From the Activism Files

This weekend, I rolled out of bed after a party where I'd consumed champagne-&-raspberry-malt-liquor out of a plastic cup (trashy glam homos rock! Happy burfaday, you Tasmanian freaker) and took my tired ass to the Convention Center to unleash my own brand of unobtrusive-but-admonishing activism onto the neuroscientists in attendance.

I was originally planning on handing them out as people walked off the Metro, but I was able to walk right in the building without any guards stopping me or checking a pass. I did ask one Convention Center employee at an info desk if it was OK if I handed out "this pro-science flyer? [demonstrates]" She said it was not permitted, "because you might get caught." Oh, is it that easy? I slinked away, smirking "Right. Or I might not."

She smiled back. Black women run this town. Civil not-quite-obedience does earn you a little respect.

You'll note His Honorable Highness of Utter Chilldom, the Dalai Lama, was in attendance at this very conference composed entirely of otherwise nonreligious attendees. No, I didn't get to spam him with my missive - all those State Department Condie-lovers crawling about, and all. But I like to think I got the notion to a few convention attendees that people everywhere, including those who read Jack Chick tracts (and try to imitate them), are watching scientists and are expecting them to get their shit together. Below, my missive...

Yes, that's the elephant butt from Chris Mooney's book. Yes, that's two-time Nobel Prize winner Linus Pauling (1954 Chemistry; 1963 Peace.)


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