About five seconds after I crashed into the back of the red couch I wondered if my blog was about to hit the dead zone. I thought about Lewis over at Deliverance who last published in August of 2014, just a link to a ten year old post about Robin Williams and an RIP for the man. That was it, over and out more or less. This year there are two posts which are just links published by the name of what could conceivably be a real person. Lewis Medlock is not a real person. Go ahead, google Lewis Medlock and then connect the dots with Deliverance. Clever man, clever funny, intelligent, thoughtful man with a willingness to look for and step into the logical intersections in the Venn diagrams that make up this vast, multi-cultural expanse of territory we call a single country.
I learned a lot from Lewis Medlock. I learned how to step into the logical intersections and actually have a conversation without losing myself or necessarily offending. I miss him. I also learned that blogs have a certain lifespan. Even if they don't shut down for personal reasons or due to death (there have been a few of those), sometimes the need to write in that particular context dries up. I don't know why Lewis was writing but I know why I write. When I started writing I had no real concept of the internet other than theoretically and at the prompting of a co-worker who also wrote I started posting short essays over on myspace without the intention of ever having them read but also understanding that they could be read by anyone. Nothing earth shattering was published over there. When I realized I was going to publish more than four or five pieces I found TypePad and moved over what I wanted to keep from 2006 and set up shop at the start of 2007 and I've been here ever since.
I came to write, I stayed because I connected with a world outside of my own finite world and also because I needed to write. For a long time I wrote on a damn near daily basis. In 2009 I took most of my writing offline to a locked blog because it wasn't fit for public consumption and I lost about 80% of my community. They never came back. Between 2009 and 2010 we all took our masks off and moved to Facebook. My God, that was a terrible idea.
Now when I go looking for blog communities in which to connect I can't find them. I can find communities but they are all like. I haven't found any Venn diagrams out there. No logical intersections in which to step and have mostly civilized conversation about wildly different points of view. I can't even go out onto Facebook most days; it's the Wild, Wild, West out there. Christ on a bike. I posted this:
You can click a little thumbs up button indicating that you like a post or a heart emoticon or a laughing face, or tears, or outrage, or shock and awe I suppose. I think this made a bunch of people laugh, I wasn't really looking. I'd added a note that I aspired to this sort of granny zen or something like that. It was FUCKING FUNNY, people. Also, it was on my wall. That's sort of like, on my blog. Seriously. I mean it. And on my blog, in my comment space, you exercise some level of restraint in the way you communicate. We all do. Those are the rules. We don't attack people, we aren't rude, and for the love of Pete, we mostly stay on topic.
What he said wouldn't have been that bad except for the fact that social media, Facebook specifically has become a political killing ground. Bipartisan? I've stopped even using the word. I used the word partisan in a sentence the other day, specifically related to this particular post and I think it was lost on people. In any event, the first comment was political. I don't remember exactly because I deleted it eventually, however it was something about the behavior being more about #45 who could stand in the middle of 5th Ave shooting people down and he'd still be loved. I supposed that was a slam at the gun loving right in general. Maybe they were the granny. I really don't give a shit.
My immediate response was to tell the man exactly why the comment was inappropriate and that I might has well stick to puppies and kittens to avoid it.
The next comment was another political comment. Yes, that looks like #45 or something like that.
Me: (I really don't think it quite read like this but I did delete the string): WHAT PART OF MY RESPONSE ABOUT POLITICAL COMMENTS DID YOU MISS? GET OFF MY EFFING PAGE. (I probably wasn't yelling yet, but I was definitely thinking it)
Response: A link to puppies? Or it might have been dead dogs. I have no idea. I didn't open it, I was using my phone and it was too small to see by the thumb print but puppies and kittens is puppies and kittens.
Me: GET OFF MY FUCKING PAGE (If I wasn't in all caps I'd be shocked)
Then I deleted the entire string and left a comment in its place about the damn thing not being political and my page not being political. Don't put political crap on my page. I won't put my crap on your page.
Unfortunately I tend to engage where I should not. This puts me on time out. Once I was on time out for nearly three weeks. That sucked. It sucked mostly because I didn't miss it in the least and it was hard to go back. I went back because this is where we connect. I know we like to smack that bad boy around but let's face it, social media is where the human race connects and when we make fun of it, undermine it, make it out to be less then it is, well, we're being just plain stupid. We don't have to go there but to say that it's a waste of time or that it has no value is a sign of that terminal disease called head up ass or in the sand (pick, or both) or a truly short lack of intelligence. It is running us. We can either accept it and doing something about managing it or we can just be swept away in the river called the greater consciousness that is us. That's the easy way, right? It always has been.
Back on engaging when I should not. I should not engage only because it is not forwarding when I do. I have rules about where I will engage. I won't engage directly with a post I find upsetting. It's not my post. If someone posts something about #45 that upsets me, if it's a direct post, then that's what it is. The poster has as much right as anyone else to express a belief. I have no right to walk through their front door (page), step into the comment section, and tell them they're wrong. Nothing good comes of that. I'll come back to this.
Nothing good comes of where I do engage either but somehow I have this grey area where I think it's ok. Here is where I put myself on timeout for three weeks. Right after Florida I read two separate posts. One was posted by my cousin and another by a woman I only know from another friend from the blog world whom I have never met. We share common interests. She is a kindergarten teacher and I feel a gut level connection with her. I have no idea what sort of connection she feels toward or about me. I'm close with my cousin.
A pharmacist was going on about gun control and he didn't want to lose his firearms and people, I have to tell you, I understand this. I listen to the people around me screaming, yes, SCREAMING (I'll come back to this) about gun control and as with a couple of other issues lately they aren't hearing a couple of things and from what I'm hearing, they just don't give a shit. Oh, so fucking helpful to not give a shit. Hey, Iran, I don't give a shit about how you feel about... let's blow some shit up. American arrogance, we look at #45 and we drop our collective drawers and piss all over this man BUT, how do you think he got there?
"I don't give a shit."
I have heart palpitations these days.
So the pharmacist is screaming about gun control and he doesn't want to lose his firearms and he lives in New Hampshire (Live Free or Die) and he's bloody frothing on about mental health and background checks and he doesn't directly mention it but he's thrown HIPPA under the bus and a good part of the gun toting population has thrown HIPPA under the bus and I'm thinking, peeps, it's not me you should be afraid of. I'm in the system but I'm well cared for. Last I checked 2.6% of the American population has been diagnosed with this particular neurological anomaly (I'm running out of words to use in place of disorder); what's the percentage that has NOT been diagnosed because of the stigma OR because, quite honestly, most of us just don't recognize the symptoms? As a whole, we don't even know what it means. We know what we've seen on television, we know what those horrible mental health commercials showed us a couple of years ago (oh, that threw us back a couple of decades), but we don't really know what it means. Even if we picked up a couple of the books off the shelf written by or for the layperson, we still don't know. We'd have to be willing to pick up the definitive source and wallow through that and only THEN would we start looking around at the people in our lives, and even ourselves and start saying, oh, holy shit. And then we might ask ourselves, is this really an anomaly or is this a facet of the human condition?
So how do we define a mental health issue? Timothy McVeigh, one of our best known American Terrorists (not a gun user) was never diagnosed with anything and it wasn't for lack of trying. He's classified as a 'Lone Wolf Terrorist'.
Adam Lanza was right in my backyard. I'm ten miles from Sandy Hook and I'm not really prepared to tell you how that affected my community or Elizabeth at this point but you can probably extrapolate. A taste: the community SHUT DOWN. Children were sent home. I only found out because I happened to glance at my phone (verboten) during a company Christmas lunch in White Plains - 40 minutes away and shot the hell out of there. There was no way I was going to make it home in time to catch that school bus when it stopped in front of my house. She was twelve years old. I talked to her all the way home. She locked the front door behind her, barricaded herself in my room and cowered, wedged into the back corner of my closet until I pulled her quaking body out of the dark.
Adam Lanza: Maybe on the Spectrum, anxiety, OCD, and anorexia? Also, labeled possibly gifted by the school system. Dysfunctional relationships with family members. How the hell do you track that?
Columbine. I can't even.
So I have an issue with the mental health angle. I can see people's rights being turned inside out, I can see large chunks of the population being rounded up and (I don't know) and then I can see large chunks of the population running around wreaking the same general havoc we've been wreaking since the dawn of time. We're just pointing fingers, that's all. It makes us feel better or it makes us feel like we might be doing something and we might not lose our guns if we do that. OK. That's fine. It's just not going to fix a damn thing.
I should not have engaged the pharmacist. I engaged him because he posted untruths and I shredded him for it. Twenty minutes later I shredded someone else who posted an entire string of inappropriate comments on the photograph of a dead teacher. Inappropriate and inaccurate. I published links.
When I was done, I sent two PMs apologizing to the original posters and then I went away for three weeks.
Why? I didn't make a damn bit of difference with the pharmacist, I just got to be right. I didn't make a damn bit of difference with the kid who wanted to put semiautomatic weapons in the hands of teachers. I just got to be right. I also upset the kindergarten teacher because her post exploded.
And then? Then I took some guy apart for just sounding stupid. Telling him how many rounds a semiautomatic can fire in a minute wasn't relevant. Telling him that the population of the United States of America was no longer fit to handle, much less possess a firearm was NOT helpful. He just didn't want to lose his gun.
I'm not listening.
It's a slippery slope. Every time I find myself not listening I have to put myself on timeout.
Don't even start me on the Civil War. One of these days I'm going to be forced into the stacks of the primary sources because I sure as shit can't find the truth on the interwebs anymore. We've whitewashed the past and I want it back. I want it back for the North AND the South because we're all shouting horrible inaccuracies.
My daughter was not twelve this time, she was seventeen and when she told me about the national walkout she sat hunched into herself and I just listened.
Why do you want to do this thing? I'm just asking; you don't have to answer to me or to anyone. I just want to listen to you. I'll support you regardless.
When Sandy Hook happened I was twelve and terrified and I thought I was going to die that day. I know now that he wasn't going to drive over here and shoot me in my house but I didn't know that then. But you weren't here and that's not your fault. You weren't at school either. I was helpless and there wasn't anything I could do about it so I just walked around scared for a couple of years. I didn't forget about it but I got used to it.
You got used to it? What do you mean?
Mom, there are always school shootings. People are always upset and there isn't anything we can do about it. That kid walked into a church in the south and shot up everyone.
Elizabeth, that's not a school but I understand.
What about Vegas?
Mom, this is not OK. Nobody is doing anything about this.
I'm sorry, I don't mean to be arguing with you. I'm trying to be totally neutral. I just want to listen to you. Can we start over? Go ahead and tell me.
I'm not twelve anymore. This affected me differently. It didn't happen ten miles away but it happened. Remember when #45 got elected and we did the math and realized I was going to be exactly one month away from being able to vote in the midterm elections?
I felt really helpless and I felt cheated. I felt cheated because all of this affects me and I'll be in college and I should be able to do something about it. Well, now I can do something about it.
OK. So are you going to do it?
I don't know.
OK. Why not?
I might be alone.
Why do you think you'll be alone?
I don't know if anyone else will do it.
Do you need anyone else to do it?
I'd be embarrassed.
Well, isn't that sort of the point of a protest? You go out there and stand for what you believe no matter what?
But what kind of difference does one person make?
Oh, honey, you have no idea. Sometimes one single person has more impact than 1,000,000. I showed her this:
I could have pulled up one of the videos that still pops up twenty-nine years later but this still with its caption sums it up rather nicely. He has no identity. He never did. However, twenty-nine years later when you say single protester (he wasn't but then he was) he pops right up for me.
Did his single act of defiance change history? Did he do what one million protestors LED BY STUDENTS might not have done on their own? Did it happen because the final footage is what finally captured global attention? I don't know. Maybe. But the fact that it is indelibly carved into the bedrock of what has informed my beliefs is telling.
Elizabeth, I'm not suggesting you walk in front of a tank, sweetie, I'm just telling you we are far more powerful than we believe. And then there's Margaret Mead. You should know about Margaret Mead. Margaret Mead was an anthropologist (Ears. Perked. Up.). Anthropologists study the logical intersections in the Venn diagrams of...
YESSSSS!!!! What about Margaret Mead?
Best quote ever and used so often it is now almost meaningless but you've probably never heard it so that's good. Ready?
"Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it's the only thing that ever has."
Do you know why?
Because large groups of people often lack clarity. They depend on a single unified speaker and they don't always have that. So you can put 10,000 people or 1,000,000 people in front of the capital but until one person stands up and does or says something that resonates through enough logical intersections, nothing changes. The small group of thoughtful combined with committed people, and we call those people committed citizens because a citizen is a member of...a part of, not separate. To be part of is to be vested in the outcome. When we revolutionize, we pull away from and stop being citizens even if we say we are. We are committed only to what we believe is right. When we are committed citizens we have to work within the framework that is our community. When we are committed to change we usually want or need change because we no longer have a single circle. Are you following me, Anthropologist?
Yes. I think I am.
So tell me why you want to participate in this walkout. I don't want you to justify yourself. I'm just really interested in what you, Elizabeth have to say to the world. I want to hear you. I'm listening. It's important to me.
Well, I don't really know how this is going to make a difference but I feel like I have to do something I guess even if I'm alone. I guess I might just stand out there in front of the school by myself for seventeen minutes and I have a list of names so I'll just think about them each for a minute and then I'll go back in and I don't know what I'll do after that but it's better then staying in my seat like nothing happened. At least if that happens then everyone else who stayed in their seat will be reminded.
That is true. OK. So, Elizabeth. What do you want?
What do you mean?
What do you want? What do you want to change? I'm not going to say what I feel or want because that's not fair to put it on you. This is like when we talk about anything else, politics, human rights, women's rights, although you certainly hear me go off about that often enough. Just tell me because I'm really interested, I'm listening and it doesn't matter what I think.
I want to buy the guns back. I want an amnesty. I want enough money thrown out there that people willingly turn them in. I want a lot of money spent on getting back the semiautomatics and anything that isn't used for hunting and then I want those too. I don't want to stop selling guns; I want restrictions on guns. I want people to take classes like driving classes and I want different license classifications for different weapons. I want licenses and weapons registered together and I want them to expire and have to be renewed just like car registrations and drivers licenses except I want them tied. If you want an AR-15 I think you have to say why and it has to be a good reason and I don't know what a good reason is but, go ahead, sell me.
Defiance City, standing there in my living room with her arms crossed.
Is that going to help?
Yes. I don't think you can just say take guns away because that's not going to happen but I think we can have a do over or something like it. If you really want your tank I think you can have that too but I think you have to go to tank class and get a tank license and I think the whole world has to know you have a tank.
Do you think this would help?
I think a lot less people would have a lot less guns.
I was kind of surprised. I shouldn't have been. I grew up with guns. I just did. One of my earliest memories is the .45 on top of the television console in North Kalamazoo. Damn thing was freaking loaded and my brother and I were, I guess, three and five, maybe not. Maybe two and four and I bet I could have reached that thing. Was the safety on? Probably. Was that thing there for a damn good reason? Yup. You bet. Why did I know it was there? I knew it was there because I was expressly informed as to the nature of a firearm, the reason for the location of the firearm, and why I must never, ever, ever touch the firearm. By the time we got to the nature of the firearm I was pretty damn clear that I wasn't going anywhere near it. It was just there.
I was more afraid of the rat poison in the basement. I was given the same speech about the rat poison in the basement. Thing is I couldn't see the rat poison in the basement. It was nebulous. I could see the basement door in the kitchen and sometimes the door was open and I saw the black hole that swallowed up whatever came after the first three stairs down into whatever was called basement but since I never went there it was, um, nebulous. Rat poison would, not could, WOULD kill me. I was convinced that rat poison would call me down there one day and make me eat it and I would die in the dark. Not afraid of the gun on the television console. The gun is for shooting scary people if they come in the house and my mommy or daddy will take care of that business. I didn't need to worry about it.
Later lots of people had them in different shapes and sizes and I was taught to shoot by my grandpa the summer I was eleven, I think. The kickback on that shotgun was alarming. I could not have weighed more than sixty pounds at best but he kept at it until I found a way to anchor myself. My Uncle Vic had a five cylinder .38 without a safety (I'm thinking that's a .38 Special but I could be wrong) and I can't think about this without giggling. He kept it on the shelf to the right of the recliner in his trailer which is just by the door and his front steps rattled so he'd know when someone was coming and maybe wake his ass up just in time. That little gun was wrapped in a hanky! This was all as normal as, well, pot smoking skydivers and Grateful Dead concerts and holding the muffler of my '73 Vega in place with coat hangers until my next paycheck.
That same weapon from atop the television console (I write console because I don't believe the damn thing actually worked) came with us from Michigan to Connecticut and from there I lost sight of it. I didn't think about it either. For a couple of years we lived with the Connecticut Rednecks and they did love they their guns and while I didn't handle them they certainly were left about in various states of disarray which prompted another conversation with my parents about the proper handling of weapons because we, my brother and I, were being improperly influenced and while we weren't being actively raised to shoot part of a well-rounded education involved a proper understanding and respect for weapons. Point down, safety on, unload, lock up. DON'T POINT THAT THING AT SOMEONE UNLESS YOU MEAN TO USE IT. If you mean to use it, don't hesitate, don't miss.
I was only once taught to disassemble, clean, and reassemble a weapon and that is only because my grandfather believed that if you were going to have a relationship with a firearm, any relationship at all, then it must be a complete relationship. It was kind of like eating what you kill. Do it all, do it right.
Enter stage left, the weapon from my childhood. Well don't you know I nearly shot up my parents when I was seventeen and that put a bit of a damper on things. The good news is I hesitated. The bad news is I hesitated.
So that's why they are alive AND that is why I don't own a gun. I don't not own a gun because I almost shot my parents although that's the story I told myself for a lot of years. I don't own a gun because I hesitated.
I would really like to believe I would have, could have discharged my weapon because I did not for a minute think those people were my parents in the hall outside the bedroom door. I didn't believe it because they weren't answering me. What I believed was that another intruder had entered the home and I was going to be beaten and raped again.
And that there was nothing I could do about it.
Sitting on that bed with a .45 in my hands with six hollow-points (maybe there was one in the chamber?) set to blow a hole the size of Kansas out the back of any man or woman walking through that door or honestly even through that door. Sitting on that bed, back ramrod straight, arms steady, breathing almost steady, not calling out anymore but also, NOT shooting. I dropped the revolver into my lap as the door opened and it took two or three seconds before I managed to process that my very drunk parents were NOT going to kill me.
I dropped the gun in my lap and surrendered.
OK, so I was a traumatized seventeen year old maybe two weeks past a brutal rape but I did the math. I took the gun away from myself before someone else could do it for me.
Later when I was young and married and living on the farm with my small boy and my husband was away a fair amount, My grandpa got me a chainsaw to put in the bedroom and made sure I could start it up and suggested I just stand there holding it. He didn't try to arm me. I expect he understood why I didn't pick up the revolver again. I expect he would have made the same decision if he were to be permitted to make it for me and this was a mercenary man. I have to tell you though, I do still wish to have my hands on his sniper rifle. Somehow I think this will change things. That's another conversation entirely. Sort of like wearing your mother's shoes when you're scared I guess.
I got nothing against guns.
However. I have a lot against guns in the hands of Americans in general. I'm just disgusted. I mean, I can't even. I just can't. I realize that's my judgement but I have a right to it and I vote. I also recognize that the rest of America has a right to judgement and belief and also has a vote. I got that. Do you got that?
Margaret Mead and logical intersections. We're going to have to come to an agreement.
And now we come to the first test of the budding young anthropologist. She is terrified of standing out.The first real test was walking out of school on March 14 and then facing her Facebook feed. THAT was the first test.
It was like a punch in the gut. It knocked the wind out of her. I didn't see much of it at all because I was mostly off. Mostly off because I just didn't have the bandwidth but also because I was devastated by the shouting. She expected the discord despite the fact that her feed generally stays clean. It's not clean anymore. It's down at a student level now. And it's personal. Now she has a stake. There are memes, there are always memes, they are useful things for people to express how they feel. That's all they are. Some are more expressive then others and those are the ones which are hardest to avoid engaging with. Then there are the memes which are flat out untruthful. You have to take those with a bucket of salt because you just have to know that the person who posted that meme did not knowingly post an untruth. OK, maybe they did but do really think the majority of people out there did it on purpose? That doesn't excuse it but our outrage is on par with a reaction that suggests they DID do it on purpose.
No one should post without fact checking but the truth is, it's getting damn hard to fact check. I've got a list growing which is going to require a trip to the NY Public Library and some help. This still doesn't excuse it; I'm just saying that the internet is filling up with shit pretty damn fast so it might be time to cut people a little slack and it also might be time to be very, very careful about what we do post as fact no matter how well we think we have researched something.
But then there are the other memes. The memes that just say how we feel. The poster doesn't think they're bad or mean or thoughtless. The poster just says, this is how I feel. We all do it. We all do it and we all have the same effect on each other.
Elizabeth, who took a stand, a very public stand for the first time in her life, scared the shit out of herself, ended up in a major publication (her name wasn't called out but her school sure was), read a bunch of memes that suggested the following:
- children didn't know what they were talking about and therefore should be quiet and not protest
- anyone under the age of 21 should leave politics to adults
- anyone under the age of 18 should shut the hell up
- students don't have rights
- if students want to talk about guns then they have to use clear, plastic backpacks (wha? she asked, where did that come from)
- children don't know anything about gun laws and therefore should be quiet
- children don't know anything about the second amendment and therefore should be quiet
- children don't know anything about government and shouldn't be disruptive (and therefore should be quiet)
I saw a few of these, some of them just in comment strings and the one about anyone under 21 had me nearly choke. I kept thinking, ok, so, you can vote for three years but shut the hell up about it until you're 21 or vote the way I want you to vote until you're 21? I'm not following. The bit about politics and government until you're 18 kind of threw me too because that worries me. If kids don't know anything about politics or government or how laws or made until they're 18 and then we turn them loose in the voting booths then they either pull a level (metaphorically speaking these days) and vote a color or they don't vote at all or they vote as they're told or they just sort of guess or they vote from a very small body of knowledge (no logical intersections available).
Those were just thoughts that jumped up at me but it's just stuff people post. All of this is a form of children should be seen and not heard. It's also the most common form of oppression used to shut up any minority that first attempts to raise its head and tell us something we don't want to hear but if I go there we'll be here (beginning with women) for weeks. It's a pecking order. We do it instinctively at first and then with great intent.
What she had to deal with was being told she didn't matter because she didn't know anything and in some cases by people she considered downright idiotic if not close to illiterate.
She stood yelling in the middle of the living room:
A well regulated Militia being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms shall not be infringed!
Do you want me to pull up the entire thing?!!! ALL OF IT?! ALL THE SHIT ATTACHED TO IT LIKE NASTY LITTLE BARNACLES?
Yeah, no, thanks, I've read more than enough of it.
Do YOU think I haven't read this shit?
No, Elizabeth, I'm quite sure you've read this shit. I'm not sure anyone else has read this shit but I do know that you have read this shit.
Do YOU think we didn't cover ALL OF IT IN AMERICAN GOVERNMENT FIRST SEMESTER IN GREAT FUCKING DETAIL?
Elizabeth, I know exactly what you covered in American Government. In great fucking detail. I was there. You saw to my re-education personally.
Do you think we haven't covered it beginning in middle school right after FUCKING NEWTOWN?! Do you think I should post the speech I gave on the second amendment? It's ten pages. I got an A+. Nobody gets an A+ on anything in that class. I can post it with a public setting. You can share it. Everybody can share it. I'm pissed.
Settle down, Elizabeth.
You're shouting. Nobody can hear you when you're shouting. What do you want?
I want change.
OK, great. So, listen. Why were those memes posted?
I don't know.
Do those people know you personally?
All of them?
Do you really think they think you're stupid.
Why do you think they posted the memes? Did they post the memes on your wall?
Then the memes weren't posted to you.
So what do you think they're saying?
They're upset about the protest?
Is it OK if they're upset about the protest?
Yup. So listen, remember the girl somewhere out in West I think, she was the only student in her school to walk out?
How do you think her town felt about that?
I don't know.
I would guess they weren't too happy about it.
I would also guess she made an impact. Also, listen, people don't want to lose their guns. It doesn't make them wrong. You're not wrong either. I'm not wrong. No one is wrong.
How is that possible?
It's uncomfortable. It's uncomfortable as hell. You have to start from there because otherwise you end up with different countries shooting at each other until there's nothing left. It's really, really hard for me because of my beliefs. The truth is, you are going to vote very soon. Use your voice but don't wait. Don't worry about people saying what they need to say. If we can't do that we live in a horrible place.
Not twenty-four hours after I announced that my Facebook page wasn't political, Lucia posted a version of this ON my page. It got three likes from family members; me and my first two husbands. That means it was either entirely overlooked as being uninteresting or irrelevant or it upset literally everyone. Good. I hope so. I hope it upset everyone. I'm more afraid it was overlooked because of
"I don't give a shit."
This is really the only way. We don't want to do it because we'd have to stop being right. I'm posting the original Ted Talk because it is far more relevant. You'll need an actual attention span to get through it (which is why Buzzfeed didn't post it) but I dare you to dip your toe into something other than maybe "I don't give a shit."
I dare you to not be right. I dare you to be wrong. This dude is awesome. I'm just not this fucking brave. I want to be though.