PETA -- it isn't just for making sandwiches

All right, so this is the deal: I got a soliciation email from The People For the Ethical Treatment of Animals (PETA) the other day. I've never been a fan of PETA, although I strongly support the idea of ending animal cruelty. I don't, however, support their tactics to acheive this goal. I believe that every animal should be provided with as comfortable a life as possible while they're being raised to end up on my dinner plate -- all facetiousness aside, I really believe that. If we're going to invade the life of animals and take them out of their natural habitat and raise them only to be pets or food, then they deserve a decent existence before they meet thier end, regardless of their life's purpose or use to us.

Anyway, because I'm not a fan of PETA I shot back an email criticising them thinking no one was going to ever see it, but in the case that someone did, at least my opinion was heard. I certainly didn't expect a response, but I got one. And I responded again. If you want to see this email from them trying to justify why they do what they do, feel free to contact me and I'll send it to you. Below is my last reply, which includes and exerpt of their response. I'm orange, Peta's red.

To Quote your message: "...However, when we attach a gimmick, that very same animal abuse ends up in newspapers and on televisions nationwide. After PETA publicized our provocative [sic]“State of the Union Undress,” for example, we were rated the number one [sic]“mover” on Yahoo’s search engine, meaning that PETA received the greatest percentage increase of terms searched that day. Experience has taught us that controversial, attention-grabbing campaigns make the difference between keeping important yet depressing subjects invisible and having them widely seen. The alternative is to be ignored in the torrent of tabloid-style stories that dominate the popular press...

However, PETA does make a point of having something for all tastes, from the most conservative to the most radical and from the most tasteless to the most refined, and this approach has proved amazingly successful—in the more than two decades since PETA was first founded, it has grown into the largest animal rights group in the world, with more than two million members and supporters worldwide."

This is where my response starts,

Animal Abuse is not what ends up in papers, which is the point I was trying to make. Your tactics supersede your message and take the forefront in media coverage. What the public sees are people who seem to have lost sense and common decency toward other human beings, a mentality which they absolutely cannot identify with; not to mention your criticism pops up only intermittently, which makes your presence in the media nothing but a distraction to be amused by and quickly forgotten. If you're going to go with the "gimmick" excuse then create a gimmick every day, if you're so impassioned by your cause then why don't you, as an organization, tirelessly work to publicize yourselves more often? Word of mouth, in any business or organization, is the key to success. Try doing things without the direct intent of media recognition to "spread your message", but rather to engender people to make a difference and change. E-mail, by the way, isn't going to do it.

You need to get out and meet people and discuss with them face-to-face what your message really is and why animal cruelty needs to be stopped and explain how pervasive it is. There are so many ways to do this in a mature and dignified fashion that don't reflect poorly on your organization. Once word-of-mouth buzz gets started and inspired people talk to others, and inspire them, it can't be stopped. The media will be ASKING you for interviews, instead of mentioning your childish behavior as an afterthought before the commercial break.

You may have been rated the "number one 'mover'" on Yahoo, but for how long, was it at least a day? And how many people did you recruit, and how many of them are actually going to be active participants instead of supportive bystanders?

I don't know what else to say to you in order to convey how wrong and illogical your theories for the change of this problem are; It doesn't make any sense to think only of flash-in-the-pan attention and coverage when what you want is a deeply dedicated group of people who will change the mindset of a nation and other parts of the world.
-- Marisa Swanson

So, what do you think? Feel free to comment, not that anything you say is likely to change my mind :)

to buttons

Here's a question: Is it better to be truly independent and ONLY be responsible for yourself (as an unwed, non-parent), or should we take other people's feelings and wants and needs into consideration to the point where we're deterred from what's best for ourselves, or deterred from our own impulses to satisfy ourselves?

Coming from the midwest, I was raised (I think) to be considerate of others, to keep my mouth shut if I didn't have anything nice to say, and to always say please and thank you. These lessons are common in most of the US and they seem nice and simple and harmless enough. They encompass "values", and are anti-confrontational (that might not be a word). They highlight good Christian beliefs (although we could have just as easily adopted the "eye-for-an-eye" doctrine, if we're talking about molding our lives around the good book), and wholesomeness. These lessons make for good boys and girls, right? And isn't the world a better place when people are good and nice and kind; wouldn't there be less wars, less fighting? If only we could get everyone to be considerate, say please and thank you, and for Christ's sake not ever say anything to offend anyone.

I wonder though, what behavior really comes from such good intentions? Is it kindness, or underhanded manipulation in order to trick someone into giving them what you want, because to say so would be inappropriate or uncomfortable? Is it consideration, or is it an extreme selfishness tucked deep down b/c it isn't right to want things for yourself? Is it reponsibility or an impulse to rebel and be reckless because the weight of feigned ownership is mind numbingly crushing?

I've struggled with what I first perceived as "rudeness" and now see as honesty; it was difficult seeing people act in ways only to satisfy themselves, which I thought was bad, but now I see is liberating. I've also struggled with feelings of complete disconnectedness, not being responsible for other people's feelings is lonesome, too. And maybe that is where the impulse derives from. Maybe "politeness" isn't about doing better to others, or making the world a better place. Maybe it's just about feeling less alone.

If that's the case, then maybe we should teach ourselves to be honest about the way that we feel instead of hiding everything inside. Maybe, we should give people the freedom to look out for who they choose, instead of burdening them with the task of looking out for everybody. Maybe the path to creating good boys and girls is to educate them as thoroughly and honestly as we can. And maybe we should give up the ghost of treating everyone and everything the same. Maybe we should treat people on an individual basis, based on the reality that we all have different abilities and know that to ostracize one group for only one reason could be just as bad as overcompensating another group for only one reason.

Maybe there is a way to celebrate individuality without corraling people into a sense of sameness, by not dictating how they should behave, letting them choose for themselves...and maybe (gasp!) the eye-for-an-eye doctrine isn't such a bad idea for people who actively choose to hurt others.


In english-translated ancient Greek manuscripts, the word "virture" comes up quite a lot. They thought "virtue" was the highest and best quality to shoot for. We see virtue as a religious term that means piety, service and without selfishness. We were mistaken in what the word originally meant. It wasn't a synonym for spotless perfection and avoiding all mistakes. It simply meant potential. The most wise philosophers thought the only thing that mattered was reaching your potential.

blowing smoke up your what?

So last night I got into a disagreement with Masha. My need to play devil's advocate came mostly from an annoyance about the way she made her case and less about the actual issue itself.

She is hardly ever at home, maybe three nights a week, never during the day. She's also a hypochondriac and has an unbelievably low threshold for discomfort of any kind b/c she's an only child. She is bothered by anything that causes her the slightest discomfort and thinks that she should be granted the right to have everything HER way.

A while ago Dan asked her to not open her window without a screen b/c it lets bugs in. Her argument was that it's her room and she can do with it what she wants and it was wrong of Dan to ask that of her. All she would have had to do was buy a screen, which she hasn't done.

Last night Dan asked if I wanted to go smoke on the roof, and then kind of out of nowhere Masha said to me, "Do you mind not smoking in your room anymore?" I was surprised and the nicotene addict in me was adamantly opposed to the idea. I said, "I kind of do mind, actually."

Her arguments were so weak, obviously bullshit, and the worst part is that she actually changed the tone of her voice to one that was more whiny and childish than it usually is, while she seemed to be on the point of tears. Clearly, this a tactic she uses to get her way. What's sad is that it's worked so much she's adopted it into adulthood.

She said that her room "fills with smoke", which I had to correct her and say wasn't physically possible. Then she said that she asked Dan if this was a smoking apt when she moved in and he said no, so she expected there not to be smoking and therefore I shouldn't smoke. I told her that when I moved in (months before her) smoking in my room was okay, so I have a different expectation, and asked her why her expectation was more important than mine. She answered b/c smoke is bad for you. But it isn't an issue of second hand smoke, since my door is kept closed and she isn't in my vicinity.

What she's really talking about is not liking the smell, but even she knows that is a little ridiculous, so she keeps up the smoke issue saying that it gives her headaches (and this is when the verge of tears tactic comes in), she literally whines about the "headaches" three times. This is, however, the first time she's ever said that she has gotten headaches from the smoking, she's lived in the apt for six months, which leads me to believe it's a bullshit lie.

She says that she's sick, which she is right now. So I tell her that I respect the fact that she's ill and won't smoke during that time, but I can't concede to stopping on a permanent basis. I remind her that she's hardly ever home, so she tells me that fine, I can smoke when she isn't there, but not when she is. This totally negates her first request that I quit smoking in my own room altogether.

Then she says that she doesn't understand why I smoke in my room when it's so "easy" to go outside. I live at the top of a three floor walk up where occasionally in the summer time fights break out across the street and it's a good idea to be indoors and not to seem like a busybody. The hatch on the roof is a hassle, not to mention the ladder you have to climb up to access the roof. I don't tell her these things but instead stick to the real issue which is that I pay rent to live in the apartment and use my bedroom area as I choose.

Her argument is falling to pieces now. She mentions the window/screen incident and says that "fine", if I'm going to smoke in my room then she's going to open her window without a screen whenever she pleases. She then says in reference to the discomfort my smoking causes her , "well it's mostly when more than one person is in your room smoking." She has completely defeated her purpose and revealed the truth. All she had to ask for was there not to be a group of people smoking in my room when she's at home because the smell of smoke is really bothersome. I would have bitterly conceeded, but conceeded nonetheless. I should mention that it's rare for there to be more than myself smoking in my room.

One of the best parts was when she said that's she's "mentioned it before." I was tempted to explain to her that I am not her mother and it isn't my job to parse her whining into hints in order to make her life as easy and carefree as possible; but we have to choose our battles.

Satisfied with my victory, I have decided to try and not smoke in my room on the nights when Masha is home. Smoking is bad for me and I could stand to cut back.

"I'm jay walkin' and I don't give a fuck"

People in Saline are just pissed because they're common. They're common because they've allowed themselves to be -- out of their fear of the unkown. They chose the safety of groupthink over the uncertainty of individuality, and they're paying for it every day in the depressed, lackidaisical way that they live their lives. So, of course their only recourse is to find a way to justify their poor decisions and their boredom. They decide that the way they live is "right" and other ways are "wrong." It allows them to have a scapegoat for the misery they feel, but refuse to recognize.

If someone would have asked me…

One night, at five am a friend of mine was sitting with me talking at my kitchen table. He asked me why I wanted to live in New York and added crassly, "Is it because you've fucked your way out of Ann Arbor? All the girls I know who leave here just ran out of people to screw." I laughed and told him I was desperate to meet people who were like me. He asked me to elaborate. I told him I wanted to meet pepole who were going for it all the way. "In buisness, you mean?", he said.

"No, in anything. In music, any art form, anyone who is trying to grab the brass ring at whatever it is they endeavour to do."

"That's the best reason anyone has ever given me for leaving." He replied.

If someone would have asked me what I anticipated I would have told them fun, excitement, smart people, museums, great libraries, cafes, and culture. I realize now how idealistic it all was. All of those things are here but they don't come wrapped in a shiny bow like I assumed they would. They come underneath a layer of filth and uncertainty.

I've been struggling to find a way to explain to people back home what New York is really like. But the only thing I can reference is a history of clichés born from iconic films and books in which each story reveals only a small part of the experience of being here day in and day out; each story spins the atmosphere to serve its own purpose and reality is buried underneath. So how was I to explain to people how I was feeling and what I was going through; it was so much more than a physical adaptation or an adjustment to new streets and buildings, it has been everything.

I've been doing nothing but drinking it all in since I arrived over a year ago. I've been drinking and choking and nearly drowning on the sheer volume of my gulps. I've been to some museums, some cafes, and some libraries. I've had fun (although overall much less than I expected), I've been excited (much more than I expected), and I've met some smart people. I've experienced dramatic culture shifts simply by crossing a street or moving into a different subway car. None of these things happened in the ways I expected them to.

The "culture" I wanted didn't come from gallery openings, industry parties, or trendy uptown (or downtown) brunch spots; it came in the form of extreme diversity unlike anything I'd ever experienced, and with that came the tragic realization that some people who have been down on their luck all their lives will continue to be, and so will their children and so will theirs. You cannot save them all, most of them don't want to be saved, and the tragedy of their fate stares you in the face every time you step on the train. I live in Prospect Heights, Brooklyn across the street from a family of minor drug dealers. They are two brothers whose father died a few years ago leaving them his brownstone paid and clear. Occasionally in the summer you can hear an altercation across the street, fighting, they are just minor scuffles really. The police come and approach the men wearing black leather gloves. They stand in a circle waiting for a reason to intervene and when the dispute dies down they leave. My first week here I locked myself out of the apartment. A girl staying at our place had become friendly with the older brother. She and I tried in vain to get back in. Deciding it was our only recourse, she went across the street to ask for his help. She was told that he had nothing to break into an apartment with only a kit for getting into locked cars, but he would try to help anyway. He tried for twenty minutes, was extremely polite and respectful, and eventually he got in. Last week I helped him flier our neighborhood to search for his aunt's lost dog. I live in a neighborhood where kids play dice on the corners and little girls jump rope with phone wire. I live in a neighborhood where in spite of class differences or racial differences a neighbor comes to help one who needs it. I'm surrounded by a culture I'm helping to create, not one helplessly preserved in the annals of upper class memory.

The "smart people" I expected to fall into my lap did but their intelligence was clouded over by their extreme insecurities. People were driven only by a fear of inferiority. There was no sense of competition inside of one's self to achieve their potential; it was only to be better than the guy sitting next to them at their local bar. They smoked, they drank, and they snorted their twenties away. Beneath it though was an abiding and unrelenting commitment to be interesting and every single one of them was.

The fun and excitement I expected came to me like this: There were parties in Brooklyn with vegan appetizers and Michael Jackson music from the 80's, dancing in a back room, dancing in a front room, and dancing on a Saturday night in a museum underneath a vaulted ceiling surrounded by European paintings from the Renaissance. There were free concerts in the park. When KRS-1 performed and encouraged each person in the audience to think every day about their dreams, each person felt as if he was speaking directly to him/her. Shopping, there was constant shopping. I remember stumbling into a customer event at Bloomingdales, SOHO and being treated to pink martinis while browsing the racks. There were bars of every stripe with every atmosphere you could imagine, from the seediest to the most posh. Places were categorized by their level of pretension. A stunning Moroccan bar/restaurant sat underground beneath a taco bar housed in a broken down trailer. There was no sign outside indicating its existence. There was an anarchist meeting whose members met, after adjourning, to talk angrily about political change. Being hung over on a Saturday or Sunday gave way to brunch, brunch, and more brunch. There were fashion industry parties in the Lower East Side or SOHO. I remember a gay guy named Tim who confided in me that he had a weight problem in the past, when I commented on his current thinness his nonchalant response was, "I do a lot of cocaine." There were artist's studios. I went to clubs where you get in for free due to whomever you're going out with (and barely know) who brought you out with people they hardly know. Sometimes the music was good, sometimes it wasn't. There was going to see people sing and bands perform because you met a member. There were dinner parties and get-togethers where secrets were confessed and bonds were formed, only to be broken when schedules didn't permit another meeting. There were lovers, some with an attraction never consummated, and others that were over and over and over again. These "fun" times were veiled underneath a layer of distrust, fear, and that ever present thing, "excitement". Beneath it though was the idea of a reality more unconventional and fantastic than anything I could have imagined.

The cafes were noisy, but my favorite was open until 1 am every day. A person could go and stay for hours and I did. I took several books and I didn't leave. I napped there, read, and people-watched in between trips to the bar for coffee and sustenance.

The Metropolitan Museum of Art is not free to get into, I was given false information. There is however, no minimum amount for a donation (admission). I dug deep in my pockets and pulled out about thirty five cents. I handed it to the girl, got my button and roamed among history and some of the greatest works of art the world has to offer.

I got a New York public library card. I checked out one book that I have yet to return. I got an email several months ago saying that if it wasn't returned they would send me to a collections agency. The book sits on a shelf in my cubicle at my office. For some reason I can't bring myself to return it.

I learned that speaking your mind is good for your soul. I learned that every man is truly out for himself and they would sell out their best friend to score with a chick they only want to screw once. I learned to take possession of myself completely. I learned that the single-minded attitude I was so ridiculed for back home was far tamer than the single-minded attitude I've adapted to here. Each day is a triumph of resourcefulness and planning. Each night is a triumph of exactly the opposite. Here, you learn to be alive or you leave. Here, you learn.

I have truly had the time of my life and I've barely gotten started. I've had the best food, seen the best performances, had the best conversations, the longest and most embarassing laughing fits, and met the craziest fucking people. In a conversation I had recently at a party at my apartment, a guy told me he'd grown up in New York and spent a couple of years in L.A. before hightailing it back. He told me that it was easy to meet nice people in L.A. but difficult to meet interesting people. "Nice is overrated, I would take interesting over nice any day." He said.

So how was I to explain to people how I was feeling and what I was going through? It has been so much more than a physical adaptation or an adjustment to new streets and buildings; it has been everything.