Wetbacks in the news!

I don’t believe (and am too lazy to verify) that I’ve used the term “wetback” ever on this blog.

Then, wham!

First, it popped up up the other day in the comments, and now, Alaskan Congressman, Don Young, has also joined the wetback fray.

I’m frankly surprised the term has fallen out of favor, but I suppose this echoes the general sentiment of American “pop” society that has grown to find it difficult to even utter the phrase “illegal alien” without touchy-feely grimacing. The phrase has become become laden with all sorts of un-PC baggage. Illegal immigration is not what it used to be. The only people carrying that anti-immigration torch in a resounding manner today are the “fringe” right-wingers who have eschewed political correctness for the sake of economic and cultural expediency.

Whereas I personally don’t mind opposition to illegal immigration when it’s couched in an economic or quality of life context, I am more resistant when it seeps into racial and HBD territory. Not because I disagree with the general reasoning of such opposition, but because I believe these mindsets spring from emotion and personal enmity which disqualifies reasonable conversation, and when conversation is excised, all that’s left is chaos and a din of overlapping voices. This is stupid. The collective conversation devolves to a polarized ping pong game of people shouting and hating on allegedly uncivilized people. Logic takes a vacation.

Conversely, words don’t bother me. Don Young used the big bad “W” word which ranks as one of the harshest derogatory thing you can call a Mexican of any age, assimilation level, or class. “Wetback” not only disparages the ethnicity, but it offends generational and personal alliances that transcend even the wavering “Mexican” self-description. When you call me a wetback, I laugh, because I was born here and I never worked in the fields or swam across the Rio Grande, but you also insult my ancestral legacy that has nurtured me and sacrificed to allow me to live the life I do now. And this is where the humor ends. If someone calls me a wetback, they discount my humanity. Still, I don’t give a crap what Don Young said.

I believe he should keep his position in the House, and if his constituents re-elect him, good for him. In his district, he can get away with that word. I don’t live there, why is it my business? It’s no skin off his back, and it’s no skin off my wet one. I don’t believe anyone is responsible for our own feelings except ourselves. Are we so delicate, so fragile, that the utterances of another destroy us to the extent we need to censor and banish people for speaking their minds?

Who cares.

I’d rather live in an honest society where the exchange of information and ideas takes precedence over the lamentations of thin-skinned crybabies. I don’t want to live in a society in which a neutered pall of Political Correctness coats us in its unremarkable splendor.

Give me life.

Women under the “spell of infertility.” Is the Pill mostly mental?

There is an abundance of effects attributable to the oral birth control pill as pertaining to its influence on female behavior. The common thinking is that the unusual (and unnatural) hormonal presence introduced by the Pill influences female mating behavior and preferences. I am hardly one to argue this. There is little question that the Pill has varying effects on women’s psyche. This fact has been the source of antagonism and hatred of the Pill’s societal influence among Conservative and Men’s Rights circles. The Pill has shifted the social and gender dynamic in many ways, none of them particularly auspicious for the perpetuation of traditional patriarchal society.

I read of many studies illustrating ways the Pill affects a woman’s perceptions and choices. For instance, this one, appearing in The Atlantic’s story, “Study: Women on Birth Control Pills Prefer Less Masculine Men,” discovers that women on birth control prefer men who appear less masculine, and conversely, women not on birth control prefer more masculine men. Two separate experiments were conducted by researchers in Scotland. According to The Atlantic,

METHODOLOGY: Researchers in Scotland designed several experiments that delved further into the hormonal quirks wrought by birth control. In the first, they gave young, straight women the ability to digitally alter images male faces. The participants tinkered with features like cheekbone prominence, jaw height, and face width, attempting to find the perfect ratio of attractiveness for either a short or long-term relationship. Some did the same, but with female faces. None of the women were taking birth control at the outset; after the experiment, they were given the option to start, which about a third took. Three months later, the experiment was repeated.

In the second study, volunteers were asked to rate the manliness of men in relationships, based on their mugshots. Half — 85 — of these men were dating women who had been on the pill when they first met.

RESULTS: After beginning a regimen of hormonal birth control, the women’s ideal of attractiveness in a potential romantic partner skewed significantly less masculine. They were more likely, for example, to prefer narrower jawbones and rounder faces. These preferences appear to translate to real life decisions: the men whose partners had been on the pill when they first started dating were found, as a whole, to be less masculine-looking.

Call me a big, bad misogynist for expressing an honest question, but do any of these Pill studies control for the dubious tendency of women to avoid owning their desires and motivations, either through the use of placebo or double-blind?

I believe it is a general trait among women to attribute their behavior to factors external to their own emotional manifestations. They prefer to blame hormones, hair, and a host of other non-cognitive factors which allow them to escape ownership of being unpleasant or capricious.

A behavioral study of female behavior and oral contraceptives is prime seeding ground for this behavior. If I was administering these experiments, I would use a third control group of women who receive only a placebo which they are told is a birth control pill (in fact, I believe many birth control pill regimens include a placebo already). From the placebo group, I’d be interested to note the preferences in men based on the masculinity scale.

Believing they have ingested birth control medication, would these women feign the “hormonal, birth control mentality” simply because they assumed it was expected of them? I wonder if women who believe they’ve ingested an oral contraceptive fall under a “spell of infertility” and thus express non-mating thought patterns.

Mexico’s subversive youth revolution? (Let’s hope)

Mexico’s burgeoning youth culture:

Mexico’s cultural evolution has been halted at the hands of Catholic hegemony, parochial cultural conformity, and a ruthless barbarism contained and celebrated within the self-enclosed and cordoned domains of Mexican society. Collectively traditional and conservative, Mexico is a country I would love to see experience a “60s” upsetting of values and ethics. At the risk of praising the Western world’s social dystopian vision which was triggered by the cultural devolution of the 1960’s, I believe that Mexico can stand to experience a little bit of a cultural revolution to jump start its release from the traditionalist and Catholic shackles, constraints which are all the country has ever known.

Disparate aspects of popular Mexican culture represent the old, traditionalist paradigm. Drug cartels, religion, machismo, worship of Spanish, conventional Mexican music and entertainment, all represent the archaic foundations of a culture whose resistance to change has molded it in place and sculpted a society that has proven socially and culturally inflexible, an image and personality that has hampered the kind of trailblazing spirit most societal advancement (in the Western, consumerist sense) is predicated on.

Even in Los Angeles, the “two Mexican worlds” are visible across Mexican youth. There are the “alternative” Mexican youth, those who are into goth, punk, ska, shoegaze music and present themselves in a decidedly un-Mexican-like manner; they don’t share the seemingly congenital Mexican fondness of Church or cowboy boots or SUV bling-rides or various strains of banda music. On the other hand, there is the traditional Mexican youth who follow the prototypical cultural path. They like sports, shaved heads and fades, baggy jeans, Dodger caps, white tennis shoes, and boisterous Spanish exclamations.

This “alternative” Mexican subculture has not been sizable enough to bring about a sea-change in Mexican cultural mores, but this short video documentary I found on BBC’s news site illustrates a modern Mexican phenomena: the proliferation of a strong and vibrant youth culture which at its core is subversive, counter-cultural, and rebellious. This is great! I believe it is Mexico’s opportunity to break free from its oppressive traditionalism and move in the direction of urbanity and sophistication.

I must wonder if this is what we really want for Mexico, however.

As the expression cautions, watch out what you wish for…

The kid never had a chance. My Extinction Theory

Some cold dark nights I sit here in dismay. The gravity of reality presses heavily upon my spine and smothers my dreams…now hopes…now idle diversions…now dead. Sputtering, exhaling their last inklings of life. My dreams and aspirations for now may feel empowered, even revitalized. I breathe anew and this life lets me forsake my past for I conveniently forget it. Murky struggle brings me to now, and sometimes the day is bright and virginal; other days, it is drab and hollowed by an unkind past. Entrails of a dark history strangle. A past I don’t think of because it never bothers me… Or. Is it the other way around?

A struggle to break free of the past’s backward momentum. Sometimes, I think there is hope as long as I embark on the day freshly. Hope springs but I must stay away from the old photographs.

The old photographs are a tie to my failed youth. They are an explanation and an arrow. An arrow that points onward at the beginning of the journey when the end is still possible.

Life is a journey and the youthful minutes of your childish initiations tell you everything you need to know about where you are going.

I had a Sociology professor in college. I forget his name. He was Japanese and he had a resoundingly bleak outlook as it pertained to predicting your chances of success and acculturation in relation to the levels of the same exhibited by your parents. It was a cold hard truth armed by statistics and academic ruthlessness.

But I have a theory too. The Extinction Theory! Beyond your parental limitations, there is also a deeper, more austere handicap writ upon your fate: that of your youth and the measure of its successes and failures.

The worse that you were as a child proportionately etches the extent of your fate’s illustriousness. In my case, the worst was tremendously bad. My fate is doomed to “un-illustriousness.” Make no mistake about it.

I think I’ve proven my own theorem correct.

The kid never had a chance in hell. His dreams were props and his illusions merely promises. But what a happy child!

The microaggression crybabies, dykes and assorted other ninnies must be subdued. A case for macroaggression.

Do not go gentle in that good night

“Night” is the pitch darkness remaining in the void of a devolving humanity lacking impetuous individuality, a humanity in which uprising and caustic disobedience is swept away by the din of “microaggression” crybabies. When man loses his boldness and individuality, he wails and cries and laments every injurious scorn this life offers and which he struggles to whitewash behind a featureless facade lacking natural nuance after being planed clean by the oppressive scrubbing in the name of solidarity. Solidarity, in modern parlance, is the formation of timid herds of subhuman ninnies seeking to form a power structure by erecting linked lattices composed of their frail skeletons across the vast distances of this unpleasant world.

The ninnies collectively form a wall of judgement and refutation of elemental human nature.

The ninnies are the microaggression crybabies who have embarked on a grand scheme of social engineering whereby all behavior and speech that can be construed as the slightest bit unfavorable or offensive to at least one person is thus marginalized by layers of self-righteous scorn.

Ah, but the only way to fight aggressive weakness is to pound it to death with aggressive strength. I proclaim a new movement of macroaggression in which men and women defiantly state loudly, rudely, and unashamedly that which is on their mind in clear disregard of other’s feelings. The macroaggressors realize that a successful culture is built upon members possessed of strong character; weak character, however, breeds a brittle culture that will implode if allowed to propagate. The macroaggressors understand that the most natural method of strengthening human character is through infliction of suffering, and this can be accomplished by unleashing a flood of furious and humbling judgments and criticism against every man, woman and child in the interest of “building up” society, not bringing it down and softening it for the final collapse.

The microaggression crybabies, if allowed to mold society, will transform humanity into a tremulous, skittish and dickless mass of meek inhabitants which will cave at the first appearance of hardship.

The macroaggressors must be bold and obvious without being unduly confrontational merely for the sake of argument. Macroaggresors must never shy away from expressing what is on their mind, even if doing so will result in passive/aggressive alienation and ostracism at the hands of “enlightened” people. The macroaggressor is working with the “big picture” in mind, and in his small self-sacrifice which will result from his calling a spade a spade, there is the solace that he is setting the palate for future generations of people of internal strength and stoicism, qualities that will perish quietly if the microaggression crybabies triumph.

I for one will not be guilty of microaggression; I will be guilty of macroaggression. I will strive to be offensive, politically incorrect, harsh, biting, and embarrassing. If need be, I will cuss, call you racial and physical epithetts…for it is time to make a stand. The future of our culture will either be a mush heap of chickenshit platitudes, or it will be armored against the trivialities of interpersonal judgments.

The time to fight is now.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light

The microaggression crybabies are working hard to put out the light. The torch of rude defiance must be carried forward!