For fuck's sake
The question of questions makes the big time. I am sorry I ate my breakfast already as my stomach is burbling. At least this article puts the blame squarely where it belongs--white men dominate the top run of the blogosphere because they like each other so damn much.
Let's all hope that the top rung white men can refrain from guilt-tripping themselves for a day after reading this before moving onto more important task of linking endlessly to each other.
On the personal side, because being female I have to de-politicize this blog with personal ruminations, the hours spent building my garden in the springtime sun have turned me into a painful ball of pink. Every year I forget that I am as pale and sensitive as I am, to the point where I wonder if I should have been a Victorian heroine dying of TB instead of a modern woman who actually gets some exercise, and every year I manage to get sunburned while it is still officially winter. But I have no cause to complain. Yesterday my mother called me from the hospital, where she is currently recovering from the mother of all gardening accidents. Yes, a rattlesnake bit her hand, through her gloves no less, while she was pulling weeds. Luckily, she is still with us and still had the energy to ask polite motherly questions about my life. She would deny it, but she really is a tough lady.
Apparently they don't razor the bite open and drain it anymore to treat snake bites. They have drugs called anti-venom now that they give you instead. I suggested to my mother that she embrace our new chemical millenium and use chemical weed killer in the future on her garden. I also suggested the manufactor should make a new Weed and Snake Killer especially designed for West Texas.