the break-up song

I was recently involved, either marginally or dead-bang in the middle, depending on how you look at it, with a litte Internet distastefulness.

It all began with this:

As a twitch, I posted it to a photographer’s Facebook feed and said that her work had “inspired” me.

Yes, it was snarky. Sue me.

As expected, the comment/image was deleted and I thought, that was that. The comment/image got some “likes”, I got a chuckle, no harm no foul.

The next day said photographer posted a photo that was so … okay I can’t even think of how to describe it. Even her own fans were bumfuckled: “it’s beautiful, but what is it.”

THAT image rubbed me the wrong way. See, I LIKE this photographer’s work. I’ve always thought it to be softly beautiful and sweet.

Just lately though, she’s started adding elements that done a bit differently might have fit more with the image she’s built for herself. Sadly, they look more like something a junior high schooler might have created with Piknik. In my opinion they detracted from the beauty of her talent.

When she posted the questionable shot – you know, the one that NO ONE COULD FIGURE OUT WHAT IT WAS – I twitched.


And posted THIS to her feed:

This is not talent. It’s not art.

It is a deliberate kick in the teeth to wherever you received your real talent from.

You are tossing CRAP onto the Internet’s collective walls and hoping it will stick. And yourloyal followers, those people who LOVE your REAL talent are following along behind and sucking it all up like good little minions.

You ought to be ashamed of yourself. To have been given a natural talent and making a travesty of it.

I have always admired your talent and your ability to create beauty. I have no idea what you’re doing now, but it’s my opinion that you’re twisting your God-given talent by pissing on everybody’s feet and calling it morning dew.

And of course, you delete any opposing or questioning opinion – dissenting opinions make it more difficult to make your loyal followers drink the Kool-Aid.

And that is MY opinion.

Of course, it was deleted. Her prerogative.

However, if you are going to post your art to the goddamn world, you better be prepared for the realization that not everyone is gonna love it.

Twitchy still, I posted it word for word to my own FB.

And thought that it was over. My FB following consists of my real life friends and family and the members of a board I belong to (hullo S’lores). Hardly the entire Internet.

Some jolly-talk was made on the board I belong to. The PRIVATE board where we go to say things that we don’t want others to see. Amongst ourselves, y’know?

Private like.

Someone who joined that board with the express purpose of spying on us copied these private conversations and showed them to the photographer in question.

I can imagine she was hurt. I would’ve been.

So, shame on the bitch that did the tattling. In a very real way SHE was the one who hurt the photographer by hiding and sneaking and carrying tales.

Yes, we said it. But we DIDN’T say it to her face nor did we shout it out publicly.

Because that would have been cruel and mean and catty.

Y’know, like the bitch who did the actual tale-carrying.

So … on and on it goes because after all we are women and this is what many of us do; what we HAVE done since grade-school.

We perpetuate and nurture the meanness between us.

Still ANOTHER photographer thought it her place to lecture the entire photography based Internet about the situation and remind us not to be mean to each other (in a nutshell)

She wrote, in part:

I may vent about it to my (mostly non-photographer) friends. I may even kvetch a little during one-on-one conversations with other photographers. I may try to quietly counteract it. But you will not find me, not ever, participating in a public bashing of a colleague.

Yeah, kinda what I did. Anything more that what I posted on FB was posted PRIVATELY.

Someone ELSE snuck around pretending to be someone they weren’t and passed on PRIVATE information that wasn’t meant to be seen in public. In effect they lied to get into a private forum, STOLE content and passed it along in order to hurt someone else.

If THAT person (who remains nameless because they are a coward) had kept their nose out of it no drama would have seen the light of day.

Here’s MY advice for the Internet: If you post your art (whether it’s writing or photography or taffy-pulling) to the web, there will be SOMEONE who doesn’t like it. There will be people who will express their opinion. If you love what you do, grow a thick skin and let ’em ride.

And Meg? Those people that are carrying tales to you that they got by sneaking around? Those are the people you need to watch out for. Cuz they will turn on you.

Count on it.

dancing barefoot over broken glass

Yeah, so I ran into this post recently on the Daily Mail.

Anybody notice that it was a RARE form of the bacteria.

There’s a reason it’s rare – it very seldom happens.

I can’t remember what television channel I had on the other day (thank God) but every third commercial was about bedbugs running rampant all over the US andalsoplus -the dreaded and nefarious DUSTMITES.

In case anybody didn’t know it, there are mites of some kind on pretty much everything, everywhere, all the damn time. Skin, flour, toothbrushes … EVERYTHING. Always have been and until we evolve into beings that live their entire lives inside of a plastic bubble, with a disinfection option on our highly evolved gauntlets, always WILL be.

This shit is not as prevalent, or as deadly, as the media makes it out to be. It’s a way to garner readership/viewers for media and for companies to bolster sales.

In some cases I think that kind of crap actually causes problems. Too much cleanliness leads to compromised immune systems. If y’all had seen the way I grew up you’d DIE from the horror of it.

And yet, here I (and my brothers and sisters) are. And we’ve all gone on to create more living, healthy offspring.

Also, I love how the people that this shit happens to are “normal” middle class folks. Wouldn’t you think people who live in run-down neighborhoods or in the deep south or hang out in crackhouse neighborhoods would be infested/contaminated as well – even more so?

all the things i wanted

What the hell does it say about me that a few kind words from a complete stranger can have me sobbing like a three year old? Is my life really that pathetic? Or am I just feeling sorry for myself?

I really don’t think I feel sorry for myself on a regular basis, certainly no more than anyone else.

In all I am a lucky person and for all intents and purposed my dreams have all been realized.

Granted, I may have dreamed “little” by other peoples’ standards, but they were my dreams and when laid side by side next to what might have come of my life, the kind of person I could’ve turned out to be – and in my own eyes – I have been blessed.

I remember one night about twenty-seven years ago. BigD and I had been living together about four months and there was a possibility that I might be pregnant. At that point in my life I had thought – I had WISHED AND PRAYED – a thousand times that I was pregnant. Not with BigD’s baby, but with my previous husband’s baby.

Until that night, sitting alone in a little bitty rented house, with this man that I had fallen so completely in love sleeping in the other room, this man that made me realize that all the “men” that had come before were just so many practice runs, I was doing more than praying, I was begging and making deals with God.

I can’t remember all of the trades that I offered, but I do remember telling God that if he let me be pregnant THIS time, I would give one of my legs. There were other equally ridiculous offers and three weeks later, when I found out that I really WAS pregnant, those promises and deals faded from my memory as those types of covenants often do.

The years rolled on and I was blessed with not only a son, but marriage to the most wonderful man in the world and a daughter. I was granted so many wishes and given so many gifts – good friends, healthy happy children, jobs that I loved and most of all the continuing love of a good, good man.

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