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Hello. I'm a person who lives in Laramie, grew up in Laramie, and was in Laramie when the Matt Shepard murder happened. I've been pondering a response for the 10 year anniversary, ever since the New York Times reminded me that the anniversary was coming up.

This MeFi post gave me the push to finally compose a response: Remembering Matthew Shepard | MetaFilter.

I guess I was lucky that I was raised in a way that made hatred of gays seem as strange and stupid as hating people because they were black or Catholic or bald. I've always found people different than me interesting, rather than scary. But I've never been so naive as to think that other people thought the same way as I did.

I was horrified by the brutal assault and later death of Matt Shepard. I found the disappearance of Kristin Lamb, who was in my 4-H club, scary and sad. And when they found her body in the Powell landfill, disposed by her molester/murderer like garbage, I was horrified. When they found the naked, frozen body of Daphne Sulk, a girl one grade ahead of me in school, stabbed to death and left in the woods, I was horrified. It was a terrible year, with several violent deaths that deeply hurt the community. I don't remember so many non-accidental deaths happening so close together in any year before that. But when this all happened, I was in 8th grade, so most major news around that time, both national and local, kind of blends together in my mind.

These wounds haven't healed well for me. I don't know about the rest of the town, but every time Matt comes up in the news I remember the shock, pain, and horror of all of those murders and then the dreadful stress of the news media and intrusive activists and protesters descending on the town after Matt's beating and death, and then again for the trial. And I can't think about Matthew Shepard and all that came with his killing without thinking about the two girls that died without the national grief and rage that Laramie's "hate crime" brought down. [use of quotation marks due to the fact that the crime was probably more complicated than the popular headline and story angle used in the media]

Each of those murders was a terrible tragedy. Each killing was stupid and wasteful and showed a profound disconnection from humanity by each murderer involved in those crimes. And as far as hate crime legislation applies to murder, those three people are all dead. Who is going to tell any of their mothers that those crimes should not have equal investigation, prosecution, and punishment of those responsible? In the case of murder, society should put it's full resources and dedication towards the pursuit of justice. And these murderers deserved the full sorrow and wrath of society. They all damaged us as individuals and as a group. I believe it damages us more to attempt to rank the worth of those lives and deaths.

Regarding hate crimes legislation and the trial of Matt's murderers, in both court and the community, I believe that the use of the "gay panic" defense was abhorrent to the vast majority of the community. Yes, a few people could distract themselves from the horror of the crime by getting all religious or philosophical about homosexuality, but everyone I know was disgusted by the thought that anyone thought there was any excuse for the savage things that were done to Matt. Most everyone thought any act of hate or violence toward Matt was completely unjustified, but even unrepentant homophobes were aghast at the sick brutality of that crime. If the McKinney trial had proceeded, rather than the defendant changing his plea to guilty, I truly believe the jury would have made it very clear how inexcusable our community found his crime and his defense. Honestly, I believe that he would have had a better chance for leniency if he had gone with a defense along the lines of "I was so tweeked out on meth I barely knew which was was up." With or without a hate crimes law, I really hope that any community would react with horror and anger to any violent crime, regardless of its motivations. I find terror in all violence, be it random or targeted for whatever reason, and I believe all of it damages society.

Regarding hate crimes legislation for acts of intimidation and incitement of violence: what is wrong with us if we don't already have laws that punish those sorts of actions toward any individual or group? If two rival softball teams start harassing or threatening one another, it is damaging to our society. If the groups are different teams, gangs, or religious groups, I find any threats or violence bizarre and unacceptable. Yes, the amount of fear created in the targeted group may vary, but it all comes from a similar tribal place, and can all lead to terrible consequences. I believe it is in our society's best interests to thoroughly condemn any such behavior for any reason, and if acts of intimidation and incitement of violence aren't already illegal, and that's what hate crimes legislation will do, then I guess I'm for it.

A note, though: by the time a person reaches the point that they'll physically assault or murder someone for reasons covered by hate crime laws, it is already too late. Hate crime laws in those cases seem like their purpose is to assuage the guilt of society, rather than to prevent crimes in that category. Rodger's and Hammerstein had it right in South Pacific: "You've got to be carefully taught." If we're serious about stopping bias crimes or hate crimes or whatever term you would like to use, we need to fix our culture. We need to emphasize our interconnectedness and strengthen our belief in some sort of inherent human worth and dignity. We need to let our differences make us stronger rather than allowing our fear of differences to make us weaker.

[Here is a poem I did with JanusNode for my poetry class in Fall of 2003. I Markov-chained almost all of my angsty poems from high school and ran them through JanusNode several times in order to create a poem to fulfill our nonsense poem assignment. So, forgive the gloomy-ness and Dada.]



A clock alone, a sharp hand wanting.

Maybe
    hoping
         for wings, the
         beautiful
   part
of
  my muffled mouth
    sings.

Fingers sing
and
       turn
       my
          pen.

       I look
    at
    feet
         as
        they
 whisper by.
   
      Words.


         It is

your moment
       to
 hold
       the
 other
 
      side
        of maybe
          . You've seen.
  You
  didn't look,
  you've
        seen.

             You do
          lie
     about
  you,
   about
   everything
        no
   one
 even
   knows.
   
      I
      still
      don't
     see. You
     see them, but
    you
         don't
        see.
      I
     couldn't
    read.

     Hands down
   (and
    up
, fitting
         with
 nothing).

        What I
    didn't see, you've seen.
     You’ve
    seen just
 
            under
     the
     nothing
 (again),
          your
   momentary
         glimpse
  of
          another
   side
 of
   yourself.
          There's
  a
   cage
        in
       the answer.

      What do you
  do
    when
   you find
          out
  you've
        heard
  too little?
  We
       might
        be
           so
    crazy.
 You've
        seen.
 
      I
     didn't
       walk away
         
from us. You don't
 see, and
      won't
     do.
         That
          will
       quietly
     tick,
     a ghost of
  ticking in the sky.
  She
         
 isn't
    here,
       
 is

         
           undisturbed,
           thinking
  about
    what
    we
  did.
       Happily,
        I could see the tears
   which
     are
     
  not scars
        (to
          me). She
       hears
     me
        like music.
          You lie
      about
          your
     words
     to
          me, in
   soft,
        formless
        thoughts
      you
     think. Hands
       
   down
(and
         
    up
, fitting
  with
     feelings)
  I recollect
       the
         essence
    that
  speaks through me.

       But
    I
 still
      don't see.
 You
 think
      so
        strongly
   about my
         looking-
          glass
world
  for
       you.
      You
        read
  words
          and
   that is

          all

         you think.
   You
    could
         read
          words
     strong enough to
       touch.
                 You
     can't see.
      I
    didn't
     walk
     away
       and
     I don't hate you. I
        don't
  know who
 you
  are
      .
     She smiles at the
   
     ways
    of
        a
         web
     of
         
        minds.
  You
         think so
   strongly
    about my looking-
          glass
world
       for
      you.
     So crazy,
       a
        fortress, a shadow
    that will
        quietly tick, a
     fortress,
  a
       cage
      in
        dust and
          oil. Ignorance
 is
         beautiful. You
         look
       at your
     feet be
          cause she's crying. Crying,
       we twist
away
         
from each other
  . Patterns
 I could
          read: words.

     What
   then,
 when
          you find
       out
       you've
       heard too
    little?
          You think a
      long time,
     recollect the
  essence that speaks
          through
      you.
  I didn't
          see.
     You
       still don't
          see.
    You've
        seen. Maybe
          .

             What
         then, when
 you
   can't
   
explain?
     
      You
      could
 read
  words. She
 isn't
      here,
   
 is

           undisturbed,
           thinking about
    what
  we did.
 My
          heart

     aches
from pretending
     it
 is

       somehow
     
explicable.
      Crying,
   twist
     away
from
   each one.
      Tears are
       not scars.
     
      I stand alone
         inside.
         Some
    women
         hate
  others
 to
 think.
       I'm
         strong enough
        to
          think
       about
          my
     soul,
  so
       crazy.
  You
      see
      something
         (about what?)
         about
         me. Hands
     
   down

      (and
    up
,
        fitting with
         your
 face), I
         stand
        alone
from
     inside
        and
      see something
         about
          you. Maybe.

Edit: My memory is crap. This is a poem I brought to my poetry class, but not one I wrote. It was brought as an inspiration to the class, as we were assigned to bring favorite poems in every week.

I feel like a moron. A moron and a plagiarist. The folder this was in on my computer contains the poems I wrote and the poems I brought in to class as inspiration. Evidently I can't tell the difference. I did do several poems with JanusNode for class and for fun that semester. Just not this one. Here's the link to the page I found this poem on: JanusNode: Poems From The Unknown Unknowing

I was recently asked if I've written anything lately (in the creative rather than purely informative sense of the idea). I haven't really, but here's something from the poetry class I took my freshman year of college. What follows is the entirety of the word processing document I found, complete with an explanation of the process I used to create it.


[The following text was heavily assisted by JanusNode. It was created on a whim as a 'proof of concept', in response to a call from http://www.instantnovelist.com/ for a poem about balance (but never actually submitted, since it turned out that they only accept entries from AOL members!). The four step process used to create it can be used to try to produce a poem about any topic at all. The first step is to gather together a bunch of texts about the chosen topic. In this case, the texts were taken from the WWW, using a search engine search on 'balance'. More carefully selected inputs texts can deliver better results. The second step is to create a Markov file of the texts gathered in step 1. The third step is to chain the Markov file from step 2, and (optionally) other selected Markov files. In this case, pre-existing Markov files on the war in Kosovo and the highschool murders in Colorado were selected in the hopes they would resonate in an interesting manner with the texts on balance. Finally, interesting lines from the output are selected, and the resultant (rather short) text is Markov-chained again. Text culled from this output can be used to make the final product. In this case, that selection was eecummingsfied, and then edited by a human being to produce the final text. Although the final text reflects substantial human intervention by editing, the title, general themes, and the structure of most of the individual lines here (including the fine phrase 'when emotions have a disordered bullet...') are all JanusNode's own work.]


The Stabilizing Effects of Perception.

Let your ears hear only
what does not
destroy the world.


When emotions have
a disordered bullet,
I believe in balance.


Balance is
not achieved by soldiers
measuring out the world
in machined straight lines
with steady gaze and goals.


Balance is
not an hour
with your checkbook,
not an hour
spent casually shooting
others dead.


Balance is
found in wild experience;
from letting our bodies go forth,
shifting on uneven surfaces;
forging their own crooked paths.


Let the world scream;
Let the disordered bullets rain
on lockers and pews;
Let the wild vertigo
flourish.


Let your eyes see only
what does not
destroy the world.

this was a response to a post by riotgeek, but I like it enough to put it here, too.

There's vocation and then there's avocation. Rather than thinking of avocation as a "hobby," I like the definition that describes it as a "calling." I think it's perfectly reasonable desire to want to have a job that uses skills that you enjoy and have a talent for. Yes, the world needs clerks and janitors, but having some form of creativity and personal expression in a job gives you motivation for pride in craftsmanship and a genuine joy in your field. As long as you're dedicating a lot of time and energy to something, you may as well enjoy it and know that it uses the parts of you that are the strongest and most vibrant.

My grandmother had a stroke last Sunday afternoon. Afterwards she's had mini-stroke aftershocks called "TIA"s [I keep thinking "thanks in advance"]. We left Laramie for Jackson, Minnesota that Monday, got to Columbus, Nebraska and then stopped at a auto place because the power steering had gone out on my mom's car. It was fixed at about 11 am on Tuesday and we got to the hospital in Jackson that afternoon.

Thursday Grandma was diagnosed with a bladder infection, which affected her health and mood significantly. Once her antibiotics started working and the infection started to retreat, she was more mentally and emotionally together.

The stroke/TIAs affected her vocabulary, so communication with her is an interesting experience. We can tell that she knows what she is talking about and is not confused about what she is saying or who any of us are. However, the words come out pretty jumbled sometimes, so it takes patience and time to decode what she is saying. Friday she started telling Mom (Diane) and my aunt Carolyn that they were good kids. Then she proceeded to tell stories about the times that her three daughters were troublesome. She started with the time that Marion, the oldest, climbed to the top of the windmill (she was two, Grandma was pregnant with Mom and Carolyn was still a baby) and an incident when the three of them ruined a 25 pound sack of sugar. We were all laughing in her room that morning after hearing those stories.

Grandma's condition varies based on the time of day and how tired she is. When my cousins and their children, Bennett and Cate, came down to visit on Saturday and Sunday morning, Grandma was in high spirits but pretty exhausted after our short visits in the hospital. She was especially happy to see Bennett and Cate. Bennett was especially kind and sweet, making sure to give Grandma several hugs and letting her know that he loves her. My uncle Roger let them pick flowers from his garden to give to her, and those flowers and some irises Roger cut earlier have brought her much joy. She has also enjoyed the cards people have sent, asking us to bring her magnifying glass so she could see them more clearly. We have also relayed all or your kind thoughts and wishes to her, and she is grateful and glad to hear of them.

Grandma has not felt like eating much. She is not refusing to eat, she just has trouble swallowing — saying that something is wrong with her innards that makes it painful to swallow and also makes her afraid of stomach upset. She tries to eat as much as she can, saying that the nurses are so nice and the food is good, but she can't eat as much as she is given.

My mom and aunt are sort of pessimists, so they have been certain several times that my Grandmother has said she wants to die and is trying to starve herself to death. I don't believe either is true. Grandma has said that she wishes that she had died quickly rather than having deteriorating health, but she is the type who just deals with what she is given with the resources that she has. While she was confused from the infection she was pretty pessimistic, but since then she has her same demeanor, mood, and sense of humor that has been her normal state as long as I've known her. My mom and aunt are very stressed out right now, though, and understandably so. I just wish they wouldn't stress themselves out more on top of this already tough situation.

Grandma has repeated many times that she has lived a long and wonderful life and that she feels especially lucky to have been able to know her great-grandchildren, Cate and Bennett. It moves me to tears (with a smile) when she says these things. Thursday evening Grandma asked me to find a poem to read to her. With Google's help we finally found the right quote. She told me it helped her when I read it to her. I think it's beautiful.

Look to this day!
For it is life, the very life of life,
In its brief course
Lie all the verities and realities of your existence
The bliss of growth
The glory of action
The splendor of beauty.

For yesterday is but a dream
And tomorrow is only a vision,
But today well lived makes every yesterday
A dream of happiness
And every tomorrow a vision of hope.

Look well, therefore, to this day!
Such is the salutation of the dawn.
— Kālidāsa, “Salutation to the Dawn”

[inspired by riotgeek, but a slightly different version of the same quiz from languagehat]

What American accent do you have? (Best version so far) Western Western is kind of neutral, but not quite since it's still possible to tell where you`re from. So you might not actually be from the West (but you probably are). If you really want to sound "neutral," learn how to say "stock" and "stalk" differently.

Click Here to Take This Quiz Brought to you by YouThink.com quizzes and personality tests.

“The central—and not very surprising—conclusion that emerges from the documentary and historical record is that the U.S. international and security policy, rooted in the structure of power in the domestic society, has as its primary goal the preservation of what we might call the ‘Fifth Freedom,’ understood crudely but with a fair degree of accuracy as the freedom to rob, to exploit and dominate, to undertake any course of action to ensure that existing privilege is protected and advanced.”
— The Culture of Terrorism, 1998 Noam Chomsky

[context: Four Freedoms, Fifth Freedom @ Wikipedia]

There are escalators in Wyoming.

Because I'm a nerd, I've decided to do a Wyoming escalator census. Watch for updates here.

"Wyoming exists, but it chooses to remain anonymous."
- Lord Kinbote, as part of this discussion: There are no Escalators in Wyoming. | MetaFilter

Happy Easter! [yes, I'm posting early, but it's so you can read this first thing]

In honor of this fantastic (and even more improbable than Christmas in terms of miraculous events) holiday, I am planning on watching Jesus Christ Superstar followed by Shaun of the Dead. And maybe Star Wars (since it's hdgotham's tradition and I want to see the original trilogy a second time).

My family, in honor of Wyoming and Passover and not at all as a questionable bonus religious cannibalism ritual, is having leg of lamb for lunch. Mmmmmmm lamb.

Amazon.com: Fresh Whole Rabbit

look at the "Customers Who Bought Items Like This Also Bought" as well as the customer images and reviews.

now to watch a movie he's in, I suppose

Orange juice and a nap always makes me feel better. That and Project Vote Smart has alleviated my biennial democratic depression. It's hard to be for or against candidates who are exactly the same. So I stayed home and did homework during the primary caucus, while humming "The Caucus Race" from Disney's Alice in Wonderland.

Because Laramie needs a party on wheels:

A Taste of Colombia Rolls Through New York’s Streets - New York Times

I have worked very hard on maintaining my youthful hope and innocence. With determination and effort one can slow the inevitable erosion. While cynicism and compromise are necessary for practical and philosophical reasons, being permanently stuck in those states is something that strikes me as terribly sad.

This makes the state of America especially heartbreaking. Things been screwed up in ways beyond what I ever imagined was possible — in both scale and diversity. Worse than that, massive objections to major, obvious, and preventable fuckups did not stop those in power from proceeding anyway. And I have used my hope and idealism as fuel to keep voting and conversing with others and voicing my opinion to those in power. It feels that this, too, has had all the impact of pissing in the sea.

I feel so incredibly powerless right now, especially politically, at a time when my vote is actually weighted due to an alignment of statistical improbability and timing. For the only time in my life, registered as a Democratic voter in Wyoming in a system that still uses caucuses and an Electoral College, my opinion on the Presidential election counts. Things are that close and all the things aligned precisely enough. And it's terrible. Because, while maybe the media and the candidates are listening for these few days, in the end the caucus is non-binding and so whatever I say can be ignored anyway. And in the winner-takes-all electoral system Wyoming is overwhelmingly Republican. Meaning that the one time my opinion makes a whit of difference in a Presidential election, it's just a suggestion and even crueler because that tantalizing idea of having my vote, for once, have equivalent value to someone's vote in Iowa or Florida or Ohio . . .

I want so much to believe that an individual has power in a vote, but that only works if lots of people take the time, thought, and effort to make their vote as well. It also depends on the system not being rigged and bizarrely complex.

I want so much to use this idealism and hope to make life better for more people than just me. Taking care of oneself is survival. Taking care of oneself and helping others do the same for themselves . . . creating something positive that goes beyond replacing what one has consumed . . . this is something I find great value in. I am so lucky to have what I have in my life, and I am so grateful and so sad because things are still hard and others don't have what I have been lucky enough to receive. And I think that government exists to serve the needs of its people, and being involved in politics will help it more effectively meet the needs of myself and others.

And every time since I have been able to vote that I have hoped and tried and participated

and cared

it breaks my heart again.

add to my Wists

add to my Wists

add to my Wists

» ADHD and Memory Problems - Psych Central News

» ADHD Computer Program Improves Attention - Psych Central News

So I've added the Who Has The Biggest Brain? Facebook application (link to application page: Facebook | Who Has The Biggest Brain?).

I'm also considering getting a Nintendo DS or DS Lite so I can get BrainAge, Big Brain Academy, and/or other games that help increase working memory skills (and Mario Kart, because it's just fun).