I have a massive headache right now, so this will be short....but it was too long to fit effectively into 140 characters, so here we are. The point I wanted to make was just that important, that I feel like it needs to be said at length and with some background.

The point: the internet is completely voluntary.

Let me say it again: the internet is completely voluntary.

I could certainly be wrong, but I'm fairly sure that there aren't very many people who are reading or watching stuff on the internet with some asshole holding a gun to their head, making them do it. I'm guessing there are very few people who're tied to one of those internet exercycles that's wired to a bomb such that if they stop surfing, it explodes. I find it pretty unlikely that anyone out there has actually become dependent on the internet for life. So, yeah. VOLUNTARY.

So, when you get to a post that's rubbing you the wrong way, and it's not something you've deliberately sought out (like, say, my exploratory foray into the wilds of right-wing nutjobbery the other day), and it's not something that's making you think (like, say, my bumping into an essay about St. Patrick and being led to question what I thought I knew about him), and it's just not blowing up your skirt for whatever reason....you have some options.

You can choose to comment on it. Damn near every site on the planet has comments these days, and lots of good, productive, informative conversations get started this way. If you do choose to comment, maybe keep in mind, though, that making demands of content providers is kind of a jerk move. Nobody is obligated to provide you with the content you would like to enjoy, in the way in which you would like to enjoy it. At the end of the day, unless you're actually paying them to do it (and even then, there'd be some arguments both ways), someone who's putting stuff out on the internet doesn't really owe you anything. So, if you're gonna comment, may I suggest keeping it on topic, sharing your thoughts and thoughtful arguments and personal experiences, offering constructive criticism (if you feel you must offer criticism), and avoiding giving orders or bitching about what's being posted. 'Cause seriously, the internet owes you nothing.

The other option is a really simple one: surf away. Close the window, find another site, move along. Avoid whatever's pissing you off. Skip what's bothering you. There is no requirement that you read every site, or even sites you like if you're not feeling it. I usually like to keep up on news headlines, but this whole summer I've been only catching a few every now and then. I don't have the mental capacity to deal with much trouble beyond my own sphere, so I've just been, you know, NOT. And lately, I've even been avoiding blogs and bloggers I really, really love to read, because they've been writing about stuff that's triggering me. Since it's not my place to dictate their subject matter, I just skip the posts that I think will bother me. And you know what? The internet police didn't show up to haul me in somewhere for not looking at certain sites. Nobody gave me the stinkeye for skipping my usual reading list. I was penalized in no way. BECAUSE THE INTERNET IS VOLUNTARY.

To sum:

* If you don't like a blog, don't visit that blog.
* If you don't like a particular writer, don't read hir writing.
* If you don't like a website, don't visit that website.

The internet is voluntary. Your participation is not mandatory in any way. Humans lived for millennia without the internet, and it's still possible today. If you do choose to surf the internet, do so with the understanding that - excepting what you yourself create and publish to it - the internet may or may not be to your particular taste, and there's not a whole lot you can do about that. Except NOT SURF.

Compare & contrast.

Things attempting to damage my calm today:

* Woman in elevator at office asks if I'm in tomorrow; I'm confused as to why I wouldn't be. Takes me a minute to realize it's Good Friday, which I don't celebrate because I'm not a Christian, but people assume I'm Christian until/unless I tell them otherwise. Somehow I thought the black nail polish and dyed red hair would be enough to project a stereotype here! Maybe I should start wearing my pentacle to work? Or more tattoos....hmmm...

* Coming through the security doors on my floor of the building, I vaguely hear footsteps before the door closes behind me. A woman says, "Thanks" in total sarcastic mode. What, the eyes in the back of my head were supposed to let me know you wanted me to hold the door? 'Cause clearly you're able to speak....but weren't able to ask me to hold the door since you were, uh, BEHIND ME?

* This article pulled from the Sudan Tribune, talking about the dangers of colonialism inherent in so much charity related to African countries. Makes me question where the donations I've made to "Save Darfur" are really going. Sonuvabitch! But a good reminder to me to do the effin' research before sending money to anything. Intentions are important, but thorough knowledge doesn't hurt. Time to wade into learning more about Sudan, I think.

* E-mails from family members basically telling me I don't trust Yahweh enough and also am un-American for thinking taxes make a better society. Yes, taxes suck, but the alternative sucks worse. Also, stop trying to convince me to have faith in Jesus.

* Danny Glover speaks truth about the Obama administration and racism. A bummer, but also informative.


Things helping me hold on to sanity:

* Ellen Brown preaches to this choir about how banks are totally fucking evil. Maybe not in those words.

* The Mayer explains a fear exercise I love to hate.

* I have started a trend of reflexively un-friending or un-following or un-subscribing stuff that bugs me. I love Chicago Honey Co-op, for example, but yesterday, they were pimping out some article or program or something or other talking about "get off your fat ass and bike to work." Which, you know, just doesn't seem like it's gonna be anything but a bunch of "omg I'm so fat and lazy and disgusting, I need to bike - oh, and starve, too - my way to a socially acceptable body," and you know...I just don't feel like wading through that kinda bullshit just to hear about how the local honeybees are doing. Buh-bye! Ditto bloggers or Facebook friends who are dieting, proselytizing, selling something, or posting total nonsense. Someday I may crawl out of the echo chamber...or maybe not. For now, my brain really appreciates relaxing its tolerance muscles a little. I mean, they get enough exercise at the office, anyway.

* Elle posting at Shakesville about water. This is a beautiful, heartbreaking post.

* Speaking of really awesome posts that tear me up, there's this one from Beth at Fake Plastic Fish, one of my fave green blogs.

* This playlist:

"Slow Dancing in a Burning Room" - John Mayer
"I Got a Name" - Jim Croce
"Mr. Curiosity" - Jason Mraz
"A Case of You" - Jane Monheit covering Joni Mitchell
"The Part Where You Let Go" - Hem
"The Shape I Found You In" - Girlyman
"Running on Faith" - Eric Clapton
"Comfort You" - Denison Witmer covering Van Morrison
"One Good Year" - Slaid Cleaves
"I Drive Alone" - Esthero
"St. Peter" - David Ford
"Rootless Tree" - Damien Rice
"By Way of Sorrow" - Cry, Cry, Cry
"Heart of the Matter" - India.Arie covering Don Henley
"They Were Wrong" - Matthew Ryan
"Dear Chicago" - Ryan Adams
"She's Out of My Life" - Josh Groban covering Michael Jackson
"Mexico" - Kim Richey covering CAKE
"Say It To Me Now" - Glen Hansard
"31 Today" - Aimee Mann
"Spilt Milk" - Matt Duke
"Ain't No Love" - David Gray
"Gravity" - John Mayer

FUotD: Yelling Guy in Rogers Park

So, this evening, I decided to go out into the fabulous (though buggy) permaculture gardens in the back yard, and play some music for the plants. (I'm one of those cheesy people who thinks plants do better when you talk to them and play music for them and generally give them personal energy and attention. So, you know, I do that stuff a lot.)

I took my guitar back, and did a round of watering and chatting and petting and grooming, and then I settled on a bench with my guitar to play some tunage. I played the new protest song I wrote last week (the first protest song I've written that I don't think totally sucks). I played a couple originals. Then I pulled out an Appalachian folk song mashup I put together...

And halfway through, some jackass yells "Shut the FUCK UP!"

I slowly stop playing, asking myself if he could possibly be talking to me...and then I realize that of COURSE he's talking to me; I'm the only one playing loud enough to be heard all up and down the block.

So, I pause and gather my thoughts, and yell back, "Thanks, that was really polite!"

And then I take my guitar back inside, and try to figure out if I'm pissed or embarrassed or hurt or some weird combo of all three. Needless to say, though, what really creeps up my ass is the fact that this jerkface couldn't treat me like a fellow human being and yell something like, "Hey, I'm trying to study, could you tone it down a bit?" or "My baby just got to sleep, would you mind playing more quietly?" or something polite and courteous and not asshole-ish.

I get that not everyone likes Appalachian folk music, or my voice, or my guitar playing, or whatever. But I still think that could be expressed in a way that acknowledges that the person you're talking to is a human being worthy of respect.

So, hey, yelling guy in Rogers Park: FUCK YOU!!

FUotD: Chicago Cab Companies

So, this is aimed NOT at cabbies themselves, who I have found to be generally awesome and friendly and helpful (with a couple notable exceptions - and yeah, I mean the ones who invite me to go to Vegas with them and/or drive in such a way as to make me both carsick and afraid for my life). I have no problem with cabbies. It's their fucking dispatchers I have a beef with.

So, last night, I wend my way to Target to get cat litter and various crap I probably could live without (but choose not to). I do my shopping, and - like I always do - park my cart outside and call my go-to cab service. The dispatcher takes my info, and ten minutes later (praise be!), she calls back to say the driver is out front and will be there shortly.

That's lightning-fast for a cab! I'm so excited. For once, maybe I have good taxi karma - it's a miracle!

Minutes go by. Five. Eight. Ten. I call the dispatch and sit on hold, trying to ind out what the fuck happened between "he's out front" and "will be there shortly." As I'm sitting on hold, the dispatcher calls me. I switch over the call, and she start groveling...apparently the cabbie had engine trouble, and they have to send me another cab. She apologizes profusely, and says she'll get someone right out to me. I'm cool with that; it's only been ten minutes, and this dispatcher is treating me as though I am a customer worthy of her courtesy. AWESOME.

So, ten minutes go by. Twenty. Nothing. I call the dispatch to check in. I get a different dispatcher (and with this small company, that means it's probably shift change. Fuck!), one I've dealt with before and did not have a great time. She says, "We're still trying to find someone for you. Do you still want to wait?"

UH, HELLO? I called a cab. This means I probably don't have a whole lot of other transportation options. ('Cause if you engage a brain cell, you might realize that I'm at a Target, and probably bought a bunch of stuff that doesn't travel well on a bus, or on my back. MORON.) I mean, if my magic carpet wasn't in the shop, I'd just whistle it up and get on with things, but since it IS in the shop, yeah, I'll keep waiting for a fucking cab!

Jeebus. Fucking people!

So, time goes by, and still nothing. Twenty more minutes (which makes almost an hour total I've been waiting), and I call dispatch again, where the lady gives me this pissy tone and says she just doesn't have anyone in that area, and do I still want to keep waiting. I say, "Well, could you send someone over here?" And she says she just can't seem to get anyone. So, I say, in a not-so-happy voice, "Well, if you can't get me a cab, I'll have to call another service..."

And she says, "Sorry we couldn't help you," and HANGS UP.

Holy shit, I was so pissed. So I dial my back-up cab company, wait on hold, and put in my order. I prepare myself for another twenty minute wait. It's been over an hour now....I'm hungry....I'm cranky....I'm seriously considering looking at how I can fit a car in my budget, 'cause this shit gets old fast.

I wait. And wait. And wait. And wait. Half an hour passes, and I hear nothing from the dispatch. So I call them up, sit on hold, and finally get someone. I tell them I'm following up on an order I placed earlier, and she says (can you believe this?!), "I still haven't found anyone for you. Do you want to keep waiting?"

I PRACTICALLY LOSE MY MIND. I tell her, yeah, I don't have another good option. I tell her I'll pay double fare (she immediately says, "We're not asking you to do that" and I say "I know, but I'm just saying that I will"). She says, "Well, ma'am, I'll try to get someone over there."

Now, I've worked dispatch before (for a wrecker company, not a cab company, just to be transparent). I recognize that it's a little different with cabs, since they're much more independent about how they operate, and I get that they probably want to stay in areas that have more customers. But for fuck's sake, I'm a goddamned good tipper - good enough to merit taking a little jaunt out of Lincoln fucking Park and the Mag fucking Mile to drive a girl and her Target swag home! Plus, hello...I know it's Saturday night and I'm supposed to be out drinking my weight in tequila, but does the fact that I'm not make me less worthy of decent fucking customer service?!

Anyway.

Finally, about ten minutes after the last phone call, a cab shows up. He was just coming on shift, and lived in the area, and did me a huge favor by swinging over my way before heading down to tourist-and-drunkard town. He was kind of an ass about it, but I gave him $20 for a $9 cab ride, and I say that is fucking fair. He was very nice after that, helped me carry my stuff, gave me his cell number so I could call him specifically if I got stuck like that again. (I kinda wanted to be like, "Dude, I don't pay that well every time. Only when I'm desperate.")

So, yeah, I made it home. And my ice cream was only slightly melted.

So, Chicago Cab Companies: FUCK YOU!

FUotD: SBD Guy on the el!!

Typically, the "Fuck You of the Day" involves some national figure or group that has said or done something so terribly offensive that my brain can only just manage to kick out the words "Fuck You" in response. Today, however, we have a new kind of FUotD.

Hey, dude who farted right in my face on the goddamn el last night: FUCK YOU!!

Seriously, this dude ripped a truly foul SBD, with his ass mere inches from my nose. How rude is that shit??

For those unfamiliar with riding a CTA train, in a typical car there are four sets of seats that run parallel to the walls of the train, all of them abutting partitions that outline the doors of the car. The partitions are half metal (or possibly some sort of wood veneer?), half glass, with an open space of about ten inches between the two sections. Often, as the train fills up, people will lean their backs against the partition...if you happen to be sitting in one of the seats next to the partition - depending on the height of the person leaning on it - you may just be eye to asshole with a total stranger. Needless to say, ripping a fart in those circumstances is almost like shitting on someone's dinner plate.

So last night, I was on a pre-Cubs-game crowded train, and took the seat right next to one of the partitions. I tilted my head back against the wall behind me (thank gods I didn't lean against the partition itself - yikes!), and commenced snoozing. All went well while we were underground - Cubs fans got on at every stop, and a bunch who'd clearly been having some pre-game drinkies along Rush Street got on at Chicago and stood in the door areas, leaning against the partition. No worries so far....but then a few stops later, just as we were pulling away from Belmont....my nose detected something that was....just....not....right.

My eyes started watering, and I almost gagged. It smelled like this guy had opened a bag of sun-baked-decomposing-roadkill flavored potato chips in his pants!! I wanted to tap him on the shoulder and suggest he try a little fiber or something, 'cause DAYAM his bowels must surely be rotting from the inside out! I hurriedly tucked my nose into my sweater and managed to not suffocate in the methane cloud that had enveloped my head. A few seconds later, at Addison, the guilty party and his gaggle of friends traipsed off the train, leaving behind the ghost of a horrific and vomitous smell, not to mention me, fighting not to choke and/or puke.

It would not have been hard to turn around and aim that shit into some free space, or at least somewhere there wasn't a nose at ass level. Hell, it was only a couple minutes to Addison, where this dude could have ripped it in the open air....but NO, he had to send his nasty express mail right up my nostrils!!

I know everybody farts, man. It happens. It's natural and unavoidable, and I am not one of those prissy people who thinks farts only belong in bathrooms or when you're totally alone. Farts happen, and I get that. But. I also think that it's not all that hard to hold an awareness of where I'm farting, and try to avoid blowing a stinker right in someone's face.

So, yeah, dude, FUCK YOU. And may I suggest you try some Colon Blow?

Pet peeve: Howdy!

Okay, so I am all for a thin veneer of give-a-damn painted over absolute apathy when it comes to greeting co-workers, people on the street, and random strangers I make eye contact with in an elevator. I get that we're not buds and we're both looking to be courteous, but not actually friendly.

But.

"How are you?" is a question. It connotes an answer. If you ask me how I am, I will tell you. If I ask how you are, I'm interested in your answer and plan on waiting to hear your reply.

"How are you?" is not the same thing as hello, hi, howdy, hey, yo, or various other greetings that are simple acknowledgements of someone's presence. If you want to greet me, but not ask how I'm doing, use one of those. If you don't want to know how I am, don't ask.

Don't say "how are you" while passing me in the hallways at breakneck speed. It's fucking rude.