Evolution Is NOT Just A Theory

I was reading an article on THIS court ruling today, and I find it hard to believe that we are living in the 21st century and still calling Darwin the Devil.

What are you doing South? First you bite the hand that feeds you and declare war on us. Then you get your asses kicked but make up for it by perpetuating a situation of gross racial inequality for the next century which has resulted in a wave of hatred stemming from societal prejudice and economic division that we're still trying desperately to recover from. Then you royally fuck up two consecutive presidential elections in order to put this country on the fast track to financial, ecological, and judicial ruin. As if that weren't enough, now you're trying to undermine the entire public education system by putting stickers on textbooks that say, "Evolution is a theory, not a fact," and in the process have managed to frighten so many of your students away from the moral minefield science has become that the entire United States is facing a major shortage of scientists (which, by the way, is the only reason we've been the global top dog for so long. Try retaining the best military without the best scientists and see how far you get).

Well, I say no more, South. You're like the lazy younger sibling that mooches off its older successful brothers and sisters, and we've had it. To quote another such rant, just get the fuck out.

Luckily a handful of brave parents agree with me.

I suppose when residing in a location of the country as backwards as yourselves, you might be unfamiliar with the reality that most human beings progress forward. Yet, despite the difficulty of you Southern rednecks to wrap your little minds around this concept, you would independently think (if you valued such things) that you'd want to properly educate your children, in hopes that they might break out of the stereotype of being uneducated, close-minded Southerners.

But no.

Oh, and these stickers have the gall to say, "Keep an open mind while approaching this material." Open mind? Little hypercritical aren't we, for the part of the country that still flies the Confederate flag and points to tumbled-down buildings, and says, "Look North - that's what you did to us in the war!" I guess you don't care about all the problems you've given us before AND after "the War" (didn't anyone tell you World War II is called "the War" now? Seriously, get with it, South). Perhaps if we found you a good landscaper to renovate some of those burnt down plantations you'd get that chip off your shoulder. How does, "Extreme Makeover: Bible Belt Edition" sound?

But perhaps I'm being unfair.

As many critics pointed out, the stickers were a "fair compromise," respecting the beliefs of those who embrace Creationism as a theory. When I was in high school, one girl in my class believed in Creationism, and we thought she was crazy. But it was fine, she could believe what she wanted (and when her father thought it was cool to beat his children and make his wife sit in the back seat of the car because he thought God hated women, well, he was free to believe that too), because WE like to think this is a free country.

But despite that freedom of belief, she'll probably never get a job in the sciences, because if you want to be a scientist, having "beliefs" is not enough. Creationism doesn't even fall under the scientific heading of "theory," since a theory needs to have some factual basis in scientific research to be considered for that prestigious title. You can't just slap the word on some untested idea and call it viable. As such, Creationism as it stands falls under the category of "myth" or "legend," or "faith-based belief," but you don't see them putting that on the sticker.

Also, if you want to get into the mess of being inclusive in your education, where does it end? There is the "Flat-Earth" THEORY and that "Geocentric Model of the Solar System" THEORY that the Vatican finally rescinded 500 YEARS AFTER THE FACT, but you don't see people clamoring to teach their kids about the validity of the idea that we can sail off the edge of the globe or that the sun actually orbits the Earth.

Kudos to those six parents (only six?!) who had the unabashed gall to stand up and sue your Southern asses to stop what you were doing. I hope they don't get lynched. And I wonder where they were educated to be able to see clearly enough to do something about it. Probably not from below the Mason-Dixon Line if I had to wager.

Lucky Friday the 13th

Despite my obsessive-compulsive neat-freakishness, my illogical belief that the way I position myself in a room effects the outcome of the Red Sox game, and the influence of my Grandmother who put garlic over the doors to keep out the vampires (I'm serious) and who grounded me once for opening an umbrella in the house, I don't consider myself an overly superstitious person. As a result, I gave absolutely no thought to the fact that Friday was Friday the 13th, even though this morning, the woman who MC'd our current stop on the dance tour show made a big deal about it. Honestly, my attitude is that historically, the number 13 is supposed to contain luck - neither good nor bad. Many cultures believe its supposed to be a good luck day. Therefore, the 13th merely implies the abundance of luck, it does not dictate what kind of luck you are going to have. Yet this rationality did not prevent me from having an AWFUL DAY.

Bad Luck #1
It didn't start bad. Despite the warnings of the MC, our dance show went perfectly. The only mishap was that we were so bogged down answering questions after it, that we didn't get done until almost 3, when I had hoped to leave by 2 to drive home for the weekend. I was hoping to leave before 3 and avoid rush hour traffic in Boston. But no, I had to leave AT 3. That means I hit Boston at EXACTLY 5pm. On a Friday.

Bad Luck #2: The Disaster
But that isn't such a big deal. It's annoying, but what can you do? So I headed out and reached Boston at 4:59pm. By the time I got on the Zakim Bridge, it was bumper to bumper. I had hoped to at least get to the tunnel before the snarl showed up, but no such luck. However, I leaned back, turned up the radio, and prepared to endure. Then, as soon as I entered the tunnel, the REAL problem emerged. The temperature gauge on my dashboard suddenly lit up and started blinking. I looked at the needle: my engine temperature was at critical and rising to almost 250 degrees. I was a hair's breath away from having my car overheat. In the mouth of the tunnel. In gridlock traffic with no where to go. Shit.

Bad Luck #3
I pulled out my cell phone, ready to call the cops and AAA if my car broke down in the middle of the tunnel, and someone to come pick me up before I got shot at some godawful gas station in Roxbury. It was then, however, that I noticed my phone was absolutely dead. I had charged it all morning, but somehow it had not been plugged in all the way, so that hadn't done shit. Now I started to panic as my dashboard screamed at me, and I kept one eye on the hood waiting to see the first plume of steam. I turned everything off, downed all the windows and turned the heat on to pull all hot air away from the engine. The needle dropped to the edge of the red, but was still critical. I breathed just a little.

I figured at this point it could only be two things:

1) the water pump had died, in which case I was screwed and would either blow in the middle of the traffic jam or I would have to limp off the first exit and figure out what to do, or

2) the temperature gauge was broken, in which case I would be fine as long as the car was moving and coolant was being forced in, but as long as the car was stopped the temp would rise. When the car in front of me moved a few feet and my needle dropped just below the red, I figured out it was #2.

Speed, The Real Movie
Perhaps it's appropriate that the first R-rated movie I ever saw was that action craptacular classic, Speed - that dumb plot where the bus can't go below 55 mph or it will explode. Well, now I was living that thought-provoking screenplay, and by hour number three, my real-life drama had lasted twice as long as the movie and I was on my last nerve. It was like playing "Beat the Clock." As soon as my needle went into the red, the traffic in front of me had so many seconds to move before my coolant blew. I was on edge the entire time, trying to decide whether I should cross my fingers and see how far I could get or get out as soon as possible.

I opted for the former, and endured a finger-biting trip which almost ended in Quincy at the 93/route 3 split, where the entire universe was blocking route 3 and I was dead in the water for minutes at a time before I could inch along. I was getting punchy too, and almost rear-ended a few cars because every time we moved a few feet I'd gun it to get my core temp down as much as possible before stopping again.

It's a good thing my brakes have 4,000 more miles on them.

Some Kind of Luck - But Which Kind?
Finally, by 7:30 pm, traffic cleared around exit 13 on route 3 and I was able to drive easily the rest of the way back, with only one slightly nervewracking moment when I had to stop at a red light. Then I got home and had a stiff drink. But in the end, I can't decide if my day, shitty as it was, was lucky or unlucky. I mean, it was bad luck that I hit traffic, my car broke, and my phone died, but wasn't I incredibly lucky to have made it home at all?