Pencil Icon

Anger in homogeneity is easy.

I live in a neat little town.  It’s clean. The culture is great. The city is relatively well run.

But it’s pretty damn white.

Like, less than 1% black, and ~3% “Hispanic” (what does that even mean?). I suspect the university is the only thing that *really* contributes to diversity here.

The other day, someone said “Fort Collins is not very racist.” I responded with the assertion “It’s easy to not appear racist when the person you’re mad at is the same race as you.”

And it’s true. The word “nigger” is probably the most hateful word I know. But it’s not hateful when pointed at a white person (I’d probably respond with a confused look, as if to say “Do you even know what that means?”; privilege acknowledged). It’s hateful when aimed at a specific race, in the attempt to marginalize that race.

While riding our bikes today, a rather large truck ran a stop sign and almost got my wife and I as his new paint job. I usually respond to that with “Whoooooooa” (I use my voice as a horn), but Moriah responded with “Come on, dude”. The guy stopped his truck in the middle of the intersection, got out, and said “You want a piece of me bitch? I didn’t see you.” I did my best to de-escalate the situation with “Then say you’re sorry and move on”. Then I went on to de-escalate my wife, who had just been called a bitch.

This guy knew full well what he was doing. He wanted to go to the highest level of insult he could.  He called her a “bitch”, and it was clear that he was just trying to threaten her.

This guy could make the assertion that he’s not sexist. He could donate to women’s rights groups, and march for equal pay, but when it comes down to it, he is who he is when he’s angry.

Also, to go along with the superiority of Diana and Supes, Bruce-y boy ain’t participating in conversations like this.
Zoom

Also, to go along with the superiority of Diana and Supes, Bruce-y boy ain’t participating in conversations like this.

Quote IconWhen my information changes, I alter my conclusions. What do you do, sir?

John Maynard Keynes, as quoted in A Treatise of Melancholie

Quote IconYou have, which is a rare thing, …the responsibility to listen to the dissent in yourself, to at least give it the floor, because it is the key—not only to consciousness-but to real growth. To accept duality is to earn identity. And identity is something that you are constantly earning. It is not just who you are. It is a process that you must be active in. It’s not just parroting your parents or the thoughts of your learned teachers. It is now more than ever about understanding yourself so you can become yourself.

Joss Whedon, speaking at a commencement speech for Wesleyan University (http://newsletter.blogs.wesleyan.edu/2013/05/26/whedoncommencement/)

Link Icon link Icon Alternate

Linux is not about choice

If I could only have one thing this year, it would be to eliminate that meme from the collective consciousness.  It is a disease.  It strangles the mind and ensures you can never change anything ever because someone somewhere has OCD’d their environment exactly how they like it and how dare you change it on them you’re so mean and next time I have friends over for Buffy night you’re not invited mom he’s sitting on my side again.

I’d been looking for this quote since Graham Binns tweeted it a few years ago and I thought it so apt.

putthison: Professionalism Several years ago, I started reading Put This On and started to think with slightly more purpose about how I dressed at work because I wanted to be taken more seriously at work. I felt that people treated me with professional sincerity when I didn’t dress like I walked out of a dorm room. How I looked, acted and communicated was a big part of establishing trust with those I met. I had an experience recently that reminded me about why dressing professionally can be important. A week ago, I drove from Chicago to Monterey Bay in California, with my car packed full of boxes, bags and a bird cage with my pet cockatiel — Rico — who I’ve had since middle school. I’ve always lived with my bird, who spent most of my college and professional years with me. I didn’t think twice about bringing her across the country with me, driving along I-80 toward a new career and home. Traveling with a pet bird isn’t easy, but it can be done — at least what I’d read online. Put them in a smaller cage, cover the cage with a blanket to keep them from freaking out, make sure they have food and water. But what I should’ve known, but didn’t realize was that a short trip of a few hours is vastly different than a multi-day trip of 14 hours driving per day. On the latter half of the second day, my bird wasn’t talking and had her eyes closed. I wrongly assumed she was merely tired. I later found out that she was showing the physical signs of stress and slowly dying. She wasn’t eating. She wasn’t drinking water from the bottle at I placed up to her beak. She didn’t even respond to me when I rubbed the back of her neck. I arrived in Monterey late Thursday and found her dead on the bottom of her cage. In the darkness of the drive, I hadn’t noticed she had passed. I felt guilty and angry with myself. I cried. The next day I sought out a pet cremation services company. I arrived at their office, located in an industrial park, and walked in carrying a small shoebox that my Airbnb host the night before had provided me to transport her body. The office was decorated much like a funeral parlor would be. Inspirational posters about death and heaven. Urns on shelves. A round table with a box of tissues on it. And then there was the man who greeted me. He was very empathetic and seemed like a nice guy who had the unfortunate job of meeting people like myself who arrive with lifeless pets they’ve known longer than any real human friend. As he filled out an intake form and talked about the various options, my eyes kept drawing back to one thing about him: he was wearing a Hooters T-shirt. I kept thinking, “This is the person I’m trusting with the cremation of my pet?” I’d like to think I’m not a very judgmental person, but there are times in your life you want to feel like you trust someone’s professionalism in their job. And in some cases they really only get once chance with you for you to feel at ease, knowing the job will get done correctly. How a person dresses isn’t and shouldn’t be the only way you judge their professionalism, but it’s a part of it. It’s the first impression and in some cases can even be a distraction when you see the words “Delightfully tacky, yet unrefined” while you’re trying to think of which box you want your pet’s ashes placed into for eternity. Dressing appropriately is a part of demonstrating professionalism. It doesn’t mean wearing a jacket and tie, but it does mean showing a sense of taste to remove barriers of doubt about whether you can be trusted. -Kiyoshi People often ask me why I spend time ironing my shirts and wearing neckties.  This adequately demonstrates one reason. Here’s the other, more important (and accidental) reason: I can be a jerk sometimes. Not in the cruel demeaning way, but in the “here’s the truth, no sugar” kind of way. People often complain that I’m hard on them; trust me when I say I’m about 20x harder on myself. When it comes down to it, the bowtie or the coiffed hair (my barber’s idea) or the blue suede shoes tend to be disarming and often soften the blow. For some reason, when I appear like I’ve put some thought into my appearance, I don’t appear as though I’m really trying to be a jerk (I’m not, I swear).
Zoom

putthison:

Professionalism

Several years ago, I started reading Put This On and started to think with slightly more purpose about how I dressed at work because I wanted to be taken more seriously at work. I felt that people treated me with professional sincerity when I didn’t dress like I walked out of a dorm room. How I looked, acted and communicated was a big part of establishing trust with those I met.

I had an experience recently that reminded me about why dressing professionally can be important.

A week ago, I drove from Chicago to Monterey Bay in California, with my car packed full of boxes, bags and a bird cage with my pet cockatiel — Rico — who I’ve had since middle school. I’ve always lived with my bird, who spent most of my college and professional years with me. I didn’t think twice about bringing her across the country with me, driving along I-80 toward a new career and home.

Traveling with a pet bird isn’t easy, but it can be done — at least what I’d read online. Put them in a smaller cage, cover the cage with a blanket to keep them from freaking out, make sure they have food and water.

But what I should’ve known, but didn’t realize was that a short trip of a few hours is vastly different than a multi-day trip of 14 hours driving per day. On the latter half of the second day, my bird wasn’t talking and had her eyes closed. I wrongly assumed she was merely tired.

I later found out that she was showing the physical signs of stress and slowly dying. She wasn’t eating. She wasn’t drinking water from the bottle at I placed up to her beak. She didn’t even respond to me when I rubbed the back of her neck.

I arrived in Monterey late Thursday and found her dead on the bottom of her cage. In the darkness of the drive, I hadn’t noticed she had passed. I felt guilty and angry with myself. I cried.

The next day I sought out a pet cremation services company. I arrived at their office, located in an industrial park, and walked in carrying a small shoebox that my Airbnb host the night before had provided me to transport her body. The office was decorated much like a funeral parlor would be. Inspirational posters about death and heaven. Urns on shelves. A round table with a box of tissues on it.

And then there was the man who greeted me. He was very empathetic and seemed like a nice guy who had the unfortunate job of meeting people like myself who arrive with lifeless pets they’ve known longer than any real human friend.

As he filled out an intake form and talked about the various options, my eyes kept drawing back to one thing about him: he was wearing a Hooters T-shirt.

I kept thinking, “This is the person I’m trusting with the cremation of my pet?”

I’d like to think I’m not a very judgmental person, but there are times in your life you want to feel like you trust someone’s professionalism in their job. And in some cases they really only get once chance with you for you to feel at ease, knowing the job will get done correctly.

How a person dresses isn’t and shouldn’t be the only way you judge their professionalism, but it’s a part of it. It’s the first impression and in some cases can even be a distraction when you see the words “Delightfully tacky, yet unrefined” while you’re trying to think of which box you want your pet’s ashes placed into for eternity.

Dressing appropriately is a part of demonstrating professionalism. It doesn’t mean wearing a jacket and tie, but it does mean showing a sense of taste to remove barriers of doubt about whether you can be trusted.

-Kiyoshi

People often ask me why I spend time ironing my shirts and wearing neckties.  This adequately demonstrates one reason.

Here’s the other, more important (and accidental) reason: I can be a jerk sometimes. Not in the cruel demeaning way, but in the “here’s the truth, no sugar” kind of way. People often complain that I’m hard on them; trust me when I say I’m about 20x harder on myself.

When it comes down to it, the bowtie or the coiffed hair (my barber’s idea) or the blue suede shoes tend to be disarming and often soften the blow. For some reason, when I appear like I’ve put some thought into my appearance, I don’t appear as though I’m really trying to be a jerk (I’m not, I swear).

This is my most prized record. It comes with a story. It’s a long story. You’d probably find it a boring story, but for me, it was an adventure.
Zoom

This is my most prized record. It comes with a story. It’s a long story. You’d probably find it a boring story, but for me, it was an adventure.