Monthly Archives: June 2023

a writer, not an author

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I don’t spend much time thinking about myself. I mean, I’ve lived with me my whole life; there’s not much unknown territory there for me to explore. But I had this exchange on BlueSky (one of the more promising ‘next Twitter’ social media). There was a call to create an ‘authors feed’. My response:

This is probably silly, but I tend to be uncomfortable with the term ‘author’. I’ve published some stuff–short fiction, nonfiction books, a novel–so ‘author’ technically fits. But maybe it sounds too pretentious for me? I think of myself as a writer. I write stuff.

The reply:

Yeah, that’s the old imposter syndrome kicking in. The only requirement to being an author is to have authored something.

And I thought, “Yeah, that’s probably it.” I suspect anybody who has had some success in anything has, at one point, thought, “Lawdy, who do I think I’m fooling?” Normally, that would be it. Question asked, question answered, end of story.

But this morning, after I sat down at the keyboard, drinking my morning cold brew, looking out the window, reading the news, going through my usual morning routine before starting to write, I thought, “Naw…I’m not an imposter. I mean, I won a damn Edgar this year. That’s a pretty big deal.” And I looked at the mantle…

…and then I thought, “Hey…where’s my Edgar?” Because it wasn’t on the mantle.

Okay, some history. I learned I’d been nominated for an Edgar from Lori Rader-Day (who, by the way, is the real deal; you should go out RIGHT NOW and buy all her books). I thought that was pretty cool, but aside from doing some of the scut work associated with the nomination, I didn’t give it much thought. I didn’t expect to win. I even forgot about the big Edgar event when they announced the winners. Again, it was Lori who alerted me that I’d won. Again, I thought it was pretty cool and I understood I’d be getting a statuette at some point. And again, I pretty much forgot about it until it arrived.

Now THAT was cool. I took it out of the box, put it on the kitchen table (where I usually keep my Chromebook and do most of my writing in the mornings), looked at it a few times, then pretty much ignored it. Until I was reminded I hadn’t taken a photo of it. So I did that.

See? I won that thing right there.

Some time later, I happened to notice it sitting on the mantle over the fireplace. And I said something clever, like, “Hey, look…my Edgar.” To which Ginger replied, “I put it there a couple of weeks ago, you idiot.” So this morning, when I looked at the mantle to remind myself that getting an Edgar is a big deal and I’m not an imposter, I realized she must have moved it somewhere else. I’ll have to ask her later.

My point–if you can call it that–is I don’t feel like an imposter. I have actual, physical, tactile proof that I’m not an imposter. So what is my problem with the term ‘author’? And I’ve decided it’s this: ‘Author’ is a fixed, static state. You become an author when the work is done. ‘Writer’ is dynamic; it’s a thing you DO. I don’t think of myself as an author because I’m not particularly interested in what I’ve already done because…well, I’ve already done it. I am interested in what I’m doing, which is writing.

Like I said, I don’t spend much time thinking about myself, mainly because I’m not that interesting to me. But I realize some of this crap–like why I prefer to be a writer instead of an author–might be interesting to other folks. So, there you have it.

keeping balance

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I declare, it’s been a crazy couple of weeks. Between insane weather events, and imploding submersibles, and bizarre Russian semi-coups, and insane imploding bizarre Trump criminal developments, it’s been difficult to focus on a single topic for more than a few minutes at a time.

So I’ve been riding my bike. I mean, when you’re riding a bike, all the rest of that shit fades into vaguely annoying background noise. Like tinnitus. It’s there all the goddamn time, but you just sorta kinda get used to it.

Besides, I have a new bike. Well, it’s not new new. I’ve had it for about a month or so. So it’s still new. Newish. I’ve only put about 170 miles on it. That may sound like a lot, but when you do a few 20-30 mile rides interspersed with sporadically cycling back and forth to the gym, it slowly adds up. And because it’s a new bike and I’m still enamored with it, I’ve been photographing it wherever I’ve gone. Yes, that’s right, I’m taking pictures of a fucking bicycle. Which is just as ridiculous as it sounds.

This is my second electric bike. My first was a fat-tire bike; I described it as the best purchase I’ve ever made. That’s still true, although I sold it when I bought my new bike. It was the best purchase because it allowed me to enjoy cycling again, after years of NOT cycling (because of knee pain). It was a big bastard of a bike; it could go anywhere, but it was cumbersome. The new bike–an Aventon Level 2–is more of a commuter bike. The tires are half as wide, and it’s a lot more nimble. It has a torque sensor instead of the fat bike’s cadence sensor (which will only be of interest to other folks who have ebikes), so riding it feels more like riding a regular bike.

But even on my bike, I can’t fully escape the outside world. For example, President Uncle Joe passed the infrastructure act, which means there’s been a massive increase in transportation construction and repairs, and that includes bicycle paths. Normally, there are a couple hundred miles of easily accessible, dedicated bike trails I can ride, plus all the local bike paths. But with all the new construction, a lot of those paths and trails have been disrupted. It’s a small, temporary inconvenience, and good for Uncle Joe and all…but it’s still annoying to set out on a ride, only to find an excavator has torn up the trail.

And I can’t exclude former President Comrade Trump when it comes to problems. A couple of days ago I rode down to a nearby reservoir, which is a popular sport for boaters, folks who like to fish, and birders. There’s a large paved parking area where folks park their vehicles and leave their boat trailers. As I was riding along, a couple of guys (white, short hair, in their 20s) driving a Jeep approached me, going the opposite direction. They slowed down, looked at me, and one of the guys yelled, “Fuck Ukrainian Nazis!”

It seemed like an odd thing to shout at a random stranger…until I remembered I was wearing a t-shirt with the Ukrainian flag and ‘Україна’ written on it. I’m assuming they recognized the flag, although I suppose it’s possible they were also familiar with the Cyrillic alphabet. I’m actually kind of impressed they recognized the flag; I don’t expect MAGA-Anon folks to have much awareness of geography or vexillology.

The incident put a very short-term damper on my enjoyment of the day. Maybe five minutes. It was just too nice a day to allow fuckwits to disrupt it. My biggest disappointment that day was arriving at one of my favorite bicycle bars and remembering they didn’t open until 1500 hours. There’s a pair of large open-air pavilions nearby, with restrooms and a public bike repair station, so I considered just hanging out for an hour or so until it opened. But home was only a couple of miles away, and I have a refrigerator stocked with an assortment of beers, so for once I made the logical decision.

Okay, I can’t write a blog post without getting at least a little bit pretentious. So here’s Albert Einstein, in a letter to his son:

Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance you must keep moving

This is me, keeping my balance.

waiting for…

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A country road. Grass. A tree.

Vladimir sitting in the grass on the side of the road, wearing a single boot, looking forlornly at a boot in his hand.

Enter Miss Elizabeth Bennett

VLADIMIR: Nothing to be done.

MISS BENNETT: Surely, Mr. Putin, something can be done, if only you put your mind to it.

VLADIMIR: My mind, or my boot? I should put something to it.

MISS BENNETT: It is an exceedingly disreputable boot, sir, but we are on business that cannot be delayed; we have not an instant to lose. Pray put on your boot, sir.

VLADIMIR: The boot. It’s not the boot, it’s the bones. Everything here is bones or looks like bones.

MISS BENNETT: Still, should we not leave? Otherwise I fear we must be very late indeed.

VLADIMIR: We can’t leave. We can’t be late. We have to wait.

MISS BENNETT: You are certain, are you not, it was here?

VLADIMIR: Here?

MISS BENNETT: Where we were to wait.

VLADIMIR: He said to wait in the grass.

MISS BENNETT: My dear Mr. Putin, we are in the countryside. Grass is as common as needles. It would be astonishing not to be in the grass.

VLADIMIR: We should leave? Where would we go?

MISS BENNETT: Some place more agreeable.

VLADIMIR: Agreeable. Is there such a place?

MISS BENNETT: It will do you a world of good to consider the possibility.

VLADIMIR: What if he comes and we’re not here?

MISS BENNETT: You prefer, then, to wait.

VLADIMIR: We must wait. We can’t wait. Everything here is bones or looks like bones.

MISS BENNETT: Very well, we shall wait.

MISS BENNETT: Shhh. Did you hear that?

VLADIMIR: Hear what?

MISS BENNETT: That!

VLADIMIR: Is it him?

MISS BENNETT: Who?

VLADIMIR: You’ve forgotten. Already you’ve forgotten.

MISS BENNETT: In polite society, a good memory is unpardonable. Indeed, this is the last time I shall ever remember it myself.

VLADIMIR: I congratulate you.

MISS BENNETT: You are being ever so amiable. I did not think you capable of such congeniality.

(Vladimir shrugs.)

VLADIMIR: It’s not him.

(Miss Bennett looks around.)

MISS BENNETT: No. I fear it is not.

VLADIMIR: Bones. Nothing but bones and things that look like bones.

(Vladimir starts stand.)

VLADIMIR: We should go.

MISS BENNETT: You are the most contrary person. I begin to think you incapable of even the least flirtation with consistency.

VLADIMIR: We should go.

MISS BENNETT: Very well, if you feel so keenly about it. Let us go.

(Vladimir resumes sitting. Looks at the boot in his hand.)

VLADIMIR: Nothing to be done about it.

MISS BENNETT: Your boot?”

VLADIMIR: What about my boot?

MISS BENNETT: Your disreputable boot may go hang itself, for all I care, and cursed be its bones.

VLADIMIR: Bones and things that look like bones. We may as well stay.

MISS BENNETT: There is to be a ball in Meryton on Tuesday fortnight, and I am to have the first dance with…

VLADIMIR: A ball?

MISS BENNETT: A ball.

(Vladimir looks at the boot in his hand.)

VLADIMIR: A ball. There will be dancing.

MISS BENNETT: There is nothing quite in the world like dancing. I consider it the first refinement of polished society.

VLADIMIR: Will he be there, do you think?

MISS BENNETT: I should think so. Everyone will be there.

VLADIMIR: I won’t be there.

MISS BENNETT: You’ll still be waiting, then?

(Vladimir looks as if he’s about to cry.)

MISS BENNETT: Oh, do put on your boot. Or remove the other. How can you be so very silly?

VLADIMIR: How can it all be bones? And things that look like bones?

VLADIMIR: Does he take us for fools? Why do we wait? We are fools.

MISS BENNETT: I may flatter myself, but I think I am not so uncommonly foolish as my younger sisters.

VLADIMIR: We should go. There will be dancing.

MISS BENNETT: Although I dare say I have, in my way, been ever so headstrong and foolish.

VLADIMIR: We should go.

(Vladimir puts on his boot, stands.)

(Miss Bennett sits in the grass. Removes a buckled shoe.)

MISS BENNETT: Nothing to be done.

VLADIMIR: We should go.

MISS BENNETT: We should go. We must go. We can’t go.

VLADIMIR: Miss Bennett, it looks a hopeless business.

He moves away from Miss Bennett.

VLADIMIR: I sometimes wonder if we wouldn’t have been better off alone, each one for himself. We weren’t made for the same road.

MISS BENNETT: It looks very much like bones. Mr. Putin. Bones and things that look like bones.

VLADIMIR: We should go. There will be dancing.

(Vladimir sits.)

ask the questions, get the answers

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Here’s what I think (at this particular moment) will happen: the current case Comrade Trump is facing–the documents case–won’t go to trial. I suspect his lawyers will convince him to try to work out some sort of plea arrangement.

I say that because…wait. Just to be clear, I am NOT a lawyer. I’ve banged around the US criminal justice system for many years and I’ve seen a lot of legal/criminal stuff, but I haven’t been to law school and there’s a LOT of stuff I don’t understand.

Okay, that’s out of the way. I say this case won’t go to trial for a very simple reason: I don’t see any defense to the charges. You can read the indictment yourself, but in very simple terms, Comrade Trump is accused of a) hanging on to documents he wasn’t legally allowed to have in his possession, b) lying about having those documents, c) hiding those documents from the people looking for them, d) getting other folks to lie about those documents, and e) getting other folks to help hide them.

If the facts are against you, bang on the law. If the law is against you, bang on the facts. If the facts and the law are against you, bang on the table.

So the case comes down to some pretty simple questions and answers. So let’s ask the questions and get the answers.

  1. Was Trump authorized to have possession of those documents? Nope.
  2. Did he have possession of them? Yep.
  3. Did he have reason to believe those documents ‘could be used to the injury of the United States or to the advantage of any foreign nation’? Yep.
  4. Was he asked to return them? Yep.
  5. Did he return them? Yes, some of them. And he hasn’t been charged in regard to those particular documents.
  6. Did he return all of them? Nope.
  7. Did he lie about returning all of them? Yep.
  8. Did he get other folks to lie about returning all of them? Yep.
  9. Did he hide them from the folks who were trying to find them? Yep.
  10. Did he get other folks to help him hide them? Yep

The only question that MIGHT be in dispute is that first one. Comrade Trump claims the Presidential Records Act authorized him to keep those documents. Does it? Nope. This is what the Act says:

Upon the conclusion of a President’s term of office, or if a President serves consecutive terms upon the conclusion of the last term, the Archivist of the United States shall assume responsibility for the custody, control, and preservation of, and access to, the Presidential records of that President.

The moment Trump ceased to be POTUS and President Uncle Joe took over, Trump lost custody and control of his presidential authority over the records. Claiming the Presidential Records Act can be interpreted differently is a weak argument, but Trump’s lawyers apparently intend to offer it in court–and with Judge Cannon presiding, it may be allowed.

But will it work? Will a jury buy it? Highly unlikely. Why? Because the National Archives repeatedly TOLD Trump IN WRITING about his legal obligation to surrender control over his records. They repeatedly asked him to return documents he’d retained illegally, and gave him multiple opportunities to do so. The fact that he DID return some but still chose NOT to return others is evidence that he understood what the National Archives repeatedly told him–that he wasn’t authorized to keep those fucking documents.

But he kept them anyway.

So as far as I can see (and, again, I’m NOT a lawyer), Comrade Trump’s ONLY defense is that he was too fucking stupid to understand the repeated warnings given to him and his lawyers about returning classified documents EVEN THOUGH he understood it enough to return some of them.

If that’s the only defense he’s got, Trump’s choices are limited. Either go to trial and hope like hell for a MAGA-infected juror who’ll vote to acquit despite the evidence OR come to some sort of plea arrangement. He might offer to plead guilty to a lesser offense in exchange for…something. No prison time, probably. Maybe in exchange for not being indicted on a Seditious Conspiracy charge in the January 6th insurrection.

I’m not saying I LIKE this as a result. I’m just saying I think this is what’s going to happen.

Obviously, Trump won’t enter into a plea negotiation soon. He’ll delay it as long as possible, as long as he can continue to raise funds off his pending trial. But eventually, in my opinion, he and his lawyers will start talking about a plea arrangement. The case against him is just too strong.

equal justice under the law

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Harold T. Martin was commissioned as a Surface Warfare Officer in the US Navy; he served from 1987 to 2000, and was deployed during Operation Desert Storm. After being honorably discharged from active duty, he obtained a Master’s degree in Information Services. His education and military service allowed him to move into the defense industry, and he worked for a variety of defense contractor corporations.

As a naval officer, Martin had been cleared to access classified information and he retained his clearance as he worked his way through the defense industry. Each successive position granted him access to even more classified information. By 2012, Martin was working with the elite Tailored Access Operations unit of the National Security Agency (NSA). That unit was designed to create ways to secretly hack into computer systems (rather than individual units).

Harold T. Martin’s mugshot

At some point in his career, Martin began to acquire sensitive secret information, which he brought home with him. He took materials from the Central Intelligence Agency, the National Security Agency, the United States Cyber Command, the Department of Defense, and the National Reconnaissance Office. He kept the material in an unsecured shed on his property.

Martin was arrested in 2016 and charged with Willful Retention of National Defense Information under the Espionage Act. According to prosecutors, Martin apparently never did anything with the information he stole; he didn’t offer them for sale, he didn’t show them to anybody. In fact, prosecutors believed he’d never even accessed any of the files he stole from government facilities. He simply hoarded them. It was, apparently, compulsive behavior.

In 2019, Martin was sentenced to nine years in prison.

Today Comrade Former President Donald Trump is being arraigned in federal court. Like Martin, Trump is accused of multiple counts of Willful Retention of National Defense Information. Like Martin, he took information he wasn’t allowed to take from multiple security services. Unlike Martin, Trump avoided military service. Unlike Martin, Trump allegedly showed classified information to people who weren’t classified to see it. Unlike Martin, who was incarcerated for three years before his trial, Trump has been free on his own recognizance.

It remains to be seen if Trump, like Martin, will be held accountable for his crimes.

it’s worse than it appears

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A few more semi-quick thoughts about the Comrade Trump indictments. First, I’m a criminal defense guy. I spent several years as a private investigator specializing in criminal defense work. So I’m in the habit of looking at criminal cases brought by the State and trying to find weaknesses. This may be the most solid indictment I’ve ever seen, largely because Trump is such a reckless, unthinking criminal.

Second, there’s a discrepancy between the number of classified documents seized during the search of Mar-a-Lago and the number of documents listed in the indictment. There are at least a dozen documents identified as top secret that were seized but not included in the indictment. The assumption is that the information in those documents was too sensitive to even be mentioned in passing in a public trial. That suggests Trump’s crimes were even worse than those included in the indictment.

Third, what isn’t being discussed (or at least isn’t being discussed enough) is the actual harm brought by Trump’s crimes. This isn’t just a matter of Trump taking classified documents he had no right to take, and lying about them, and hiding them from the FBI. It’s an actual matter of national security AND of human lives.

Having seen how cavalier Trump was with highly sensitive information provided to the US by the intelligence agencies of our allies, those allies have NO reason to ever trust us with sensitive information again. That’s especially true if Trump isn’t held accountable for this. Our credibility in the international intelligence community has turned to shit.

Beyond that, there’s the very real risk to the intelligence agents and/or assets who have risked their liberty, safety, and lives to gather and collect the information contained in those documents. We KNOW that some of the Mar-a-Lago material was classified as HCS (HUMINT Control Systems). We’re talking clandestine human intelligence, serious spy stuff–the activities, capabilities, techniques, processes, and procedures spies use. If our enemies know WHAT information we have, they can start figuring out WHERE that information came from, and WHO provided it.

We also KNOW that a few months after Trump took that material to Mar-a-Lago, there was a ‘covcom’ breach. Covcom refers to the classified covert communications systems used by the CIA. The breach exposed a number of agency assets, especially in China and Iran. A number of informants had to be extracted; others were reportedly captured and executed. US counterintelligence officials warned every CIA station about the breach. Back in October of 2021, the London Times reported the suspicion that there was a ‘super mole’ in the US government betraying CIA assets. We have no way of knowing if that ‘covcom’ breach was a result of Trump’s egregiously lackadaisical treatment of classified material. But it’s possible.

The thing is, this scandal is far worse than it appears in news coverage. The actual harm to our intelligence community is severe and will be long-lasting. The damage will be even worse if Trump isn’t held accountable.

Also? Why is there a fucking chandelier in that bathroom? I mean…why?

pick a side

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We all knew this was coming. I wrote about it back in August of last year. Now it’s official. Comrade Trump has been indicted, formally accused of violating the national security laws he was sworn to protect.

There’s already a fuck-ton of bullshit being hurled at great force into various social media and news outlets. Some of that bullshit is important; most isn’t. Even though the indictments are sealed at present, we can make a fairly accurate guess at what’s in them. Here’s the thing: down at the bone, this is a pretty simple criminal case.

I’m going to make a terribly flawed analogy here. I’m telling you up front that it’s a flawed analogy, so don’t wast time telling me it’s a flawed analogy. It’s flawed, but it’s still pretty accurate. Right, here we go.

Let’s say you got fired from your job as a…I don’t know, a warehouse worker. You got fired, so when he left on your last day, you also decided to take the forklift you drove at the warehouse. The warehouse manager calls you, says, “Dude, that wasn’t your forklift. We need that forklift back.” You say, “Forklift? What forklift?” The manager says, “You were seen driving away in the forklift and hey, it’s parked outside your garage right now. It’s got the warehouse logo on it. We want it back, please.” You remove the logo from the forklift, park the forklift inside the garage, and send the manager the logo with a note saying, “There you go.” The manager says, “Yeah, no. We want the whole forklift. C’mon, dude.” You say, “It’s my forklift; we bonded during the months we worked together.” The manager says, “Just give us the goddamn forklift. We don’t want to send the cops.” You say, “Okay, I’ll give you the forklift.” You don’t give them the forklift. The manager loses patience and sends the cops. The cops find the forklift in your garage; parts of it are missing. You claim you have no idea how the forklift got into your garage and no idea what happened to those missing parts.

Then you ask to be rehired for your job at the warehouse.

It’s a flawed analogy, but it’s still basically accurate. Trump took shit that didn’t belong to him — shit that put our national security at risk, shit that has very likely caused intelligence agents and assets in China and Iran to flee or, in some cases, to be captured and killed. He refused to return that shit when asked. He eventually gave some shit back, but kept other shit. He lied about having that other shit, both to the government and even to his own lawyers. Later he claimed the shit belonged to him. Now some of that shit is missing.

Again, the basic facts are simple and easy to understand. The implications, however, are neither simple nor easily understood. I’m talking about the political implications, and the social implications, and the national security implications.

There’s a thing called graymail. It’s like blackmail for spies. How does the government accuse somebody of illegally handling secret documents when the documents are secret? Graymail involves a person accused of mishandling (or stealing) secret information threatening to reveal the contents of those secrets in open court if they’re brought to trial.

You know Trump will try to graymail his way out of this. And he’ll succeed, at least in part. We’ll never hear about the very worst things he’s probably done, because it would reveal national security issues.

But there’s good news — or something like good news. Some of the secret material Trump stole will be low level intel that the government is willing to burn in order to get a conviction. The punishment for mishandling a low level secret document is the same as mishandling a really critically important document.

At this point, some 12-14 hours after we learned about the indictments, we’re mostly operating on assumptions. We’re told there will be seven indictments and we assume that’s true. We can make some intelligent guesses about the actual crimes Trump is being charged with, but we don’t actually know. We have no idea how many counts of each indictment–how many separate acts are being charged.

All we have at the moment are broad outlines based on widely reported facts. But we do know this: The indictments will be labeled The United States of America v. Donald J. Trump.

And there it is. The United States versus Trump. Pick a side.

asshole alert at the farmers’ market

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It’s really really really hard to pick the worst thing about Trumpism, but certainly one of the top five worst things is Entitled Aggressive Assholism.

Yesterday morning at the farmers’ market…wait. First, let me say that one of the many things I love about both my small local farmers’ market and the larger Des Moines Downtown Farmers’ Market is that they bring so many different communities together. There are Amish farmers selling rye bread next to some Salvadoran immigrants selling pupusas and some second generation Laotian-Americans selling sien savanh. There’s a young Black man with orange hair playing an acoustic guitar and singing old Beatles songs and just down the street is an old white guy with a ridiculously small electric organ playing Muzak versions of Bob Marley tunes. There are young couples with kids, old folks with walkers, dozens of breeds of dogs (and by the way, I’m always worried about the small dogs; I’m afraid they’re going to get stepped on in the crowds), gay couples holding hands, teens wearing Future Farmers of America t-shirts, cyclists in their helmets and spandex, suburban goth eye-shadow junkie kids, folks handing out flyers letting us know Jesus forgives us or that pollinators are at risk because of chemicals or reminding us that one of the voice actors from Pokemon will be signing autographs at the event center where the comic-con is taking place.

What I’m saying is that the farmers market is all about different folks coming together and getting along. And then there’s the guy wearing a t-shirt that says Transgenderism is a Mental Disorder. My phone was in my pocket, so I didn’t have time to get a photograph of him. But he was a classic Entitled Aggressive Asshole, a prime example of asshole culture.

The ONLY reason to wear a t-shirt like that in public is to provoke a reaction. This asshole deliberately set out to offend others, knowing he was unlikely to be seriously challenged about it. Unlikely to be challenged because those of us who are offended also believe in the right to free speech, and the right to believe in things others find objectionable, and the right to move around freely in public without somebody knocking you flat on your ass for being a colossal dick.

One of the worst things Trump released on the world is the fierce joy bullies and cowards find in the freedom to punch down without consequence. Right now, trans folks and drag artists have become primary targets of that twisted joy. I see articles complaining that Link (from the Legend of Zelda games) is trans-friendly, I see drag shows under attack by asshole politicians, I see concentrated efforts to prevent trans kids from getting the medical care they need. A year or two ago, none of this was much of an issue. Trans-hate has been largely manufactured for political purposes (and, of course, as another conservative grift).

My guess (and I have no actual evidence of this) is that a year ago, that asshole at the farmers’ market probably didn’t give a moment of thought to trans folks. But now that they’ve become a popular MAGA-target, he 1) found a vendor who was happy to make and sell the objectionable t-shirt, 2) spent his money to buy one so that he could 3) wear it in public in a place that encourages diversity in order to 4) offend the fuck out of people who are 5) too decent to knock him on his ass.

To be clear, I’m NOT an advocate of knocking people on their ass simply because they’re assholes (even if they deserve it–although I’d consider buying a t-shirt that says Vertical assholes deserve to be horizontal). And I’m not suggesting folks accept that asshole’s challenge and confront him in public. I mean, these assholes LIKE pretending they’re victims.

What I am saying is that it’s no longer enough for us to be silent allies. I suspect most of the folks who’ll read this have taken a relatively laissez faire approach to trans folks. Trans folks exist, not a big deal, end of story. But the movement to prevent trans folks from existing, that IS a big deal. Trans folks can’t afford for us to maintain a laissez faire approach. We need to stand up, speak up, and keep it up. We can do that without being assholes ourselves.

EDITORIAL NOTE: We really need to burn the patriarchy. Burn it from stalk to stem, then gather the ashes, grind them into dust, dig a hole and chuck in the dust, piss on the dust, cover the hole, and salt the earth over the hole. Then have tea and some nice cookies.