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The Purpose of Satire

The American Bar Association says that hate speech is “speech that offends, threatens, or insults groups, based on race, color, religion, national origin, sexual orientation, disability, or other traits.”

The OED defines satire as “The use of humor, irony, exaggeration, or ridicule to expose and criticize people’s stupidity or vices, particularly in the context of contemporary politics and other topical issues.”

The major difference between these two definitions is that satire has a purpose – to “expose and criticize people’s stupidity or vices.” Hate speech does not have a purpose beyond offending, threatening or insulting.

France attempts to prohibit hate speech by penal code and press laws, deeming unlawful public and private communication which is defamatory or insulting, or which incites discrimination, hatred, or violence against a person or group on account of place of origin, ethnicity or lack thereof, nationality, race, religion, sex, sexual orientation, or handicap. Several publications, however, have been acquitted of charges of hate speech over the last several years, including at least one against Charlie Hebdo.

It is important to remember the difference between hate speech and satire. In the words of author Michael Coren, “Cartoons are supposed to be rude or offensive. Satire, from the Greeks to Swift and Defoe to the Soviet dissident writers to modern French magazines, has to provoke. Otherwise it’s safe and pointless. Genuine liberalism is not about allowing that with which you agree; it is about tolerating that which makes you extremely angry.”

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Home Alone

I wake up on a Saturday morning, the sun coming in through the blinds, and roll over, bleary eyed, because although my body is ready to wake up I am not sure what to do with my mind.

When I finally know that I am not going to go back to sleep, that the day is inevitably marching forward with all the clamor of reality, I pull myself reluctantly away from my soft mattress and stomp, clumsy-footed, across my room.

I make coffee and get in my car. Where am I going? I’m not really sure, so I drive slowly away from town, along the only road that goes anywhere. The sun is already at the top of the sky, shining bright and fresh and drying the puddles that never totally disappear. I turn off the main road onto a dead end with houses alongside, driveways brimming with old trucks and detritus. When I get to the end, there’s a staircase going down the steep slope toward the water of the bay. I park my car as close to the edge as I can and get out. The stairs piqued my curiosity, so I walk down them to a thin dirt path which skirts the water. Where am I going? I still don’t know.

I squint at the bright sun like an underground creature seeing it for the first time. My nearly empty coffee cup in hand, I walk slowly through the cobwebs. two joggers pass me and I think I really ought to run more. But I’m outside in the sunlight… That’s a start, right?

I walk for a while, but finally I reach the other end, little shacks with outdoor toilets marking the terminus of this tiny excursion. So I turn around, the sun at my back now, and return slowly to my car.

It’s not raining, so everyone is out in the meager sunshine. They all seem to have a purpose. And I, purposeless, walk by them one by one, a trespasser in their lovely world for a moment. I climb the stairs, get in my dirty car and drive away.

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A Pet Peeve

One of my greatest frustrations in life is when people – professional writers and journalists, no less – misuse words.

I was just reading an article in Rolling Stone – not a source of the best writing ever, to be fair – and someone was talking about a belief which is allegedly held by the proponents of a certain political party.

“The idea that government assistance to the poor creates dependency and erodes freewill has long been a key tenant of conservative thinking.”

What, is this idea renting out space in conservative brains or something? I’m assuming they meant “tenet.” Not to mention “free” and “will” are two separate words.

Go ahead, call me a nerd. But come on.

And that’s just one sentence…

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Reality

I just reached a pretty incredible milestone.

It wasn’t like anything I expected. But I guess these life-changing events never really are.

I expected a sudden event which would change everything in a single moment. What little girls daydream about, I guess. Some shadowy, handsome figure on one knee, a bright shiny object in hand, speaking those words you’ve been waiting your whole life to hear… Ready to sweep you away into the future.

But reality outshone my expectations. The moment came and went; it was brief, unexpected and barely significant. The moment isn’t what I’ll remember. The eternal promise is what I’ll remember, and the hope for what eternity holds.

I expected to feel different now, for my life to suddenly become something it’s never been before, for everything mundane and boring to suddenly be sparkly and exciting and new.

But the truth is, that change didn’t happen the moment the a ring was on my finger. It began months ago, and it will continue to happen for the rest of my life.

A proposal isn’t about the moment, just as a ring isn’t about the diamond. It’s about a promise, the future, and the gradual changes that you barely notice until after they’ve occurred. Nothing about this is as glaring and straightforward and sudden as the ceremonies surrounding it. But for all its subtlety, it’s the most significant thing in the world.

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Juneau Life

I’ve been in Juneau for about six weeks now. A gorgeous little town sandwiched between a harbor and lots of steep mountains, it’s not accessible by car – you have to get here by plane or ferry. It feels a bit isolated at times, but I like it. I guess you could say I’m a small-town girl at heart, and Juneau is a very good fit for me.

That having been said, it’s been a lonely six weeks. Doug had to leave for work two days after we got here, and I don’t have a lot of friends in town. I go to work, come home and read for three hours pretty much every day. On the weekends I go for walks, drive around, meet up occasionally with acquaintances, go to the grocery store and to church, and that’s about it.

A few weeks ago I flew up to Anchorage for a weekend to see Doug, who was home from work briefly and was staying with his parents. When I arrived, I realized I had been a little homesick.

For my first month in Juneau I worked as a receptionist at the Department of Law, but two weeks ago I started an exciting new job with the Department of Commerce, Community and Economic Development. I’m working as a research analyst, and I collect and document data and statistics on communities in Alaska. I’m sifting through massive databases and sorting and updating tons of information.

I’m full of anxiety, but also so much hope, for all that my future holds.

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I’m Back

Well, I neglected this thing for a while, but don’t worry. I’m still here.

On New Year’s Eve I moved into a new house in the town of Juneau, Alaska. It’s the capital of the state. It hasn’t stopped raining since I got here.

Here’s the story.

I left Anchorage in the morning on Monday, December 27th, with my boyfriend and a car full of stuff. We drove east into Canada, through the frozen, empty nowhere that is the Yukon Territory. By the time we got to the border it was about 6:00 PM and totally dark.

We drove down a narrow highway in the dark, ice fog sparkling in the air, for about four hours after crossing the border. Finally we arrived in Haines Junction, where we stopped for the night. It was an empty little town, only there because of the highway, totally made up of gas stations and hotels. We managed to find one little bar. A pickup truck was parked outside and a dog was wandering around the door. We went inside and saw two middle aged men and a woman seated at the bar playing rummy. We sat down at a table, but after about five minutes one of the guys called to us to join them. He asked us where we were going, then spent the next fifteen minutes defying stereotypes by talking about Bobby Orr and snowmachines in a thick Canadian accent. (Yes, that was sarcasm.)

The next morning we left Haines Junction hurriedly in order to get to our ferry on time. We got there with about four hours to spare. Finally the ferry arrived. As soon as we got on Doug saw one of his friends, and we all sat on the deck and talked until we pulled into Juneau at 8:30 PM.

We stopped at a bar and had burgers for dinner, then we found my new house and parked my car outside. It took us five minutes to walk downtown. It was New Year’s Eve, so things were a little crazy. We went into the Alaskan, one of the older and more famous bars in this town, and I saw some people I knew, so we joined them for a while.

After that we walked over to the Hangar, a bar right on the water, packed with people dancing to awful music like they do.

We went out the back door and we could see a guy right by the dock setting off fireworks – it was midnight.

The best New Year’s Eve midnight I’ve ever had.

So that’s how 2014 began for me: a new home in a new city, with a guy who makes everything perfect.

I know I’m a sap. I’m not sorry.

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A Rant About Politics

I have a confession to make:

I don’t discuss politics. Ever.

Here’s the thing: it’s not that I don’t care what happens to this country, or that I don’t feel one way or another about certain issues. It’s just that, well, I really don’t like to talk to people about it.

Does this make me a bad person? Does it mean I don’t care? Should I try to win other people over to my way of thinking? Am I being lazy?

I don’t think so. Here’s my excuse: I believe our culture has lost its ability to engage in meaningful discussions.

You probably spend a bit of time and energy trying to convince others to think like you, or at least trying to get other people to understand your point of view. But in general, you’re going about it all wrong. If people are invested in their own political opinions enough to care, they’re not going to start agreeing with you just because of a meme you posted on facebook or one of your dinner party tirades.

Recently I was having dinner with my dad and a few acquaintances. Someone mentioned a certain political figure who has been the subject of much ridicule in recent years. Then she turned to my dad and said, “I’m sorry, are you a fan of ***?” My dad gave what was probably the best answer to such a loaded question. He said in a half-joking voice, “Well, I wouldn’t tell you if I was, now would I?” Whether he is a fan of said political figure is not the point here. The point is that the question was rude and deserved no response. However, everyone present sort of automatically assumed that since he wouldn’t answer the question, he must be a fan of ***, who they were actively ridiculing at the moment. The atmosphere in the room became visibly awkward as they continued to pick on ***.

You may want to ask, “What was so rude about the question? If he wouldn’t answer it, isn’t it his fault that no discussion was happening?” Well, I will tell you exactly why the question was rude and why he was justified in his response. The one asking the question did not want to engage in a discussion. If my dad had said “No, of course I’m not a fan of ***,” she would have expected him to engage in her tirade against ***. If he had said he was a fan, she would have just tried to get a rise out of him – which she did, assuming he was of the latter opinion.

Moral of the story? Don’t bring up politics EVER unless you are discussing the topic with a very close friend who you know also wants to discuss said topic. Don’t garnish every internet page over which you claim dominion with clever little sound bytes and quotes meant to get you more likes or invoke angry comments. And please, please don’t begin ridiculing anything (or anyone) controversial in mixed company with whom you are barely acquainted. All you’ll get is people who have a very poor impression of your manners.

Did this post make you angry? Do you think I’m completely off base? Well, I encourage you to comment – maybe you’ll actually change my mind.

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Where I Live and Stuff

I wrote this post about 3 weeks ago and never published it. I just found it in my drafts, and reading through it I was struck by how quickly plans, and life in general, can change. Just three weeks later, I have two awesome new roommates. Also, have made the decision that I’m probably going to move to Juneau (the capital of Alaska) by February or so – I’m looking for a job and making wild plans and I am so excited about the future. But just three weeks ago, this is where I was:

I found out over the last couple of weeks that both of my roommates are moving out of my house.

I’ve lived in a really great place for a little over a year, and I don’t want to move. When the first one said she was leaving, I wasn’t worried. I thought it  would be no big deal to find one new roommate. But then last weekend my second roomie called me and said, “I just wanted to let you know I’m giving our landlord my notice in the next couple of days!” And I said “Okay, good to know! Thanks!” And I hung up and promptly began panicking.

My first thought was to move out too, and just find a new place as quickly as possible. Then I ran into my landlord, who I had previously told I was staying, while he was doing yard work at my house over the weekend. We talked for a few minutes and I didn’t tell him I had thought about moving. I realized that I really didn’t want to.

So now I’m searching frantically for new roommates. I know I’ll manage to find SOMEONE in the next 30 days. Worst case scenario is that I won’t like them very much.

Ultimately I think I will end up moving. In a few more months, once things have stabilized a bit, I’ll need to rock the proverbial boat again and I’ll give the landlord my 30 days’ notice. Maybe while I’m at it I’ll get a new job, too. I’ll move to Washington or Australia or Switzerland…

The nice thing about this situation, though, is that I’m sort of in control. I can choose whatever roommates I want. I can get my own furniture and decorate the house myself. I can buy food and yell at people for eating it on me… Just kidding.

It occurred to me during all of this that two years ago, I would have been totally overwhelmed by the prospect of trying to get new roommates. I wouldn’t have known where to start. Now, even though it’s stressful, it’s actually kind of no big deal.

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Zeppo: A Tribute

When I was a kid, I had a really (awful) adorable beagle. His name was Zeppo.

Like most beagles, bred to be hunting dogs, Zeppo loved to chase things. He ran off into the woods every time he got the chance, and he wouldn’t come back for days at a time. Sometimes we would get calls from the neighbors about him. I’m pretty sure the local police had my family’s number on speed dial because of how many times they had come across Zeppo out making mischief.

The first time Zeppo ran away from home was shortly after we got him. Somehow he managed to escape when someone was walking him, so his leash was still attached to his collar. He disappeared into the woods with his nose to the ground, leash trailing behind him. We tried to search for him, driving around town, calling his name into the trees, but to no avail.

After about a week we had given up. We were heartbroken, but we had no idea where else to look. We figured if he was still alive he’d have come wandering back by then. Unless maybe another family found him and taken him in… Either way, he was gone from our lives which had briefly been graced with his presence.

Then one day we got a phone call. It was from a couple who lived a few miles away, on the other side of town, and they told us that they’d been going for a walk in the woods when they heard a dog howling. Confused, they followed the sound until they stumbled on a beagle, his leash tangled around a tree, crying as though his life depended on it. They untied him, and he ran to a nearby stream and drank for a good five minutes.

When they returned him to us, we thought, “Maybe he learned his lesson. Maybe he won’t run away anymore because he doesn’t want to be tangled in a tree for a week.”

But chasing things was in Zeppo’s nature. He would never change.

For the next six or seven years, he would seize the slightest opportunity to escape. He’d be gone for hours or days at a time. Sometimes we could hear him barking in the distance, chasing some sort of prey, living the life he’d been bred for, not the one he knew with us. I sometimes wondered if he’d be better off set free, left to roam at will through the forest, smelling and barking and chasing. This was his nature, not the servile life he would come back to, lying by the fireplace, eating scraps from the table.

But he would always return, whether on his own or in the back of a cop car. He would look like he’d been on a bender – stinky, covered in dirt and animal poop, sometimes limping, sometimes with an eye swollen shut. A few times he had porcupine quills stuck to his face. Once or twice he got sprayed by a skunk. But we always welcomed him back, cleaned him and took care of his wounds, like he was the prodigal son returning for the hundredth time.

He was just doing what he was meant to do, and while we could have done a better job of keeping him indoors, we couldn’t change his nature.

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