Throw It Out!

Promotional image for baseball game. Details in the post.

Throw the First Pitch!

Bidding is open now through June 23rd

Minnesota Atheists and the Freedom From Religion Foundation are sponsoring a St Paul Saints game on Friday, July 11th. They are renaming their team the Mr Paul Aints for the evening and calling it the Night of Unbelievable Fun: The 3rd Strike.

As the sponsor, we get the honor of throwing the first pitch.

  • In 2012 American Atheists president, David Silverman, threw the first pitch.
  • In 2013 Minnesota Atheists president, Eric Jayne, threw the first pitch.
  • In 2014, it could be YOU who throws the first pitch!

We are putting the honor up for auction with proceeds going toward offsetting the costs of the game and corresponding conference the next day. If you’re interested in winning the opportunity to get the unbelievable fun started by tossing out the first ceremonial pitch, email your bid with your name, address, and phone number.

For bidding rules and to view the current bid (updated daily), go to: mnatheists.org/first-pitch.

Details on the game:
Friday, July 11
4:00 PM – Tailgating Starts
7:00 PM – Game Starts

St. Paul Saints Midway Stadium
1771 Energy Drive, St. Paul MN

Ticket Prices:
$22 = Infield Reserved Ticket + Hat
$12 = General Admission Ticket + Hot Dog + Soda

Aints T-Shirts, Baseball Caps, and Jerseys are also available.

Purchase tickets and Aints merchandise.

Throw It Out!
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Saturday Storytime: A Word Shaped Like Bones

The Women Destroy Science Fiction issue of Lightspeed Magazine is out and being praised and vilified in (I am happy to say) decidedly unequal measure. A few of the stories are available online. More will be Tuesday, though much of the content is available only with purchase of the issue.

I find it in equal parts amusing, frustrating, and unsurprising that the author of this story, Kris Millering, wasn’t sure her tale was ready for publication. Oh, impostor syndrome.

Maureen works on her sculptures, trying to ignore the dead man. “I was supposed to be alone,” she says to the pliant material in her hands. It’s a model, only a model; it will be cast and perfected when she reaches the planet that humans call Hippocrene. She makes the model out of a lightweight foam clay; it stays flexible for only a few hours once extruded, so she must work quickly and work small. The foam clay is not her favorite medium, but she is in space. There must be no fumes, nothing that crumbles easily, nothing that must be fired or melted. It would not do to put anything poisonous in the air that she might breathe. She usually works in materials much less forgiving, lunar basalt and glass.

A stunt, her critics said before she left. She holds her ears and buzzes her tongue against her teeth to block the voices out as she has been taught. It is not a stunt. It is a fellowship. Won, by the merit of her work. There are people who understand her work. The universe is not filled with critics!

She thinks the dead man in the corner might be a critic.

Maureen has done nothing interesting in the last few years other than win the fellowship that placed her on this small spaceship. Her sculptures sell, this is true; but selling is nothing, some of the greatest artists of the 23rd century have never sold anything. Commercialism is out of fashion. She longs for the 22nd century, when you couldn’t tell the difference between any of the genders without asking, people dressed like people, and you were only successful if you sold.

She could have been something, in 2165.

Instead she is hopelessly banal, striving for beauty in form. She sculpts the shapes she finds in her mind, all smooth curves and edges that catch at the fingertips, demanding attention. Her work does not feature a thousand flickering holograms each reciting a passage from On Hills of Steel; it does not assault anyone with the smells of the lunar landscape or the taste of needles. She regards the Synasthete movement as crass sensationalism. She never wanted to know what yellow sounds like. Yet she does, and it is something she cannot un-know.

Oh sweet breath of the divine, there is a dead man in the corner and she cannot un-know that, either.

She works. She continues to work. She is always working.

The dead man decays at her in what she feels is a possibly reproachful fashion.

Keep reading.

Saturday Storytime: A Word Shaped Like Bones

The Reading List, 6/11/2014

I share a lot of links on Twitter and Facebook that I don’t blog about because I don’t have much to add. The reading list is a periodic feature where I share those links with my blog audience too. Of course, you’re still welcome to follow me on Twitter.

Around FtB

  • Plausibility–“You want to make it believable. You see what I’m getting at? You don’t want to say ‘my friend is a saint, and for this saintliness he is roundly punished.'”
  • Elliot Rodger and Misogyny Denialism: The Call Is Coming From Inside The House–“So many people are contorting themselves into pretzels to find any motivation at all other than misogyny. What the fuck is going on here?”
  • They Have To See It With Their Own Eyes: Men and Violence Against Women–“Men who refuse to take violence against women seriously until it happens right the fuck in front of their faces are as complicit in this injustice as men who commit violence against women.”
  • Represent–“That’s what the harassers call me. Sometimes they vary it to Oafy, just like any 5-year-old. And the Global Secular Council thinks it’s appropriate to follow their lead.”
  • Round 3, or is it 4–“So much for instructing the Social Media team for future to take less liberties in this regard. And as for tweeting an apology – !”
  • Why do they think they are above being questioned?–“The refusal is now taking the form of pretending not to know how to do it, not to know what they did that’s apology worthy, not to know how apologies work, not to know that they are an organization and thus responsible for what branches of their organization do.”
  • Hello, World. Still Fucked Up, I See: Elliot Rodger Edition–“I do agree that, yes, Rodger had some serious issues, and that the little don’t-kill-people switch in his brain was broken, and we need to improve the way we recognize and handle people whose don’t-kill-people switches are broken. But I’m also going to mention that there are many people whose don’t-kill-people switches don’t function properly.”

The Wider Web

The Reading List, 6/11/2014

The Reading List, 6/8/2014

I share a lot of links on Twitter and Facebook that I don’t blog about because I don’t have much to add. The reading list is a periodic feature where I share those links with my blog audience too. Of course, you’re still welcome to follow me on Twitter.

Around FtB

The Wider Web

The Reading List, 6/8/2014

How Mother Jones Set Me Up for Harassment

When I woke up this morning, I noticed that several friends had shared a Mother Jones article on street harassment. I pulled it up and noticed that it was several compelling graphics on the prevalence of street harassment along with a link to and brief description of the report the numbers came from. So I went and took a look at the report (pdf).

Generally happy with the report, and happy to have graphics that could carry its messages further, I went back and tweeted the Mother Jones article. I took their name off the tweet, as I often do when I want people to think more about the content than the source of an article. Then I forgot about it for the moment, until I received a Facebook comment on my tweet that said, “Not All Pigs Are Men! (Did I get that right?)Continue reading “How Mother Jones Set Me Up for Harassment”

How Mother Jones Set Me Up for Harassment

Saturday Storytime: Going After Bobo

One of the great things about reprints in our digital age is that they continue to extend the reach of these stories going forward. People don’t need to collect back issues of a magazine in order to discover stories they like. I’m glad to see this story by Susan Palwick get this treatment.

So I had five days of not knowing where Bobo was, while Johnny and Leon baited me at school and Mom and David yelled at each other at home. And then finally the satellites came back online on Friday. The GPS people had been talking about how they might have to knock the whole system out of orbit and put up another one—which would have been a mess—but finally some earthside keyboard jockey managed to fix whatever the hackers had done.

Which was great, except that down here in Reno it had been snowing for hours, and according to the GPS, I was going to have to climb 3,200 feet to reach Bobo. Mom came in just as I was stuffing some extra energy bars in my pack. I knew she wouldn’t want me going out, and I wasn’t up to fighting with her about it, so I’d been hoping the snow would delay her for a few hours, maybe even keep her down in Carson overnight. I should have known better. That’s what Mom’s new SUV was for: getting home, even in shitty weather.

She looked tired. She always looks tired after a shift.

“What are you doing?” she said, and looked over my shoulder at the handheld screen, and then at the topo map next to it. “Oh, Jesus, Mike. It’s on top of Peavine!”

I could smell her shampoo. She always smells like shampoo after a shift. I didn’t want to think about what she smells like before she showers to come home.

He’s on top of Peavine,” I said. “Bobo’s on top of Peavine.”

Mom shook her head. “Honey—no. You can’t go up there.”

“Mom, he could be hurt! He could have a broken leg or something and not be able to move and just be lying there!” The signal hadn’t moved at all. If it had been lower down the mountain, I would have thought that maybe some family had taken Bobo in, but there still weren’t any houses that high. The top of Peavine was one of the few places the developers hadn’t gotten to yet.

“Sweetheart.” Mom’s voice was very quiet. “Michael, turn around. Come on. Turn around and look at me.”

I didn’t turn around. I stuffed a few more energy bars in my pack, and Mom put her hands on my shoulders and said, “Michael, he’s dead.”

I still kept my back to her. “You don’t know that!”

“He’s been gone for five days now, and the signal’s on top of Peavine. He has to be dead. A coyote got him and dragged him up there. He’s never gone that high by himself, has he?”

She was right. In the year he’d had the transmitter, Bobo had never gone anywhere much, certainly not anywhere far. He’d liked exploring the neighbors’ yards, and the strips of wild land between the developments, where there were voles and mice. And coyotes.

“So he decided to go exploring,” I said, and zipped my pack shut. “I have to go find out, anyway.”

Keep reading.

Saturday Storytime: Going After Bobo

"Grief Beyond Belief", Rebecca Hensler on Atheists Talk

In many ways, religious people “own” death and bereavement. They are rarely so confident, or feel they are on such solid ground, as they are when someone dies. But the comfort offered by believers is often the last thing a grieving atheist needs. Talk of life after death or God’s plans offers little comfort to those who don’t believe.

A few years ago, facing her own grief and the religious assumptions of her support group, Rebecca Hensler started Grief Beyond Belief, a support group for grieving non-believers. She joins us this Sunday to talk about the group and the challenges that deaths of our loved ones provide for atheists.

Related Links:

Listen to AM 950 KTNF this Sunday at 9 a.m. Central to hear Atheists Talk, produced by Minnesota Atheists. Stream live online. Call in to the studio at 952-946-6205, or send an e-mail to [email protected] during the live show. If you miss the live show, listen to the podcast later.

Follow Atheists Talk on Facebook and Twitter for regular updates. If you like the show, consider supporting us with a one-time or sustaining donation.

"Grief Beyond Belief", Rebecca Hensler on Atheists Talk

The Best Defense

It’s been a few days since I put up my post about D. J. Grothe’s record of lies and his most recent threat (that I know of) to lie again. In the meantime, the reactions from Grothe’s supporters have been coming in. I already posted about the first one I saw, but there have, of course, been plenty more. People just keep sending me links.

After Rebecca Watson tweeted the piece and said she’s one of the people who thinks Grothe is a psychopath and Monette Richards retweeted it, EllenBeth Wachs had her say. I’ll spare you pictures of this one, though I have them if anything disappears. It’s long.

@BlameEllenBeth: @rebeccawatson @MistressOfFrog Really disappointing Monette. How is this different than the hate and lies Rebecca gets thrown at her

@MistressOfFrog: @BlameEllenBeth @rebeccawatson Show me the lies in this piece, please, EllenBeth.

@BlameEllenBeth: @MistressOfFrog The link to the photo claiming assault @rebeccawatson

@MistressOfFrog: @BlameEllenBeth @rebeccawatson can you be a bit more specific. There are a lot of links in this piece.

@BlameEllenBeth: @MistressOfFrog Stephanie’s title and her disclaimer not to be armchair pyschologists is the height of hypocrisy –

Referring to a question that I think is reasonable and open by using a question mark but insisting that people not try to answer the question because they’re not qualified is the “height of hypocrisy” now. What would she have had left to say had I tried to diagnose him rather than declining to answer because I’m not qualified? Continue reading “The Best Defense”

The Best Defense

TBT: Trolled

This was originally posted in 2009, when I first started talking about rape online despite having studied it in college, and when I first discovered what happens when you do talk about rape. The more things change, eh?

Gosh, apparently talking about rape is controversial, particularly when one doesn’t argue that only inhuman monsters rape. I haven’t been trolled this hard since talking about…huh, equal pay. Let me count the ways.

  • Apparently, I was both bragging and claiming victimhood.
  • Talking about a personal experience made the whole thread all about me, narcissist that I am.
  • I got diminutivized.
  • I was told what my point was.
  • I set out on a slippery slope.
  • Saying nasty things.
  • And ended up a anti-male bigot.
  • With no point.
  • And then the name-calling started.

Interestingly enough, our troll declined to interact with Greg in any way, except to say, “Oh, I’ll be busy for the next few days. By the way, we have something in common. Nice to meet you,” when Greg put up citations. Charming little transparent creep.

TBT: Trolled