family trees, walk through graveyards, visit the countries of their ancestors, have reunions, heirlooms, etc.

Maybe it's because I grew up in another country, where my family culture was a mix of American and Korean and Turkish and my extended family wasn't related by blood but by their jobs as missionaries and the fact we were all foreigners in foreign countries... But I've never cared much about where I came from. Just because my great grandfather came from Germany doesn't mean I have any interest in Germany. I probably identify less with Germany than I do the Middle East.

I like history, culture, and connections. They just don't have to be bound to me by blood and land. Why do I need my ancestors to be involved in something to justify my interest in it? What matters to me is what I have experienced and grown up with.

But I'm weird. I'd rather live in a camper and travel across country than in a house that's weighed down with a ton of past.

Just some thoughts.

A traveling band of people by any other name...

To start with, I mean no offense. None. I guess I'm just trying to understand.

Where to begin? I guess to sum it up, I am musing on the word "gypsy."

I almost feel bad for typing that. The thing is, I don't find that word offensive, don't consider it offensive, or mean it offensively.

Growing up, gypsy to me meant band of travelers with a distinct style (I probably got that part from Hollywood) that may be related to things like fortune telling. And they had to have little cart-houses. I thought the carts were cool. I never really associated it with a modern people and while I understood that in some places, some of these bands were considered thieves, I didn't usually connect that in my head.

In fact, I have a stronger connection with that for the "Tinkers" in the fantasy series "Wheel of Time," a group of traveling pacifists who mended pots and pans and would rather sing and dance than ever fight, even to defend themselves. They supposedly would steal everything in sight, including children, but that turned out to be a rude lie. But those are Tinkers. Probably modeled off of the historical idea of gypsies, but obviously not the same thing.

So basically, my point is I don't consider gypsy offensive and when I say it, I don't mean it offensively at all.

So what really baffles me is that some people out there are making that term offensive. I don't know who exactly, but the Wikipedia article reads like this:

However, many Romani people and academics who study them believe the word has been tainted by its use as a pejorative connoting illegality and irregularity, and some modern dictionaries recommend avoiding use of the word gypsy either entirely, or as a negative modifier.

First off, not everyone uses that word to imply such. I don't and it wouldn't enter my mind. When I think of gypsies, I think of like Esmeralda from Hunchback of Notre Dame. Sure, she wasn't on the right side of the law in that case, but the laws were stupid and the authority evil and corrupt and in the end, nobody was on the right side of the law and the gypsies were mostly good misunderstood people.

Maybe back in the day it meant that, but words change over time.

I think many Americans really have no idea that it is even supposed to be offensive. I mean, if you search Wikipedia for the word Gypsy, you'll find that it's a name, a play, a movie, a DC Comic character, several different bands, song names, names of towns, the names of some actual Romanian traveling groups, a word-processing program, name of a ship, etc.

I think we've romanticized it far enough that none of us (I guess Americans, anyway) mean it poorly. We like the thought of traveling bands of people, free to roam wherever they wish, mysterious.

But I've heard of someone I know who had a "gypsy" pony, a paint with feathered legs that the breed is actually called gypsy and a group found and blew up her picture feed and she was totally caught off guard. She had no idea it was offensive, and it's not like she made up the name for the breed of horse. She couldn't understand why people were saying such rude things to her.

Also, the author of a webcomic series has a set of comics going on right now which has readers vote on the story. One of the votes was on the name of the spaceship and one of the options was "The Gypsy Sol." My favorite option, the one I voted for without thinking. He was also informed that "gypsy" could be considered offensive and he had no idea.

Basically, what I'm saying, is that do we really have to go and make sure everyone knows that a certain word is offensive when a lot of people have no idea it's offensive and certainly never use it offensively? Can we accept that language changes and perceptions change? Wouldn't it be better to either lose the negative connotation, or simply rename/redefine the group in question than to rename and make all previous names somehow rude and bad? Do we need more offensive/off-limits words to tip-toe around?

Mostly, I just don't want to get in trouble if I sing any one of the 19 songs titled "Gypsy" or "The Gypsy" on Wikipedia.

Could you tell me on which shelf I can find a new life?

So, because I was depressed, I biked to BAM, that being "Books-A-Million," our current Borders replacement. I'd never heard of them until they replaced Borders, but other than the fact that they don't have a free loyalty program, you wouldn't know the difference.

Seriously, it's eerie. Same layout, same setup, even some of the same employees.

I was depressed because I am a lazy lout with no point in life. I was more upset when I discovered that they didn't have the Quinlan Vos Omnibus which documents my favorite Jedi in graphic novel form and I was totally planning on reading it for an hour or two...

Didn't there used to be chairs? Maybe that's one thing that's changed.

Anyway, now I'd have to spend my time doing something else. And hope if someone gets it for me for my birthday (it's on the list), they account for shipping time.

So I wandered around. I reacquainted myself with the last Song of Ice and Fire (books behind Game of Thrones) I'd read and the reasons behind why I hadn't picked up the next one. I looked at a guidebook for Turkey and tried to keep from crying. I blame hormones, I've been crying a bit. My phone has tearstains on it, it's ridiculous.

And I tried to find something to inspire me on what to do. I was kind of looking for a "Dummies Guide to Fixing Bikes" so I could learn everything about it and go work for Bike World. New current dream-plan. Bikes have to be easier than cars.

I didn't find that and was scared to ask, but I did come across other "inspiring" things.

What could I do with my time? Why, I could learn to play harmonica! They have a kit, includes book, CD, and a harmonica. In what key, I don't know. Or, I could learn hot and cold stone massage! Comes with book, CD, rocks, and a bamboo spoon for some reason. Origami? Learn to make dog treats and then sell them online? Learn how to pan gold? Learn survival skills? Travel? Learn a language?

I didn't come out with any clear answers, but I did get enough material for another blog post, which is win.

Open Mouth, Insert Foot

So, Cliven Bundy again. I'm not sure if this means he got the media attention he needed and as a result, they caught this faux pas, or the media is glorying in smearing someone again because that's the media's favorite thing to do. I hope you never committed thoughtcrime, or they will come after you if you stick your nose into the public sphere.

Thoughtcrime? It's from 1984. Just what it sounds like, it means you think something out of line.

Anyway, Cliven Bundy made a statement about his opinions on black people today that was rather racist and now all the politicians that supported him are running the opposite direction. Here's the first story I read on the Washington Post that actually quotes him. The article on Politico doesn't even do that.

But since I think a decent amount of it, while rather misled and insensitive, isn't what everyone is making it to be.

As quoted by Truth Revolt:

"Let me tell, talk to you about the Mexicans, and these are just things I know about the negroes. I want to tell you one more thing I know about the negro. When I go, went, go to Las Vegas, North Las Vegas, and I would see these little government houses, and in front of that government house the door was usually open and the older people and the kids -- and there's always at least a half a dozen people sitting on the porch. They didn’t have nothing to do. They didn’t have nothing for their kids to do. They didn’t have nothing for their young girls to do.

"And because they were basically on government subsidy -- so now what do they do? They abort their young children, they put their young men in jail, because they never, they never learned how to pick cotton. And I’ve often wondered are they were better off as slaves, picking cotton and having a family life and doing things? Or are they better off under government subsidy?

"You know they didn’t get more freedom, they got less freedom -- they got less family life, and their happiness -- you could see it in their faces -- they wasn't happy sitting on that concrete sidewalk. Down there they was probably growing their turnips -- so that’s all government, that’s not freedom."

Now, while I don't agree with his conclusions (I will not say they were better off slaves. No man should ever be the involuntary slave of another), you can argue that some of what he is saying is just expressing concerns about black Americans and their condition, which, while a generalization, isn't entirely wrong.

However, I think Bundy got his history a little bit wrong. It wasn't freedom from slavery that took their family life and work ethic. They had that after they got freedom. It was a collection of things, and I'm sorry, but I don't have quotes for all of them.

Thomas Sowell muses on many of the issues that face black Americans, and as a libertarian, he often ends up blaming the state. I think it's from reading some of his stuff that I heard some things. He's the one that pointed out that the black family remained strong until around 1960.

A few things had been and were working against them. Margaret Sanger began her plan of eugenics against the unfit. I read somewhere that she walked into the house of a poor person with a lot of kids and concluded the best way to help them was to take away the children aspect. She is the founder of Planned Parenthood.

Laws were passed that didn't make people equal, they promoted one group over another.

An academic argued that a woman didn't really need a man in the house, she just needed his income.

And the welfare state got bloated and mutated, claiming many people of all colors. Really, I primarily blame the welfare state which can make it far more profitable to not work than to work, and has incentives to remain in the welfare state, and went from being a temporary thing with stigma to something that is promoted and people feel is due them. I've read the number of people in poverty is going down, but the number on welfare continues to rise.

Some of this I learned from an article by Dr. Walter Williams. Another lewrockwell.com article on this recent thing with Cliven Bundy quotes Dr. Walter Williams as saying,

“The welfare state has done to black Americans what slavery could not have done, the harshest Jim Crow laws and racism could not have done, namely break up the black family.”

And, if we actually allowed to acknowledge there might be a problem, I think that is some of what Cliven Bundy's concerns were about.

Return to Go

Today is rainy. I didn't sleep well last night and after I woke up, I sent an email to Mom entitled "complainy email" where I basically said everything that annoyed me at that moment from my persistent cough to political differences.

I was ok. Still waiting. It seems like I'm always just waiting for something. Waiting for David to get home, waiting for supper time, waiting for bed time, waiting for the weekend, waiting to see my parents, waiting for Dragon Age III to come out, whatever. So this morning I was waiting. Probably for Pizza Night, this weekend, and church on Sunday where I might be helping out with camera again.

Then my brother, Nathan, the marine, called me cause he hasn't talked to me for a while and wanted to know what's up. Well, nothing is up.

Nathan is one of the most real people you'll meet. Talking to him usually is equal parts conviction and inspiration. Conviction for not being as real, as motivated, as he is, inspired because that's what I want to do after I talk to him.

I was less ok after that.

He asked me if I was looking for another job and I said no. Why not? Well, I went and got a job and look what happened. He told me I couldn't just give up, but that's not really what I'm doing. I'm just not sure what I should be doing. I still have a few volunteer gigs, but nothing to really occupy me.

I have like no responsibilities and as a result, I feel like a leech.

What SHOULD I be doing? That's what I keep asking myself, asking God.

I wish I had a skill. Almost any marketable skill. There's a girl in my connection group who makes crafts that she labels "Nerdy Decor and Wearable Art" and has an Etsy store called Peels and Posies.

Not that I want to do exactly that, but failing at the piano and writing World of Warcraft fan fiction isn't going to get me anywhere. How do I start over and gain marketable skills? Say I wanted to work in a bike shop, or become a forester, or get involved in local government... where do I start? I'm turning old again this year, but have no direction, no real skills, and little experience. What do I do?

And do you capitalize marine (Marine)?

Imagine a dusty, Old West street, tumbleweeds, cowboys facing off with guns.

I am writing this post in advance of me posting it because I've discovered I have moods for writing and often several ideas all the same time before I then lose all ideas and don't post anything for a month. This way I am making more use of the few moments that I do feel like writing.

That, and the World of Warcraft server is still down. And I already finished my book, cleaned part of the freezer, dusted my bedroom and the study, wrote a vignette, read or skimmed all the recent posts on LewRockwell.com and drank several cups of tea and it has not yet come back online.

Word of caution: The above link is to a very libertarian website with very libertarian views. It can open your mind and then fill it. Beware, and enter if you dare.

It was from that particular website that I saw a link to a certain news article on a rancher in Nevada named Cliven Bundy. Apparently, he keeps his cattle on this sort of public grazing lands his family has been using for a century or so and got his access revoked in 1993 when federal government classified the land as federal property to protect some sort of rare desert tortoise that seems to have persisted despite there being cows this last century. He stopped paying fees and kept his cattle on the land.

I'm a bit confused on this point. As far as I can tell based on the structure of the language, he was paying fees, and then they ordered him to get his cattle off, and he didn't do that AND stopped paying fees. Which, if you aren't allowed to keep your cows somewhere and you decide to keep them there, that makes paying fees seem a little silly, doesn't it? Like paying rent after you're evicted and hiding under the porch.

Anyway, somehow things came to head recently and you should probably read the article to get the feel of it. From what I've read, and I find this whole thing hard to believe, federal forces stormed the property with helicopters and snipers and started seizing his cattle. Meanwhile, private militias of gun enthusiasts, anti-federals, and others in the area and from nearby states poured in to stand with Cliven Bundy, dressed in camo, flak-jackets, and bringing guns.

The feds ended up releasing the cows after a standoff and backing down.

You look at the pictures and read the story and it makes no sense. When reading it, I kept saying, "This doesn't happen in America." People don't just group up, armed, against the government and make the government back down. I didn't even think anybody would ever consider that option.

Obviously, it's a rather libertarian track of thought. Government is oppressive, citizens have the right to bear arms against oppressive government. And nobody got shot, in this case.

But this doesn't happen in America. Does it? I still have a hard time believing this story.

Although, you know, if this story is true, the government isn't the type to back down. Maybe Cliven Bundy and the militias won the day, but that doesn't mean it's over. But it's nice to see that people can think outside the box.

Nerd fan fic something or other

To let you in to a little bit of my life, I play World of Warcraft. I am a nerd. If you want a little bit more, the servers are down for maintenance this morning, and so I was prowling around the forums because I wanted to play and couldn't. And I found a little writing challenge for writing a Vignette, a short moment in time, 500 words or less, obviously WoW themed.

So I wrote a moment and then had to slash it mercilessly to get it under the word limit. I was 840 originally.

And since I like it, I'm going to share it with you. Don't feel obligated to read it. Good chance it won't make sense if you don't play WoW.

~~~

Quaint round clay buildings squatted together in circles around a central clearing with a firepit, like companions camping together, under a brilliant sky, blue and thick enough to hide what was outside. The grass was bright green, fur over the rolling body of the land, with unfamiliar curving trees easing their way out of the ground. Pieces of earth floated above, separate from the land, but adding their features like a crown to Nagrand.

This was my ancestral home.

Chesra looked around, trying to make the words fit. Trying to summon some feeling of belonging to the little village.

A head popped out from one of the buildings, followed by a fleshy body that had to stoop to get through a door designed for something much smaller. A feral growl escaped the uneven teeth in the pinkish face when its single eye caught sight of her.

Chesra hefted her axe. It whistled as it cleaved the air. The ogre gurgled as it slumped.

"Ho... home..." Chesra tried. It still didn't make sense. She scratched the shaved part of her scalp, letting her hand creep up and tug at her mohawk. She caught herself, and used her other hand to pull it down, leading to an inspection of her nails, then palms.

"You get out!" a voice bellowed. Her right palm was briefly occupied. A flash of scorn crossed her brain for the pinkish skin of the ogres. Her light green was much more pleasing.

Green. It followed the lines of her palms, burrowed under the edges of the nails, and stained the backs of her hands, going under her armor up her arms and there to coat the rest of her body.

Green.

And there was the difference, the barrier. Green was all she had seen in Durotar, and fighting all she knew as she cut out her survival from the heat and the dryness and the scorpions and whatever else tried to kill her. It had not been her home. Her people had come from somewhere else, Draenor, before the desert and the humans and the demons and the green.

She had seen them, the other orcs, the ones who had not touched the demon blood, not been exiled. Their skin was brown, as natural as the earth, untainted.

Her feet crunched over the dirt around the firepit. Her eyes, a rare blue color, darted among the shadows and the doorways, looking for a piece of the past, of her past. Her fangs worried her lip and she felt something rising in her, a feeling familiar as heat. Her heart started to pound in her ears and the world became sharper, more real, swelling in her senses as her steps quickened. The feeling reached her throat and she crowed, a mix of a growl and a roar and a taunt.

Ogres burst into her vision and her axe sang, every time it met their bloated bodies, parting the skin, releasing the blood, Chesra felt something in her rejoice, drinking in the violence until the bodies piled up and nothing else moved to challenge her.

She was here alone, which suited a warrior like her just fine. She had been brought up to fight alone and it had challenged her to keep herself alive long enough that survival had become her ability. She didn't mind being alone, but it nagged at her now. She was alone because they couldn't fight.

The town washed out in her eyes, the houses once owned by the brown-skinned orcs taking on a soft hue, clay just short of melting from too much water. Her hand gripped her axe handle until it hurt. How could this be home? Orcs raised in Durotar became strong and fighters. They had to fight because the harsh lands were not where they came from, and if the humans had their way, were not where they would stay. But all orcs who made it to adulthood were like the land: spiky, dry, and hard. The brown-skinned orcs brought up in this land were soft, soft like the sky and the grass. They had no blood rage in them.

She realized she had been pulling at her forelock again and used her left hand to bat her right hand away. She distracted it by hoisting her axe over her shoulder and heading back toward the brown-orc town of Garadar, affecting an easy, rolling walk. All confidence, not hiding, for she was sure she could take anything that might leap out at her.

Because she was an orc. A real orc, skin scarred green by their mistakes, hard from the deserts in Azeroth and the fight with the humans, blood surging with rage that kept them alive and made them strong. Because this wasn't their home, just a mark on their past, a blip on her timeline that she would eventually leave behind her.

The edges of her lips curved in a smile around her jutting sharp teeth from her lower jaw. She was an orc. And the world could BRING IT.