Punch me in the face, Tweeter!!!
Kang World is now on Twitter so you better follow us! Not only do we have excellent bloggers, but we keep it fresh, like a lake-caught trout. BTW, the graphic above was stolen borrowed from Elementary Writing’s blog, a fine writing resource. Word, bitches!
Stop. Before you start making that blah-blah-blah motion with your hands and rolling your eyes, think about this: what if you made $.81 on the dollar based solely on your gender, your color or your sexual preference? What if you made $.81 on the dollar even if your peer who is doing the same work is making the full dollar? Would you be happy?
Much to my mother’s chagrin, I do not consider myself a feminist. I’m a humanist. Inalienable rights are exactly that and should not be subjected to wit, whimsy or even the precious Free Market.
I entered the workforce in 1986 and was very fortunate to land a part-time job in an office. After a year of working for the company, another part-timer was added. We had the same level of education (we were both students). I had seniority in so far as seniority goes (which isn’t saying much). My hourly wage was less than the noob’s. Alas, his plumbing is external and mine is internal.
The only instance in my entire life where I made more than my male counterparts was when I was working as a manager in the marine industry. Given that the marine industry isn’t exactly female friendly, this was quite an accomplishment. Or maybe it spoke more to my looking the then CEO in the eye and saying “If you want cheap labor, then you will have cheap labor. If you want good, if you want talent then you will pay me.” Since that freak of nature, I doubt I have been on par with any of my male colleagues.
I cannot accept that women should make less because we’re busy making babies. I cannot accept that women should make less because we are women. I cannot accept that anyone should make one cent less for doing the same damn job and, sometimes, doing it way better.
I appreciate salary banding. There are times where I’m not the most competent lass in the room and a colleague will rightfully deserve to make more than I do. There are times when I’m the competent one and I should rightfully earn more. All that said, women have been a dominant force in the workplace for a considerable amount of time. Don’t we deserve more than $.81 on the dollar? Haven’t we earned it? And why should we ask ourselves what we are doing wrong because we cannot achieve pay parity?
Governor Bev Perdue has proclaimed April 12th as “North Carolina Equal Pay Day.” I’m not the biggest fan of our Governor and I realize that this is a mostly empty gesture. But if it sparks debate, if it rouses the rabble, I’m all for it.
Haven’t we, as a society, evolved far enough that people should be compensated based solely on qualifications and performance, as opposed to gender and plumbing? And why is it that we find this an acceptable practice? Furthermore, why are we branded with the “feminazi” label for wanting what we rightfully earn? I’m not asking for conciliatory measures. I’m merely asking to be treated like a human.
The word antidisestablishmentarianism is the longest “normal” word in the English language. That is to say it’s a word that isn’t a medical term, like for example: hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia. Ironically, this is actually the fear of long words. Maybe they should have made it shorter.
However, there is one word (if you could even call it a word) that blows away all the competition for the Worlds Longest Word Lifetime Achievement Award. I found it on this website while searching the intarwebs for long words.
Drum roll please….
methionylglutaminylarginyltyrosylglutamylserylleucyl phenylalanylalanylglutaminylleucyllysylglutamylarginyl lysylglutamylglycylalanylphenylalanylvalylprolylphenyl alanylvalylthreonylleucylglycylaspartylprolylglycylisol eucylglutamylglutaminylserylleucyllysylisoleucylaspartyl threonylleucylisoleucylglutamylalanylglycylalanylaspartyl alanylleucylglutamylleucylglycylisoleucylprolylphenyl alanylserylaspartylprolylleucylalanylaspartylglycylprolyl threonylisoleucylglutaminylasparaginylalanylthreonylleucyl arginylalanylphenylalanylalanylalanylglycylvalylthreonyl prolylalanylglutaminylcysteinylphenylalanylglutamyl methionylleucylalanylleucylisoleucylarginylglutaminyllysyl histidylprolylthreonylisoleucylprolylisoleucylglycylleucyl leucylmethionyltyrosylalanylasparaginylleucylvalylphenyl alanylasparaginyllysylglycylisoleucylaspartylglutamylphenyl alanyltyrosylalanylglutaminylcysteinylglutamyllysylvalyl glycylvalylaspartylserylvalylleucylvalylalanylaspartylvalyl prolylvalylglutaminylglutamylserylalanylprolylphenylalanyl arginylglutaminylalanylalanylleucylarginylhistidylasparaginyl valylalanylprolylisoleucylphenylalanylisoleucylcysteinyl prolylprolylaspartylalanylaspartylaspartylaspartylleucyl leucylarginylglutaminylisoleucylalanylseryltyrosylglycyl arginylglycyltyrosylthreonyltyrosylleucylleucylserylarginyl alanylglycylvalylthreonylglycylalanylglutamylasparaginyl arginylalanylalanylleucylprolylleucylasparaginylhistidyl leucylvalylalanyllysylleucyllysylglutamyltyrosylasparaginyl alanylalanylprolylprolylleucylglutaminylglycylphenylalanyl glycylisoleucylserylalanylprolylaspartylglutaminylvalyllysyl alanylalanylisoleucylaspartylalanylglycylalanylalanylglycyl alanylisoleucylserylglycylserylalanylisoleucylvalyllysylisol eucylisoleucylglutamylglutaminylhistidylasparaginylisoleucyl glutamylprolylglutamyllysylmethionylleucylalanylalanylleucyl lysylvalylphenylalanylvalylglutaminylprolylmethionyllysylalan
ylalanylthreonylarginylserine
This nearly 2,000 letter-long monstrosity (1,913 words to be exact) is the name of some protein. Technically it’s not a word, since who the fuck could ever hope to pronounce that?
The finer points of grammar,
Cannot be too widely sung,
If your tense is incorrect,
You may find that you’ve been stung,
It’s easily thought something wrought,
Can perhaps in time be wrung,
Please be careful when you say,
You prefer men hanged or hung.
If you’ve the will and flexiblity,
Length and elasticity,
You might give autofellatio a try,
Though apart from curiosity,
And lack of spousal generosity,
I really fail to see the reason why,
The chance is very bad,
That you’ll be the best you’ve had,
You’re gonna have to face yourself and lie,
And even if things stay on track,
And you don’t screw up your back,
You’re quite likely to get shot in the eye.
Behold the breast, it does possess,
The magic of a shaman,
It captivates and titillates us all,
Even the gay man,
A scope that comprises all shapes and sizes,
Something for every taste,
From meaty beaty big and bouncy,
To more than a handful’s a waste,
Still if one conforms to social norms,
I feel it must be said,
Ones mammary should never be,
Bigger than ones head.
How many of us have watched people drunk blog? Or read drunken writing? How about reading something written by a woman stoned out of her gourd on paint fumes?
So Jose and his get-fresh-crew (really…his name is Jose. If your dark mind is going to that place where it makes some sort of stereotypical comment, leave the room now. I do not want to hear your voice. Lalalalalalalalalala.) is in the hallway and the living room transforming dull suburban to less dull suburban. It’s a rip roarin’ good time for them. They’re getting paid. For me, trapped in my bedroom without food – not so much. Particularly when you factor in my stupid dog’s incessant barking from below. Makes you want to take off his tags and open the fence gate, I tell you.
Where was I? Oh. Right. Stoned on paint fumes. :inhales deeply and twirls herself around the bedpost: Strong aromas and I do not get along. Perfumes and colognes make me blind with rage. Cleaning supplies make me cry like a little girl. The only strong aromas I like are gasoline, skunk and certain foods. Don’t you want to take me on a date, now?
As if life weren’t freaking enjoyable enough with the hell that is known as spring in The South, I’m no longer safe in my own home. To facilitate the drying process, I have turned down the AC to a brisk 68 degrees and we have opened the windows. Paint and pollen! OH. BOY! Wasting electricity! Bonus!!!
My head is spinning, my nose is starting to run, my eyes are weeping and puffy, thoughts are not jelling in my head. I feel itchy. My mouth feels furry. There is nothing to slap. Even if I wanted to hurl a small, annoying animal across the room – I couldn’t. I cannot see straight.
Even worse. I have to watch CNN.
Earlier, I was thinking about writing some sincerely sappy piece about being able to get in your time machine and have a do-over. Not a do-over to change the course of your life but a simple do-over so you don’t end up treating really nice people in a less than nice sort of way. Then the paint high settled in and I find myself feeling unusually not-wistful. As a matter of fact, I’m feeling quite evil. Fortunately, the paint has rendered my mind to gelatinous goo so I’m fairly harmless. For now.
Yay! The painter just opened the door to the bedroom. My bedroom. My bedroom where I’m swinging from the bedposts, pecking out this post with my toes. My bedroom where clothes, books, magazines, pillows and various electronic devices (not those, you dirty boy) are strewn everywhere. I’m really hoping the nice gentleman doesn’t peek around the corner and see Mount Laundry in the bathroom. It’s hungry, too.
The meows (as my son calls them) sought shelter in my closet. Serves me right for leaving the door open. Now my clothes will be covered in pollen and cat and stink of paint. The only things that will draw the kitties out of hiding are a sack of french fries and the promise that I will send the dog to live on a farm.
So there you have it. Nonsensical, quasi-intoxicated ramblings assembled with the greatest amount of care for your reading pleasure. Wishing I would just go back into my head and overthink the ever loving shit out of something, are you?
I always forget that technically the start of the week is Sunday. To me, Sunday marks the end of the week, because I have to be back at work on Monday. In my head, if I have to work on Monday, it’s the start of the week, not Day Two. The reason for this rant is to make you aware of National Library Week 2011, which runs from Sunday, yes Sunday, April 10 to Saturday, April 16th. In America National Library Week is promoted by the American Library Association, an organization I feel quite strongly about. The ALA is often embroiled in politics as it pertains to censorship. The ALA is very much pro-1st Amendment and against censorship, which is understandable. In fact, the ALA also sponsors Banned Books Week, which runs from September 24 to October 1st this year.
Photograph of three of Nevins Memorial Library's earliest librarians
The ALA’s stance on censorship pretty much echoes my own: If you don’t like it, don’t read it. If something offends you, then avoid it and don’t introduce your kids to it, but don’t ban it (unless it’s illegal). You see, self-control and self-censorship works best. I think the Golden Rule and Common Sense applies. That book that you like, perhaps the Bible, no doubt offends other people of another religious faith, how would you like it if somebody wanted to ban that?
The fact of the matter is that a public library, yes PUBLIC library, contains, and should contain, a myriad of books on a variety of subjects ─ some of which offends; some of which engages your critical thinking; and some that tickles your fancy. If libraries were to ban books that people found questionable, eventually there would be no books left, because there’s always somebody who is offended by something, or dislikes a particular book or subject. I applaud the librarians who stand up for the 1st Amendment and recognize that differing opinions are not always a bad thing…
Support your local public library!
Short but powerful, the word ‘hack’ has multiple lingustic uses. It can be a noun, a verb, an adjective, a verbal phrase and an idiom.
However, I’ve chosen to highlight its use as an adjective.
The word ‘hack’ is a truncation of the word ‘hackneyed,’ which describes something trite and banal.
Example of formal usage:
The lyrics to 13 year-old Rebecca Black’s song, “Friday” are so hackneyed as to be utterly embarrassing.
Example of informal usage:
Jesus H. Christ, they really need to fire the hack writer who wrote that song.
Burkas in France,
Now don’t stand a chance,
And I’m not really sure where I stand,
I think quite liberally,
And I’d sure hate to see,
The flames of intolerance fanned,
Though it’s hard to refuse,
One’s own right to choose,
There’s one thing I don’t understand,
It’s not religion or race,
Burkas cover your face,
Could I wear one since I am a man?
Random Misanthrope 